Day three of travel brought them deeper into the countryside, where established towns grew farther apart and wilderness claimed more of the landscape. The road remained passable but showed signs of less frequent maintenance—grass growing between stones, occasional branches fallen across the path that no one had bothered to clear.
Adrian rode at the front as usual, Alice beside him, Garrick and Mira following at respectful distance. The morning had started with more riding instruction—Alice's posture improving daily, her confidence growing with each hour in the saddle.
But Adrian's thoughts kept drifting inward, to realizations he'd been avoiding.
He'd changed.
Not physically—that was inevitable across lifetimes, bodies aging and dying and being reborn into new forms. But fundamentally, as a person, he'd changed in ways that had nothing to do with reincarnation.
For three hundred years across multiple lives, Adrian had maintained careful emotional control. Not kindness—that was learned behavior, cultivated deliberately across subsequent existences. But measured restraint over what he'd once been.
Over what he'd been capable of.
In his first life, emotional distance hadn't been defensive mechanism.
It had been calculated cruelty.
Adrian pushed down memories that threatened to surface—decisions made with cold ruthlessness, power established through methods that would make his current family recoil in horror. He'd been demon prince, heir to throne carved from violence and maintained through fear.
And he'd been good at it.
Exceptionally good.
The demon lands had been fractured for centuries before his rise—competing princes, rival clans, constant warfare that prevented any unified power. His father had controlled barely a third of demon territory despite claiming title of high prince.
Adrian had changed that.
Through calculated cruelty that broke rival princes. Through displays of power that made even hardened demon warriors hesitate to oppose him. Through strategic ruthlessness that turned enemies into loyal followers through fear and respect both.
He'd nearly united the demon lands. Nearly accomplished what no demon ruler had achieved in millennia.
And he'd done it by being exactly what demons respected—stronger, crueler, more willing to do whatever necessary to claim and hold power.
That person—that demon prince who'd ordered executions without hesitation, who'd crushed opposition through methods that still haunted him three hundred years later—
That was who he'd been.
The betrayal and murder that ended his first life hadn't transformed him from good to vengeful. It had interrupted someone who'd been building empire through calculated cruelty, who'd been mere years from absolute dominion over demon territories.
Each subsequent life had been fight against becoming that person again.
Not because he couldn't. But because he remembered too clearly what that path led to. What he'd become. What he'd been willing to do for power.
Three hundred years of carefully rebuilding himself into something better. Someone who could care without using that caring as weapon. Someone who could lead without cruelty as primary tool. Someone who looked at enemies and saw people rather than obstacles to be removed.
It had been exhausting, constant work—suppressing instincts that whispered easier solutions to problems. Instincts that said power came through fear, that mercy was weakness, that caring deeply was vulnerability to be exploited.
And then he'd met Alice.
Adrian glanced at her riding beside him—concentration evident as she practiced the techniques he'd taught, violet flame occasionally flickering around her hands as she unconsciously channeled energy. She caught him looking and smiled, unguarded and warm.
That smile threatened three hundred years of careful reconstruction.
Because it made him want to be better. Not through suppression of what he'd been, but through transformation into something fundamentally different.
Not just avoiding cruelty—but actively choosing kindness.
Not just controlling ruthless instincts—but replacing them with genuine care.
Not just pretending to be good person—but actually becoming one.
"Adrian?" Alice's voice pulled him from dark introspection. "You're quiet. Something wrong?"
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"How things change. How people change."
Alice tilted her head, curious but not pushing. That was another thing he appreciated about her—she didn't demand explanations, just offered space for him to share if he chose.
The worry wasn't simple fear of caring too deeply.
It was more fundamental question about who he was becoming.
For three hundred years, revenge had been purpose. Finding whoever betrayed him in his first life. Understanding why they'd murdered demon prince on cusp of unifying their lands. Making them pay for destroying everything he'd built.
That revenge required ruthlessness.
Required ability to become, if necessary, the cruel demon prince he'd once been. To reclaim that calculated cruelty if circumstances demanded it. To do whatever was necessary regardless of moral cost.
You didn't avenge three-hundred-year-old murder through kindness and emotional vulnerability.
You did it through power. Through being willing to be monster if that's what justice required.
But Alice was making him soft.
Not weak—she'd never make him weak. She was too strong herself, too determined, too willing to push beyond comfort for real capability.
But soft in ways that mattered.
He caught himself worrying about her safety before tactical necessity. Planning how to protect her rather than how to maximize her combat effectiveness. Imagining futures where they both survived, both found happiness beyond violence.
Those weren't thoughts of someone who could become demon prince again if revenge required it.
Those were thoughts of someone who wanted to live, not just survive long enough to destroy old enemies.
Worse—those were thoughts of someone who might choose her over revenge if forced to pick between them.
And that terrified him more than any demon he'd ever faced.
"Things do change," Alice said thoughtfully, responding to his earlier statement. "A year ago, I never could have imagined being here. Traveling to demon-infested border, learning real combat from someone who actually trusts me to learn."
"You've changed too."
"Have I?" She considered. "I suppose I have. Less worried about appearances, more focused on capability. Less content with palace safety, more willing to risk danger for real growth."
"Those are good changes."
"Are yours?" The question was gentle but perceptive. "Whatever changes you're thinking about—are they good?"
Adrian didn't know how to answer honestly.
How could he explain that caring for her represented threat to purpose that had defined three hundred years? That becoming person worthy of her affection might mean abandoning ruthlessness necessary for revenge? That choosing to be good—truly good, not just suppressing evil—might cost him the edge he'd need when confronting whoever destroyed his first life?
His first life had ended in betrayal.
But before that betrayal, he'd been monster. Effective monster, powerful monster, but monster nonetheless.
Every life since had been attempt to be better than that.
And Alice made him want to succeed at being better. Made him want to be person who deserved her trust, her care, her growing affection.
But what if being better meant being unable to achieve revenge?
What if the person worthy of Alice was fundamentally incapable of becoming cruel enough to make his enemies pay for what they'd done?
"I don't know yet," he said carefully. "Change is... complicated."
"Most worthwhile things are."
They rode in comfortable silence after that, but Adrian's thoughts continued circling.
He'd spent three hundred years suppressing the cruel demon prince he'd been. Learning mercy instead of ruthlessness. Choosing protection over domination. Building himself into someone who could walk among humans without instinctively calculating how to control or destroy them.
It had been necessary evolution. Demon prince's methods wouldn't work in human kingdoms. His first life's cruelty would have made him monster rather than noble here.
But somewhere along the way, suppression had become transformation.
He didn't just control cruel instincts anymore.
He'd fundamentally changed what he wanted.
Demon prince had wanted power, dominion, absolute control.
Current Adrian wanted... something different. Something he was still figuring out. Something that looked suspiciously like the life Alice represented—protection without cruelty, strength without domination, purpose beyond revenge.
And that change terrified him because it suggested he might no longer be capable of becoming what revenge required.
When he found his betrayers—and he would find them eventually—could he still be ruthless enough to make them suffer as they deserved?
Or had caring for Alice, had three hundred years of choosing to be better, had fundamental transformation away from demon prince's cruelty—had all that made him too soft for the vengeance he'd promised himself?
"Adrian," Alice said quietly, and something in her tone made him focus completely. "I know you're thinking about complicated things. I can see it in how you've been quiet all morning. And I won't push you to share what you're not ready to talk about."
She paused, met his eyes directly.
"But I want you to know—whatever you're worried about, whatever complicated feelings you're processing—I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to figure everything out alone."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Three hundred years of solitary struggle. Of suppressing cruel instincts alone. Of trying to become better person without anyone knowing what he was trying to escape from. Of planning revenge that he couldn't share with anyone because explaining required truths no one would believe.
And here was Alice, offering partnership without even knowing what she was offering to share.
"Thank you," Adrian managed, meaning it more than she could know.
"You're welcome." Her hand found his briefly—just momentary touch, warm and certain. "Whatever changes you're experiencing, I'm pretty sure they're good ones. You're allowed to feel things, you know. Doesn't make you weak."
"What if it makes me less capable of doing what I need to do?"
"Then maybe what you thought you needed to do isn't actually the most important thing." Alice's smile was gentle. "Maybe sometimes caring about people is more important than staying focused on old goals."
Adrian didn't have answer for that.
Couldn't explain that his "old goal" was avenging murder committed when he'd been cruel demon prince on cusp of uniting demon lands. That achieving that revenge might require reclaiming cruelty he'd spent three hundred years suppressing. That caring for her might mean choosing between being person she deserved and being monster capable of making his enemies suffer.
But looking at Alice, seeing genuine concern and understanding in her expression, he wondered if maybe she had a point.
Maybe some things were worth letting revenge wait.
Maybe someone was worth becoming better person rather than reclaiming old cruelty.
Maybe transformation away from demon prince wasn't weakness—it was exactly what three hundred years of existence had been trying to teach him.
They stopped for midday meal at a small clearing, all four dismounting with varying degrees of stiffness. Days of riding were taking toll even on those accustomed to travel.
High Knight Garrick prepared food while Mira checked the horses. Alice immediately started gathering firewood—now doing it efficiently without needing instruction, having learned the principles Adrian taught days ago.
Adrian watched her work, noting how she'd adapted to travel. Less concerned about appearance, more focused on practical capability. Less princess, more warrior in training.
"She's good for you," Garrick said quietly, settling beside Adrian. "Whatever internal struggle you're having, she's part of why you're having it."
Adrian startled slightly. "I don't—"
"You forget I've known many warriors across many years. I recognize the signs of someone questioning their purpose because they've found something more important than that purpose." Garrick's tone was understanding rather than judgmental. "I've also seen warriors struggling with who they used to be versus who they're becoming. That's what I'm seeing in you."
Adrian went very still. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you fight like someone who's suppressing instincts that would make you far more dangerous. You hold back in ways that suggest you're afraid of what you might become if you didn't." Garrick's observation was uncomfortably accurate. "That's not weakness. That's someone who knows exactly how dangerous they could be and chooses not to be that person."
"And if circumstances require me to be that person again?"
"Then you'll make that choice if necessary. But maybe you won't need to. Maybe the person you're becoming is stronger than the one you're afraid of losing." Garrick paused. "Warriors who fight with something worth protecting are often more formidable than those who fight with nothing to lose."
"Or they're vulnerable in ways that get them killed."
"That's the risk. But it's also the reward." Garrick gestured toward where Alice was efficiently gathering firewood. "She makes you want to be better. That's not weakness—that's motivation for real strength."
Alice returned with firewood, settling near Adrian with comfortable familiarity. Mira joined them shortly after, and the four ate together—comfortable group dynamic forming despite different backgrounds and purposes.
"Three more days to Northwatch?" Alice asked between bites.
"Roughly. Terrain gets harder from here, which will slow us down." Adrian checked their supplies mentally. "We'll need to be more careful about demon activity once we're within two days of the border."
"Good." Alice's determination was clear. "I want to see what we'll be facing. Need to understand the reality before trying to fight in it."
"You'll understand soon enough."
After meal, they continued riding. The afternoon passed much like the morning—steady travel, occasional conversation, comfortable silence punctuated by Adrian teaching Alice new skills or correcting technique.
But throughout it all, Adrian's thoughts kept returning to the same question.
Was he still demon prince capable of cruelty necessary for revenge?
Or had three hundred years of choosing to be better, had meeting Alice and caring for her, had fundamental transformation away from what he'd once been—had all that changed him into someone different?
Someone who might choose her over vengeance if forced to decide?
He didn't know the answer yet.
But watching Alice ride beside him, seeing her determination to learn, feeling warmth when she smiled at him—
He thought maybe being changed wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
Maybe the cruel demon prince who'd nearly united demon lands through ruthless power didn't need to exist anymore.
Maybe revenge could be achieved through strength rather than cruelty.
Maybe he could be both—person worthy of Alice's care and warrior capable of achieving justice.
Or maybe he'd have to choose between them.
Time would tell.
The journey north continued, carrying them toward Northwatch and whatever futures waited there.
But for now, Adrian let himself simply be present. Riding beside Alice. Teaching her what he knew. Allowing himself to care despite knowing it made him vulnerable in ways demon prince never would have tolerated.
Change was terrifying.
But maybe it was also necessary.
Maybe it was the only way to stop being cruel demon prince trapped in cycle of revenge and become fifteen-year-old boy who could actually have a future.
Even if that future meant letting go of the person he'd been three hundred years ago.