The road from Lezpole to Trencth wound like a serpent through the woods — ancient, twisting, and shadowed by trees that seemed to whisper in forgotten tongues. The night had just begun to lift when Ronita's carriage entered the forest, the wheels crunching softly over the damp earth. Jerome rode ahead on horseback, scanning the path with a soldier's focus.
But peace, as always, was fleeting.
A shrill cry tore through the quiet morning. Then another. The air filled with the flutter of leathery wings as a swarm of bats burst from the treetops, spiraling down in a black storm. The horses reared, panicked, nearly toppling the carriage. Ronita screamed, gripping the window frame as Jerome drew his sword and shouted commands to steady the animals.
The bats struck like rain — hundreds of them, their eyes burning red in the dawn light. One darted close, its fangs grazing Ronita's wrist before she managed to slam the window shut. The contact was brief but sharp, leaving behind a thin scratch that glowed faintly before bleeding.
When the chaos finally ebbed, the forest fell silent again, as if the storm had never happened. The carriage creaked forward slowly, the horses trembling beneath their harnesses.
Ronita sat back, pressing her palm to the wound. "Just a scratch," she whispered, forcing a smile. Her magic pulsed faintly beneath her skin, and she whispered a small healing charm. The mark sealed, leaving only a pale trace — but she couldn't shake the chill that crept up her spine.
Jerome turned to check on her. "Are you hurt, my lady?"
"I'm fine," she assured him. "It was only the fright."
Yet even as she said it, the faint scent of iron lingered in the air, and she swore she heard the faintest whisper among the trees — a voice too soft to understand, too dark to forget.
By the time they reached Trencth, the sun had begun to set. The town glowed with the amber hue of oil lamps and the golden shimmer of trade banners. The streets were alive with chatter — vendors calling out prices, carts creaking under the weight of goods from both human and vampire realms.
Jerome dismounted and turned to her, frowning. "We could make it to Blueshire before midnight," he said. "It's only two hours more."
Ronita hesitated. The memory of the bats clung to her like a second skin. "Let's rest here," she said softly. "Please. I'll feel safer after some sleep. We can leave at dawn and arrive just in time for the procession."
Jerome looked reluctant, but at her pleading gaze, he sighed. "Very well. But only until dawn."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Jerome."
Trencth was unlike any place she had seen — a merchant's kingdom, where every corner pulsed with the rhythm of trade. Humans, vampires, elves, and witches bartered in the open square. Crystals floated midair at stalls run by mages, and merchants sold perfumes that shimmered in the light like bottled moonlight.
Ronita, eager to distract herself, wandered from stall to stall. She purchased a delicate silver bracelet engraved with runes and a crimson scarf woven with threads that changed color with movement. The locals — mostly hybrid traders and craftsmen — stared at her with admiration, whispering to one another.
"She's not from here," one murmured.
"Too graceful. Too pure."
"Must be from the high courts…"
Ronita blushed under their gazes. She wasn't used to such attention — in Frizington, she was simply a maid, the daughter of a soldier and a witch. Here, she looked like nobility, though in truth she felt anything but.
While admiring a brooch shaped like a crescent moon, she accidentally bumped into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sor—" She froze as she looked down at a small boy with piercing blue eyes and silver-blond hair. He grinned up at her, sharp little fangs flashing.
"You're not from here," he said boldly.
"Liren!" a girl's voice called sharply.
Ronita turned to see a young girl of sixteen, draped in elegant silks of navy and gold. Her eyes were violet — unmistakably vampiric — and her expression was a perfect mix of authority and curiosity. Beside her stood a slightly older boy, perhaps ten, trying to wrangle Liren's sleeve.
Ronita's heart skipped. The Vauclair children. She'd seen their portraits in Frizington's archives.
"Princess Jewel," Ronita greeted softly, bowing slightly. "And Princes Liren and Reo, I presume?"
The young vampire princess smiled, a touch surprised. "You know us?"
"Everyone does," Ronita said kindly. "Your family's name reaches even Frizington's halls."
Jewel's posture softened. "You must be Lady Ronita Tamra," she said. "Our father mentioned a human witch was to travel from Frizington for the union."
Ronita nodded, cheeks warm. "I didn't expect to meet any of you here."
Liren grinned mischievously. "We sneaked out," he said proudly. "Father never lets us travel without guards, but Reo said he wanted to see Trencth's markets."
Reo rolled his eyes. "You were the one who wanted the candied blood pears."
Ronita laughed — a genuine, bright laugh that startled even her. There was something disarming about the children. For all the stories of Blueshire's darkness, the King's youngest offspring were polite, curious, and oddly gentle.
Jewel watched her with quiet admiration. "You're very beautiful," she said. "No wonder the King wanted someone from Frizington to join our family."
Ronita smiled, though the compliment sent a shiver down her spine. "You're too kind, Princess."
"Please," Jewel said with a grin. "Just Jewel. We're not in court here."
They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the market together. Jewel insisted on buying Ronita a blue ribbon, claiming it would bring protection on the road. Liren and Reo showed her how to tell which merchants were using charm dust to cheat their scales, and for a while, the heaviness in her heart lightened.
When dusk painted the sky in strokes of violet and gold, Jerome found them returning to the inn, arms full of trinkets and laughter still lingering between them.
"They're staying the night here too," Ronita explained when Jerome raised an eyebrow. "We'll travel together at dawn. It's safer that way."
Jerome nodded, though he kept a wary eye on the young royals.
As they dined together in the inn's grand hall, the air felt unexpectedly warm — the flicker of candles casting soft light over the children's faces. Jewel spoke fondly of her brothers in Blueshire; Liren bragged about learning swordsmanship; and Ronita, for the first time in days, felt almost at peace.
When the children finally retired to their rooms, Ronita stood by her window, gazing out at the forest beyond Trencth's gates. The moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds, and the night was unnervingly still.
Then, from deep within the woods, came the sound — a single, low hoot of an owl, long and mournful.
She frowned. "An owl?" she whispered. "Strange. They don't call at this hour."
Jerome, standing guard outside her door, glanced toward the trees. His hand went to his sword. "We should leave at first light," he muttered.
Ronita nodded, though unease prickled her skin. The air felt heavier suddenly, thick with the scent of rain and iron.
In the distance, a shadow moved among the trees — something vast and indistinct, its eyes glimmering faintly red.
The owl hooted again, and somewhere far away, in the deepest chamber of Blueshire Castle, Prince Karter Vauclair opened his eyes with a faint smile.
The omen had been received.