The messenger moved quickly through the winding streets, avoiding the crowds and lantern light. His cloak bore a faint red trim — the sign of the royal courier line — and the seal he carried glinted gold under the moon.
He didn't stop until he reached the manor that overlooked the town. Guards in crimson livery stepped aside as he passed through the gates and into the hall.
The air smelled of parchment and candle wax. At a desk near the window, a man in a dark red coat leaned over a map, his hair falling loose over sharp features.
"Your Highness," the messenger said, kneeling. "I bring news from the guild."
Crown Prince Rowan of Redmarsh looked up, grey eyes narrowing with interest. "From the guild?"
"Yes, my lord. About the girl you asked us to watch for."
Rowan stood, tall and composed, though a spark of curiosity lit his gaze. "Describe her again."
The messenger bowed his head. "She calls herself Liora. A new recruit—F rank. Pink hair, ruby eyes. Wields light and flame magic."
For a long moment, the prince was silent. Then a slow smile curved his lips.
"So she's real."
Prince Rowan had first heard of the "Woman of Light" months ago, from a wandering trader who swore he'd seen her fend off bandits with the radiance of the gods themselves. He'd thought it a tale—until reports reached his own borders: fires blooming in the forest, a lone figure traveling under the name Liora.
He'd sent his couriers quietly, half expecting nothing. But now…
"Light and fire," he murmured, fingers brushing the map's edge. "A rare pairing. Dangerous, but beautiful."
He turned to the messenger. "She's joined the adventurers' guild?"
"Yes, my lord. She completed her first mission today. The guildmaster vouches for her."
Rowan walked to the window. Below, Redmarsh glittered in the night, a small jewel of civilization surrounded by wild forest.
"She hides well," he said softly. "But if she's what I think she is, others will come for her soon."
He looked over his shoulder, his expression thoughtful, almost tender. "We can't let that happen."
The next morning, Redmarsh Guild was unusually lively. Rumors had begun to spread: the crown prince himself was visiting the town.
Victoria tried to ignore the talk, focusing instead on the new quests pinned to the board. Most were small tasks—deliveries, escorts, pest control—but her eyes caught on one at the bottom:
Quest: Escort requested by His Highness Prince Rowan to investigate southern ruins.
Rank requirement: F and above.
Reward: 50 silver.
Her heart skipped.
"Thinking of taking that one?" Mara said, appearing at her shoulder.
Victoria hesitated. "It seems… risky."
"Risky pays better," Mara said with a grin. "Besides, you could use the coin. And if the prince's paying, you know the food'll be good."
Victoria glanced back at the parchment. The idea of meeting royalty again made her uneasy, but something about the name Rowan tugged at her curiosity.
"All right," she said quietly. "I'll take it."
By noon, the chosen adventurers gathered in the courtyard. Most were higher rank—D and E levels with polished gear and confident smiles. Victoria stood near the back, adjusting her gloves, when the prince arrived.
Rowan was nothing like Damien. His presence didn't crush the air around him—it filled it, calm but commanding. His armor was light, marked with the Redmarsh crest, and his eyes scanned the group not with arrogance but with interest.
When his gaze fell on her, it lingered.
"You must be Liora," he said, stopping before her.
Victoria bowed her head. "Yes, Your Highness."
"You're the new recruit Garron mentioned. The one with… unique talents."
She stiffened. "I'm still learning, sir."
He smiled faintly. "Good. Keep learning. The world doesn't need more perfect people—it needs the ones who grow stronger."
Something in his voice—gentle, unguarded—unsettled her. She nodded silently.
The journey to the southern ruins took three days. Along the way, Victoria found herself watching Rowan more closely. He wasn't like the nobles she'd once served under. He laughed with the soldiers, carried his own supplies, and shared his meals without ceremony.
One night, as they rested by the campfire, Mara whispered, "Hard to believe he's a prince, huh?"
Victoria nodded absently.
Rowan looked up from across the flames. "You're quiet, Liora."
She hesitated. "Just thinking, Your Highness."
"About what?"
"About what happens when people like us get noticed."
Rowan's expression softened. "You've been noticed before, haven't you?"
Her throat tightened. "Once. It didn't end well."
He didn't push further. Instead, he said quietly, "Then let's make sure this time ends differently."
The next morning, as the ruins came into sight—broken stone towers half-buried in the earth—Victoria couldn't shake the strange feeling blooming in her chest. Rowan wasn't like Damien. He didn't command her. He saw her.
But freedom, she reminded herself, was fragile.
And somewhere far beyond Redmarsh, the King of Aurenfell—Damien—had begun to move his armies south, following the faintest whisper of fire and light.