In Velmoria, the palace was in uproar. Servants rushed through marbled halls, whispers echoing like thunder. The news had spread like wildfire—His Majesty was missing.
Commander Renric Albrecht, Duke of Bastion, stood at the center of the storm. His curly blond hair was damp with sweat, his jaw clenched tight. The most trusted man in Lucan's court—and his closest friend—was anything but calm.
"He followed her through the portal?" Renric repeated, voice low and dangerous.
The messenger nodded, trembling. "Yes, Your Grace. The Saintess. He went after her alone."
Renric turned away, pacing beneath the stained-glass windows of the war chamber. Light fractured across his armor, casting shards of red and gold.
"He wouldn't just vanish," Renric muttered. "Not without a plan. Not without telling me."
An advisor stepped forward cautiously. "We've dispatched scouts to the outer villages. No sign of him. Or her."
Renric stopped pacing. His eyes narrowed.
"Then send more. Double the search. Triple it. I want every chapel, every ruin, every cursed stone overturned."
He slammed his fist against the table, rattling maps and goblets.
"If Lucan is gone… Velmoria will fracture. And if the Saintess is with him—then she's not just a myth anymore."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Renric looked up, eyes burning. "She's real. And she's dangerous."
Then, more quietly—his voice low but resolute—he muttered, "No. Prepare a horse. Tell the men to ready themselves. I'm going to find His Majesty."
The chamber remained silent.
One of the knights hesitated. "Commander… you mean to leave the capital?"
Renric looked up, eyes sharp. "If Lucan is lost, Velmoria is vulnerable. I won't sit here while rumors grow and vultures circle."
He turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the doors.
"Send word to Bastion. I want scouts on every border. And tell the royal seers to search the ley lines again—if the portal left a trace, I'll follow it."
The knight bowed quickly and rushed off.
Renric paused at the threshold, glancing back at the advisors still frozen in place.
"If anyone dares to speak of succession," he said coldly, "remind them the king is not dead. And I intend to prove it."
With that, he vanished down the corridor, boots echoing like thunder.
*****
"Get up," Lucan commanded, gesturing toward the horse waiting near the village gate.
Elira hesitated, eyeing the saddle like it was a trap. "Where are you planning to take me? Are we going back to that creepy forest? No, I won't. I'm going to die there."
Lucan didn't answer. He simply adjusted the reins and waited.
Elira folded her arms. "You know, most kidnappers at least pretend to be reassuring. Maybe throw in a 'you'll be fine' or 'trust me.' You're really bad at this."
Lucan turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"I'm not a kidnapper. I'm your king. And you made a vow—you'll do whatever I want."
"Oh, right," Elira muttered. "That makes it so much better." She crossed her arms. "I'm not riding that horse—I don't even know how."
She stepped back, but Lucan tugged the rope that binding her wrist.
"Ouch!" she winced, stumbling forward.
"If you don't want to ride with me," he said coldly, eyeing the rope, "then you can walk."
His gaze lingered on the enchanted rope—a silent reminder that no matter how fast she ran, she wouldn't get far.
Elira clenched her jaw, glaring at him. "You're unbelievable."
Lucan turned away, adjusting the saddle. "And you're wasting time."
He mounted the horse with practiced ease, then reached down and grabbed her arm—not roughly, but firmly enough to make it clear she had no choice.
"Get on," he said again.
Elira groaned, climbing up behind him. "If I get eaten by a tree, I'm haunting you."
Lucan didn't respond. He clicked his tongue, and the horse began to move.
Villagers watched from behind shutters and barrels, whispering as the pair rode off. Some made signs of protection. Others simply turned away.
As they passed the edge of the village, Elira glanced back one last time.
This place was afraid of him. But not just him.
Something else waits out there.
She tightened her grip on the saddle.
"Seriously though," she muttered, "if we see that fog again, I'm jumping off."
Lucan's voice was quiet. "Then I'll catch you. And drag you back."
"Hah, seriously," Elira scoffed in disbelief.
"You forgot you made a vow just a while ago," Lucan reminded her for second time, his voice steady.
Elira didn't respond. She simply swallowed hard and tightened her grip as Lucan urged the horse forward. The wind picked up, rustling the trees as they crossed the threshold into the forest once more.
The shadows deepened.
Branches arched overhead like twisted arms, and the path narrowed into a tunnel of moss and mist. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the forest itself remembered them.
Elira glanced around nervously. "This place gives me the creeps. It's like the trees are watching us."
Lucan didn't answer. His gaze was fixed ahead, jaw clenched, eyes sharp.
They rode in silence, hooves thudding against damp earth. The forest was quiet—too quiet. No birds. No rustling. Just the sound of breath and movement.
"Hold tighter!" Lucan exclaimed as a sudden rustle echoed behind them—something was moving, matching their pace.
Elira closed her eyes and tightened her grip, clinging to Lucan's cloak like it was her last breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs, louder than the galloping hooves.
The horse snorted, sensing the tension, and Lucan urged it faster.
Branches whipped past them, clawing at Elira's sleeves. The mist thickened, curling around them like fingers trying to pull them back.
Then she heard it.
A low growl.
Not animal. Not human.
Something in between.
Lucan glanced over his shoulder, his jaw tightening. "Don't look," he said sharply.
Which, of course, made Elira look.
Through the fog, she saw a shape—tall, hunched, moving on limbs too long for its body. Its eyes glowed faintly, like embers buried in ash.
Elira gasped. "What is that?!"
Lucan didn't answer. He leaned forward, whispering something in a tongue she didn't recognize. The horse responded instantly, surging forward with renewed speed.
The creature let out a shriek—high and broken, like glass shattering in the wind.
Elira clung tighter, her breath shallow. This forest isn't just cursed, she thought. It's alive. And it's hunting.
The horse never stopped running, and Lucan, in his expertise, never loosened his grip. They kept going, never daring to slow down. Then, as fast as they could, they finally burst out of the forest.
The horse leapt over the barbed wire with a powerful bound, and suddenly they were in a vast green field—tall grass swaying like waves beneath the open sky.
Elira felt the smooth wind kiss her cheeks, and slowly, she opened her eyes.
The forest was behind them.
Before her stretched a sea of green, dotted with wildflowers and bathed in golden sunlight. The air was fresh, clean—nothing like the heavy, haunted breath of the woods.
She blinked, stunned by the beauty.
Lucan slowed the horse to a trot, letting it catch its breath.
Elira exhaled shakily. "We made it…"
Lucan didn't speak, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.
For the first time in days, Elira felt something unfamiliar.
Hope.
They rode the horse peacefully now, its pace slow and steady—nothing like the frantic sprint through the forest.
The tall grass brushed against Elira's boots as they passed, golden and green under the soft morning light. The wind played with her hair, cool against her flushed cheeks. It was quiet here. Not the eerie silence of the forest, but a peaceful kind—the kind that made her chest ache with relief.
Lucan hadn't spoken since they escaped. His posture was still tense, but his grip had loosened. He guided the horse with ease, eyes scanning the horizon.
Elira finally exhaled. "I thought we were going to die back there."
Lucan didn't look at her. "We still might."
She frowned. "You're terrible at comfort."
"I'm not here to comfort you," he said. "I'm here to keep you alive and for me to kill you."
They passed a small stream, its waters glinting like silver threads. A flock of birds took off from the grass, their wings catching the light.
Elira watched the birds disappear into the sky.
Alive, she thought. For now.
The scene felt like something out of a fantasy movie—a warrior taking the girl he loves on a peaceful ride through the countryside. But this wasn't that kind of story.
She was a captive.
And the man beside her wasn't a lover.
He was her kidnapper.
The one who might kill her in the end.
Elira whispered under her breath, "Lover, my butt."
Lucan glanced at her, one brow raised. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, looking away.
They rode on in silence, the wind brushing past them like a lullaby. But beneath the calm, Elira's thoughts churned.
At the end I couldn't get to that seer the old lady mentioned to me, it's all because of this man. How can I able to go back home?
Lucan suddenly slowed the horse and pointed toward a distant hill.
"There," he said. "We'll rest before nightfall."
As they reached the distant hill, Lucan dismounted from the horse, landing smoothly on the ground.
"Are you not going to help me down?" Elira asked in disbelief, staring at him expectantly.
Lucan didn't respond. He simply adjusted the saddle straps, pretending not to hear.
"I'm not coming down," Elira declared, arms crossed. "This horse is way too big and tall for me to jump off by myself. I'll break something."
Lucan gave her a look—half disbelief, half annoyance. Without a word, he finally extended his hand, clearly against his will.
Elira smirked. "Wow. So chivalry does exist. I thought you were just a walking sword with trust issues."
Lucan rolled his eyes. "I regret this already."
She took his hand and slid off the horse, landing with a soft thud.
"See? That wasn't so hard," she said, brushing off her cloak. "You're almost charming when you're forced to be helpful."
Lucan turned away. "Don't get used to it."
Right after tying the horse to a nearby stump, Lucan approached Elira and tugged the rope at her wrist.
"Hey—what now?" she snapped, stumbling as he led her toward a tall pine tree.
Without a word, he tied the rope around the trunk, securing her in place.
"What the—? I'm not going anywhere!" Elira protested, yanking at the rope. "Seriously? After nearly dying in that cursed forest, you think I'm going to run off into the middle of nowhere? Where would I even go—into the grass and cry?"
Lucan looked at her, completely unbothered. "It's better to be sure than not."
He turned his back and started walking away. "I'm going to find wood so stay still and wait."
"W—wait!" Elira called after him. "You're just going to leave me here? What if something eats me? Or worse—what if I get bored?"
Lucan didn't stop. "Then talk to the tree."
Elira stared at his retreating figure, mouth agape. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "Kidnapped by a man with the emotional range of a brick."
She slumped against the tree, glaring at the rope. "This is fine. Totally fine. I'm just tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere with a sword-wielding lunatic. Classic fairy tale."
A beetle crawled past her boot.
She stared at it. "You're lucky, bug. You can leave whenever you want."
The beetle paused, as if considering her words, then scuttled off into the grass.
Elira sighed dramatically. "Even the bug has more freedom than me."
She looked up at the sky, watching clouds drift lazily overhead. Somewhere in the distance, Lucan was probably chopping wood like it owed him money.
She tugged at the rope again. No luck.
"Maybe I'll chew through it," she muttered. "That's what squirrels do, right?"
Just then, a loud growl echoed through the field.
Elira instinctively touched her belly.
"I'm hungry," she groaned. "The last time I had food was back in that village. I hope he brought something to eat and not just a bunch of wood. Ugh, I'm going to die—either from danger, from him, or from starving."
She looked up at the bright blue sky and shouted, "How did I end up in this damned fantasy novel without proper food or even a house?! This is so frustrating!"
The wind rustled the grass in response, as if mocking her.
Lucan returned an hour later, carrying a bundle of wood and two freshly caught rabbits. From a distance, he spotted Elira leaning against the tree, unusually still and silent.
He paused.
No sarcastic remarks. No dramatic sighs. No complaints.
It was… suspicious.
Lucan approached quietly, setting down the wood and placing the rabbits aside. Then, with careful steps, he moved closer to her.
Elira was asleep.
Peacefully.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, her face relaxed—so unlike the whirlwind she was when awake.
Lucan stared at her, taking in every detail. The way her hair curled slightly at the ends. The faint smudge of dirt on her cheek. The way her fingers twitched now and then, even in sleep.
He hated noise. Always had. It grated on him, made his blood boil faster than battle ever could. And Elira—when awake—was a walking storm of sound and sarcasm.
Yet now, in silence, she looked… harmless.
Why hadn't he killed her from the beginning?
He was a ruthless king. Power was his only compass. Mercy had no place in his rule.
And yet…
From the moment he met her, something shifted.
She was different.
Unpredictable.
She didn't fear him the way others did. She challenged him. Mocked him. And somehow, he hadn't silenced her.
Lucan knelt beside her, just for a moment.
What is it about you? he wondered. Why do I hesitate?
The wind stirred the grass around them, whispering secrets he couldn't decipher.
Then, a voice echoed in his mind—cold, commanding.
This is the right time to kill the Saintess. She will be your downfall. She will take everything you've gained.
Lucan's gaze hardened, fire flickering in his eyes. He stood, drew his sword, and raised it toward Elira's neck.
His grip was firm.
His aim, precise.