The air inside the hut had changed. It was no longer the heavy, hollow stillness of Seraphine's solitude. It was vibrating.
Seraphine stepped back inside, her wool cloak damp from the morning mist, and felt the change instantly. The hut felt too small. The man on the cot took up too much space—not just physically, but atmospherically. He sucked the oxygen out of the room and replaced it with the scent of pine, dried blood, and an irritatingly vibrant warmth.
She kept her gaze fixed on the dirt floor, refusing to look at the amber eyes she knew were tracking her movement. She busied her gloved hands with a bundle of drying sage near the hearth, her back rigid.
"You're leaving," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a command disguised as an observation.
Behind her, the straw mattress rustled. Kael was standing.
"My horse returned to the border," he said, his voice low and steady. "My men will be combing these woods by noon. I cannot stay and risk them finding this place. I wouldn't want to bring the noise of the world to your sanctuary... Faye."
Seraphine's hand clenched around the sage, crumbling the dry leaves to dust.
Faye. He was still using that ridiculous name.
She felt a sharp, unexpected pang in her chest—a needle prick of disappointment that she immediately tried to smother. She should be relieved. She should be celebrating. This was what she wanted: silence, safety, and the absence of eyes that looked at her like she was a person.
"Good," she replied, her voice flat, icy. "Then we are in agreement. You will walk toward the southern ridge. The path is steep, but it is the fastest way out of the Forbidden Forest."
She turned around, ready to herd him out the door.
She stopped.
Kael had put on his ruined tunic. The charcoal wool was torn and stained with blood, but he wore it with an effortless, careless dignity that made her humble hut feel like a throne room. He was pale, favoring his broken ribs, but he was standing tall.
He walked toward her. He didn't stop at a polite distance. He invaded her space, bringing that radiating heat with him.
Seraphine stood her ground, her chin tucked into her collar, her right emerald eye peering through the wavy chestnut curtain of her hair like a weapon.
"I haven't thanked you properly," he said.
"I don't need thanks," she snapped, stepping back. "I need you to forget me."
Kael smiled. It wasn't a polite smile; it was a challenge.
"That," he murmured, leaning down so his face was level with hers, "is the only command I cannot obey."
He reached into the heavy leather belt at his waist. From a hidden sheath, he drew a small object that caught the dim light of the hearth.
It was a dagger, no longer than a man's palm, but the craftsmanship was breathtaking. The blade was steel, but the hilt was forged of shimmering, high-grade silver, shaped into the likeness of a rising sun with a brilliant topaz set into the center.
Seraphine's breath hitched. She froze.
She knew that crest. She had studied it for years in the royal archives. It was the Sun-Crest of the Valenor Royal Family—the symbol of the line of kings who claimed their power from the dawn.
"The Royal Sun-Crest," she whispered before she could stop herself.
Kael's eyes sharpened instantly. The playfulness vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp intelligence.
"You recognize the heraldry?" he asked softy. "Most hermits wouldn't know the specific crest of the Valenor bloodline. They'd just see a shiny knife."
Panic cold-cocked her.
Fool, she screamed internally. You are revealing the noblewoman beneath the rags.
"I... I have seen coins," she lied, the words tumbling out too fast. "Travelers drop them near the border. I know the symbol from the copper pennies."
It was a terrible lie. Copper pennies didn't bear the Royal Sun-Crest.
Kael stared at her for a long moment. He knew she was lying. She could see it in the tilt of his head. But instead of calling her out, he stepped closer.
He took her hand.
Seraphine flinched, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm. His fingers wrapped around her gloved palm, warm and solid. He pressed the cold silver of the dagger into her hand, curling her leather-clad fingers around the hilt.
"In my kingdom, we have a law," Kael said, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy tone that vibrated in her bones. "A debt of life must be repaid in kind. You saved me from the dark, Faye. If the forest ever grows too cold, or if the shadows you fear ever find your door... take this to the border. Show it to any man wearing a blue cape."
"I cannot take this," she protested, her voice rising in panic. "It is too valuable. I am a ghost, Kael. What use does a ghost have for silver?"
"It is not a promise of a Prince," Kael said, his thumb brushing over the rough leather of her glove.
He was tracing the back of her hand. Right over the spot where the black vines of her curse were pulsing, hidden only by a thin layer of cured skin. If he pressed harder, he would feel the unnatural ridges. He would feel the monster.
Seraphine trembled, but she couldn't move.
"It is a vow from Kael," he whispered. "If you call, I will answer. No matter where you are. No matter what name the world gives you."
Seraphine looked down at the silver sun-crest in her hand. For a split second, a traitorous image flashed in her mind: herself, walking out of the woods, showing the dagger, and being led into a world of light where no one cared about the ink on her neck.
Then, the memory of the rotten tomatoes and Julian's disgusted face came roaring back, drowning the hope in cold, black water.
"Go," she choked out, pulling her hand from his grip as if he had burned her. "Go, before I change my mind and leave you for the wolves."
Kael laughed softly—a sound of genuine, heartbreaking affection.
He reached out, his hand hovering in the air. For a second, she thought he was going to brush the hair from her face. She thought he was going to pull back the curtain and look at the horror underneath.
She held her breath, terrified. Do it, a tiny, broken part of her wished. Do it and run away so I can hate you.
But he didn't. He let his hand drop.
"I'll be back, you know," he said, stepping toward the door. "Even if you pray to your Goddess to keep me away. I've always been a very stubborn hunter."
He opened the door. The gray light swallowed him.
He didn't look back.
Seraphine stood in the center of the hut, clutching the silver dagger to her chest so tightly the metal bit into her palm through the glove.
The sound of his footsteps faded into the rustle of the leaves.
The hut felt twice as large as it had ten minutes ago. The warmth he had brought was fading, replaced by the creeping damp of the forest.
Seraphine walked to her small, cracked mirror propped against the wall. She pulled back her hair with a shaking hand.
The black rose on her collarbone was dark, ugly, and throbbing. But for the first time in two years, the thorny vines on her neck didn't feel like a punishment. They just felt... lonely.
She looked at the silver sun in her hand, then at the monster in the glass.
"He won't come back," she told her reflection, her voice breaking into the silence. "No one ever comes back for the villainess."
Coming Up in Chapter 5: The Ghost's Solitude
Kael is gone, and the silence of the Forbidden Forest returns. But Seraphine finds that the 'peace' she once cherished now feels like a prison. As she struggles with her loneliness, she discovers a hidden secret Kael left behind in her hut... something that proves he was listening to her more than she realized.