Veil of Shadows

The wooden carriage wheels rattled over the uneven gravel road, their steady rhythm almost enough to lull the young woman into a daze. She pressed her cheek to the cool glass of the window, but there was little to see beyond the faint reflection of her own tired face. Outside, the night was nothing but endless shadows and the blur of trees rushing past.

Her feet ached from hours of dancing at a noble’s ball, the silk of her slippers doing little to soften the punishment. She sighed after removing the slippers, leaned back against the cushioned seat, and let her mind wander. The torches, the music, the polite laughter of nobles who measured every word; it had been exhausting, as such gatherings always were. The nobles always gathered around her as if she were some fool to gawk at. She had attended many social events with the same people; they had long since lost their nervousness and formality around her. They’d all probably told others that they were her friends to seem superior in front of others. She knew that none of them actually cared for her, but she put her best face forward and entertained them anyway. All the while, she longed for the quiet peace of her own bed.

The night, she realized as she snapped back to reality, was too quiet. No crickets sang, no owls called, just the rushed sound of the wooden wheels and horse hooves against the gravel. A hush pressed in on the carriage like a held breath. Her hair stood on end, and she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her training had taught her to trust her instincts.

Then the driver shouted something; she couldn’t catch the words, and the horses reared with a panicked scream. The carriage jolted violently, throwing Cara forward into the opposite seat. Pain shot across her ribs as she hit the wood frame of the seat in front of her. She sucked in a breath and clutched her side.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, scrambling to the window. Outside, the sound of voices, harsh and unfamiliar. The sharp clash of steel.

“Stay inside, Princess!” one of her guards barked back, his voice strained, ragged with effort.

Her stomach dropped. These were not the cries of men in control. These were the sounds of her father’s knights, men rigorously trained since boyhood, being cut down like wheat. She looked around the compartment for anything to use as a weapon, but there wasn’t anything inside other than her small purse with little to nothing inside.

She pressed herself back against the corner of the carriage, heart pounding as the clatter outside grew frantic, then eerily brief. A choked cry. A grunt of pain. Silence, except for the ragged breathing of the horses.

The door handle rattled. Slowly, deliberately, it swung open.

A man filled the doorway, little more than a hulking shadow against the swaying lantern light from outside. She couldn’t make out his face, only the gleam of a wet blade laced through his belt. His hand shot out, rough fingers clamping around her wrist.

“C’mere, little lass,” the deep voice forced higher to sweeten it, like poisoned cake.

“No-” she gasped, thrashing against his grip.

He yanked her toward the door, spiking pain through her wrist. Panic flared into fury. She drew back her free hand and slammed her fist into his jaw with all the strength she had. A sharp crack echoed, and the man reeled, cursing as he staggered back out of the carriage. He hadn’t expected the girl to be well-fought.

His grip faltered. The young woman didn’t hesitate. She tore free, skirts snagging on the carriage frame, and leaped into the night. Her bare feet hit the dirt hard, pain lancing up her legs, but she was already running. Branches lashed at her arms as she plunged into the dark forest, blue ball gown tangling around her knees. The once expensive fabric ripped and dirtied as she ran. Her lungs burned, each breath sharp and shallow. Her sapphire widened as she tried to see where she was going.

For a fleeting moment, hope surged. She had struck him. She had escaped. If she could just reach the road again- just find another patrol-

A shadow detached from the tree as she was about to pass.

Before she could scream, the shadow threw something coarse and suffocating over her head. Strong arms lifted her off the ground, her fists hammering uselessly against armor. He chuckled as if she were tickling him, no threat to him.

“Put me down!” she shrieked, voice muffled by the sack. Her words vanished into the night. She wasn’t used to people not listening to her demands, but now wasn’t the time to realize that sometimes people did as she demanded.

“You ain’t going nowhere. You’re lucky if I don’t get you back for that swing you took at me, lass.” A voice grumbled from further away.

She could hear the crackle of flames as her carriage burned behind her, the smoke rising like a signal no one would see in time, the horses screaming to escape.

****

The pounding on the front door snapped Gerald from dreamless rest.

His father was already awake, pulling on his cloak before the messenger even finished shouting. “The king summons all his knights- immediately!” Their family’s wing was closest to the royal families’, so Gerald and his father were woken by a servant before any of the other knights.

Gerald blinked the sleep from his eyes. The hour was deep and black; their household typically rose before dawn, but never in the middle of the night. A heaviness pressed on his chest. He’d trained all his life for this moment, for an actual summons, but dread gnawed at him all the same. His mind reeled with the possibilities: an attack, a thief, a death in the royal family, or did something happen to her? His blood ran cold at the thought.

Within minutes, Gerald and his father, Aldric, were striding through the torchlit halls of the castle. Gerald’s mother had risen with them, but Aldric told her to return to her bed, as there was nothing she could do to help. Gerald knew from his childhood that she would stay awake until his father returned unharmed. The brisk walk from their family’s personal wing to the royal family’s wing didn’t take long. The other knights arrived in hurried knots, faces grim, armor only half-buckled. Most probably didn’t sleep much, if at all. The king’s chamber doors stood open, golden light spilling across the stone.

The king paced at the center of the room, a storm in human form. He wore his sleep clothes; none of the knights were used to seeing the king in such attire. It made the severity of the situation evident to all of them. His voice cracked like a whip as he addressed them. Gerald and his father pushed past the half-awake knights to the doorway of the chamber. Aldric, the commander of the knights, needed to hear the king’s words directly. Gerald had never before seen the king in his casual attire, nor so distraught. The king was usually a calm and considerate man. The king’s face was beet red, and a scowl so deep it looked like it couldn’t be pressed back even with a clothing iron.

“They tried to make it look as though my daughter perished in the fire they set on her carriage,” he growled. “But I know their lies. I know she was the target. Those bastards ripped my Cara away from me.” The king’s eyes met Gerald’s father’s, “Aldric, you can’t let them get away with this. Not after Cara’s mother…” The king shook his head, afraid to finish the sentence.

Gerald’s breath caught. A chill slid down his spine. Images of the princess- her laugh in the palace gardens, the way she always fought too hard during sparring matches- flashed before his eyes. If only she had a sword by her side, she would’ve been able to put up a good fight.

“Bring your princess back to me, knights!” the king roared.

The chamber erupted into motion. Knights saluted, voices rising in unison before scattering to collect arms. Aldric clapped a gauntleted hand on his son’s shoulder. “Keep your head clear. Fear dulls the blade. Tonight, you stand with us as a knight in truth, not just in training.”

Gerald swallowed hard, nodding. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened his armor, not from fear of battle but from fear of what they might find. Gerald had fought to the death with monsters, creatures of the forest, but this time it was different. It was people, people who kidnapped someone whom he cared for.

The great minds of the king’s guard gathered quickly, hunched over a map spread across the table. Gerald silently hovered nearby, listening as strategies were exchanged and debated. Tracks to follow. Villages to search. Possible hideouts of allies. None of the strategies seemed to stick; they needed to get to the kidnappers before they reached a secondary location. One thing was sure: they would not rest until they returned the princess to the king. And for Gerald, this was more than duty. It was personal.

The map sprawled across the king’s war table, marked with stones and hastily drawn ink from previous use. Knights leaned over it, arguing in clipped voices about tracks, rivers, and choke points where bandits might strike.

“They’ll need horses to move quickly,” one said.

“They can’t take her through the main roads,” countered another. “Too many eyes. They’ll cut north, through the forest on foot. That’s where we’ll find them.”

Gerald’s father, Sir Aldric, studied the lines with sharp eyes. “Agreed. The woods out of city bounds, near the carriage, are their only chance to vanish before sunrise. We’ll split into three groups. Each will take a different route through the forest. Leave no stone unturned, no trail unmarked.”

The king’s gaze swept over his knights, finally settling on Gerald. “And you, boy. You’ve just come of age, have you not?”

Gerald’s chest tightened, and he stood straighter. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The king’s voice softened for the first time that night, though his eyes still burned like steel. “Then tonight, prove your blood. You’ve known my daughter since you were both children. If she still breathes,” The king took a sharp breath in, as if it pained him physically to say, “I trust you will not let her slip away.”

“I will not fail her,” Gerald vowed, though the words felt heavy on his tongue; his face was of stone, unwavering.

Aldric clasped his son’s shoulder again, firm and grounding. “Finish any preparation, we ride immediately,” his voice carried so all of the knights could clearly hear his command. The chamber emptied in a blur of movement. Knights clattered down the corridors, calling for their squires, strapping on steel. The air buzzed with tension, thick enough to taste.

Gerald followed his father through the armory, tightening his gauntlets with practiced movements. His sword belt felt heavier than it ever had in training. Gerald caught his reflection in a polished shield; his eyes wide, jaw tight, still so young beneath the armor. The age of adulthood was 16, and his birthday passed recently. He had prepared his entire life to be a knight of the kingdom, as did his father and his father had before him. It was in their blood, a legacy of knight commanders stretched as far back as the kingdom itself. They always stood next to the royal family, and this was Gerald’s time to rise to the occasion and save the princess, as their blood had repeatedly done for generations. There was no room for uncertainty.

As the first horns sounded across the courtyard, signaling the departure of the king’s guard, Gerald swung into his saddle. The night air was cold, sharp against his face. Around him, hundreds of knights formed ranks, torches casting their banners in flickering gold and red.

Sir Aldric raised his sword. “For the princess!” The answering cry shook the stones of the castle walls. And with that, the king’s knights thundered into the darkness, chasing the trail of fire and blood that had stolen their princess away.