Chapter 1
Whoosh. Crack.
The sound of an arrow hitting its mark split the forest's stillness, followed by a heavy thud and the frantic rustling of leaves as the elk collapsed.
From where we crouched, hidden in the undergrowth, I couldn't see where the arrow had landed — or whose it was. I silently prayed to any of the Fates or remaining Ancients that it was the white fletched one. Mine. If so, I'd earn bragging rights until our next hunt — and, more importantly, first choice of the spoils.
Meat was a luxury few could afford. Only nobles dined on it regularly, so when the chance came to claim a fresh kill, you took it. The same went for pelts — especially now, when the air still bit with the lingering chill of early spring.
Our town lay cradled in a narrow valley between the lower peaks of the Solis Mountains, which stretched across Aeralis's western border — the largest of the seven kingdoms. The range dominated the heart of the continent, forcing the rest of the realms to grow around it. The old stories said magic's source lay deep within its rock, though that did me little good. I'd been born without it, left to rely on my bow, my blades, and whatever skill I could carve for myself.
"I'll go check who won," I said, standing and brushing the dirt and leaves from my leathers. Their earthy scent wrapped around me, grounding the rush still humming in my blood. My knees ached from crouching so long, but I didn't complain — not when tonight would mean full bellies for days to come. I drew my dagger from its sheath and peered toward the fallen beast.
The man beside me rose too, green eyes catching the filtered light through the trees. Silas's bow hung easily across his shoulder, his stance loose, confident.
I'd long wished my father would let me train with him properly. But daughters of noble blood weren't meant to sweat or bleed — not unless it was behind embroidery hoops or at a husband's whim. Wearing leathers and carrying a weapon was scandal enough. So, I'd learned to slip out whenever Father wasn't paying attention. If I'd been forced to spend another afternoon cooped up learning stitches and patterns, I'd have gladly impaled myself with the damned needle. The forest was the only place I could breathe.
"How about I check the poor beast while you forage for whatever's managed to sprout this early in the season?" Silas teased, voice rich and deep. Sunlight dappled his warm skin, glinting off the twists of dark hair tied neatly at his nape.
I arched a brow. "What, you think I can't stomach a little blood after hunting with you since I was eight?"
He chuckled. "Oh, I know you can handle it. You've got the stronger stomach between us. But I'd rather not die of poison because I can't tell one root from another."
I sighed but smiled. "Fine — but next time, I'm going."
He was already sprinting off before I could add anything else.
"Oaf," I muttered, turning toward a patch of greenery where I knew edible roots grew beneath the damp earth. Kneeling, I dug my fingers into the soil, searching for the familiar shapes of tubers. One by one, I laid them beside me, until I reached for my sack — and realised it wasn't there. I groaned softly, recalling that I'd seen Silas with it this morning when he met me by the tree line.
I rose to my feet, brushing off my hands, just as the underbrush behind me rustled. Silas, no doubt — ready to gloat that I'd forgotten the bag.
But when I turned, it wasn't him.
Lord Gerard Arvess stepped out from the shadows, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with oil, his heavy musk thick enough to taste.
He leaned close — too close — until our lips were inches apart. I took a sharp step back, fighting the urge to gag.
"Hello there, my little dove."
A shiver ran through me. He gave me a greasy wink as men clad in black leathers emerged from the trees and fell into formation behind him — mercenaries. The way his eyes lingered on me made my skin crawl, a reminder that his interest had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with possession.
His personality was just as vile as his overbearing presence — all arrogance and indulgence, consumed by his need to collect the most beautiful, and the youngest, wife he could find. Even as the wealthiest man in our small corner of Aeralis, draped in silks and jewels worth more than most families would see in a lifetime, it was no wonder every eligible woman in town found somewhere to hide whenever he prowled the streets he deemed worthy of his presence.
He reached out, fingers brushing a stray curl that had fallen over my shoulder. His obsidian eyes gleamed with a hunger that made my stomach twist.
I stepped back, desperate to put space between us — only to collide with something solid. Two of his mercenaries had circled behind me, silent as shadows. A curse burned in my throat just as one of them seized my arms in a vice-like grip, pinning me in place.
"Oh no, where do you think you're going?" Lord Arvess cooed, voice dripping with false sweetness. He stepped closer, his smirk curling like a blade. "Do you have any idea how long I've been watching you? Waiting for the chance to get you alone, so I can finally make you mine. Once I do, you'll have no choice but to marry me."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
He grinned — a vicious, triumphant thing — and leaned close enough. that I could smell the wine on his breath. "We both know no man of good breeding would want you once you've been... sullied. And I can promise you; your father won't utter a word of protest when I offer him a small town's ransom to take you off his hands."
His grin widened when I didn't answer. "Still trying to resist me?" he murmured, closing the distance until the scent of sweat and spiced wine filled my nose. "We'll see how proud you are once I've had my fill."
He reached for the laces of my tunic, fingers fumbling at the ties as I twisted away. The mercenaries' grip only tightened, bruising my arms.
"Stop—" The word tore from my throat, ragged and useless.
He laughed softly, the sound scraping across my nerves. "No one's coming for you," he whispered.
Adrenaline surged through me. I snapped my head forward, the crack of bone meeting flesh echoing as my forehead collided with his mouth. He stumbled back with a curse, blood spilling over his lip. That heartbeat of hesitation was all I needed. I wrenched free of one man's grasp; the other lunged to catch me, but I drove my elbow backward, catching him under the jaw.
The world narrowed to ragged breaths and the taste of iron on my tongue.
Lord Arvess's eyes blazed with fury. "You'll regret that."
But I was already moving, already reaching for the dagger hidden in my boot –
The sound of heavy footsteps cut through the chaos. More mercenaries emerged from the treeline, dragging someone between them. My pulse stuttered when I saw who it was.
Silas.
His hands were bound behind his back, his lip split, expression as cold and unreadable. Even beaten, there was something in his stance that made the men holding him keep a careful distance.
Arvess straightened, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Ah," he said, recovering his composure. "And here I thought the day couldn't get any better."
He took a few lazy steps toward Silas, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "Seems your brave little friend won't be able to save you this time." His gaze slid back to me, hungry and taunting. "Perhaps I'll let him watch while I show him just how easily a woman breaks."
Silas's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with quiet fury.
Arvess chuckled darkly. "Why don't we see what he's worth? Maybe he can beg for your honour instead."
Silas didn't flinch. He just said, calm and deliberate, "Touch her again, and you'll lose that hand."
Arvess laughed as he met Silas's gaze.
The air shifted. Even the mercenaries seemed to hesitate. Arvess's smile faltered for the first time.
Even without magic, I sensed it coming—the air tightening, the forest holding its breath. Mahogany fur tore through Silas's skin, his fingers twisting into claws, his teeth glinting sharp as glass— and then he was gone, replaced by a great brown bear bellowing his fury into the trees.
The sound rattled my bones. Birds erupted from the canopy, the ground trembling beneath the weight of his roar. For a heartbeat, every man in the clearing froze.
Then chaos broke loose.
The mercenaries shouted, blades scraping free, some stumbling backward while others surged forward with reckless courage. The bear reared onto its hind legs, towering above them, and with a single swipe of his paw sent two men flying through the air like broken dolls.
Arrows began to whistle through the clearing—sharp, deadly notes slicing through the air. They struck with terrifying precision, felling mercenaries before they could regroup. One man went down screaming, another crumpled wordlessly, the shaft buried deep in his shoulder. Whoever fired them knew exactly what they were doing.
Arvess lunged toward me anyway, eyes wild, sword arm raised as if he still held power. He reached for me—his mouth twisted in a snarl that promised every vile thing he'd spoken of.
Silas moved before I could even think. He was a blur of muscle and fury, intercepting the blow. His clawed hand caught Arvess's wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply until there was a sickening crack. Lord Arvess screamed, staggering back, blood pouring between his fingers.
He fell to his knees, gasping, eyes full of disbelief and hate.
The thunder of hooves shattered the clearing.
Horses burst through the trees, tearing through undergrowth and scattering leaves like a storm. Riders leaned low, arrows notched and ready, cloaks snapping behind them. At their head rode Faelan.
"Hold the line!" he commanded, voice cutting clean through the chaos.
His men encircled the clearing in moments, corralling the remaining mercenaries with practiced precision. Some dropped their weapons immediately; others tried to fight and were swiftly disarmed.
Arvess stared at Faelan, face bloodless, breath ragged. "You've no right—" he began, but his words broke into a hiss as Silas stepped forward again, still half-beast, half-human.
Faelan swung down from his horse, boots hitting the earth with a solid thud. His gaze swept once over the bodies, then over me—mud-streaked, trembling, still clutching the dagger I'd pulled from my boot—and finally rested on Silas. His tone softened just a fraction. "Stand down," he said, voice low but commanding. "Now."
Silas's chest heaved once more before he straightened, claws retreating, fur dissolving in slow patches back into skin. The bear was gone, but the fury in his eyes lingered.
I stood frozen in the wreckage of it all—the broken leaves, the smell of blood and earth, the ring of steel still ringing faintly in my ears.
The arrows had done their work. The mercenaries stumbled, some to their knees, others disarmed and frozen in shock. Faelan's men moved with precision, ropes and cuffs in hand, binding them quickly and efficiently.
Arvess went last. Pale, trembling, his right hand useless and dangling at his side, he was hauled roughly to his feet and dragged toward the treeline. He hissed and spat curses, but the ropes held him fast. His soldiers fell silent, unable to do anything without their leader.
Faelan turned to me, boots crunching against the forest floor. "What happened?" His voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. I could feel the weight behind it—the need to understand, to know I was unharmed.
I swallowed, words catching in my throat, and began to explain in short, hurried bursts: the ambush, Arvess's attempt, Silas's shift... the whole terrifying sequence, each detail landing heavy in the cold air.
Faelan's jaw tightened as he listened, eyes scanning the forest, still alert, still aware of danger even after the immediate threat had passed. When I finished, he took a measured breath and stepped closer. "I'm taking you home," he said firmly. "No objections."
I opened my mouth, started to protest, but the steel in his gaze stopped me cold. I knew arguing would be useless—and foolish.
Then he glanced at Silas, who was still kneeling in mud, sweat and blood streaked across him, breathing ragged. Faelan's expression remained. "Go. Rest," he said, voice low. "She's safe now"
Silas's eyes flicked to mine, a flash of gratitude and relief crossing them before he straightened, tensing briefly as if ready to defend me again, then finally letting himself be led back into the shadows of the trees, towards our town.
I sank back against a tree, chest heaving, gripping the dagger in my hand. The forest smelled of iron and pine, and the echo of battle – the arrows, the horses, the shouts – was etched into my mind.
Faelan crouched beside me, firm but careful. "You're going home," he repeated softly, more insistently this time. "You'll be safe there. That's all that matters right now."
If only he knew how wrong he was.
