To Steal A Villain's Heart

Mothers and fathers often told their children that if they wandered too far into the Northern Forests, the Shadow King would find them. Soldiers whispered his name, and the council cursed it during meetings.

Ambrose Veyne.

Villain.

Murderer.

To some, he was the greatest threat the Kingdom of Rosengard had ever known. But to Princess Arabella Rosenthal, he was just a story. It was not enough to keep her inside the castle walls, and neither were the castle gates.

She slipped through an old servants' passage beneath the castle. She did this frequently, unbeknownst to her father, King Cassian. Arabella wanted to see her people. She cared deeply for them and wanted to make sure her father had done what he had promised days earlier. There had been an attack in a village just before the Northern Marches. Apparently, the Shadow King had struck once again, and the villagers had been injured and stripped of their food and water. And while she desperately wanted to believe that the Shadow King actually had something to do with it, it just did not make sense for him to attack those people. It was a known fact that the village-- although a half day's travel time from the Northern Marches-- was still part of that territory. The same territory Arabella had heard people say he was from.

Arabella was not always alone when she ventured out to help her people. Her lady's maid, Clara, was always by her side. Clara was a beautiful young woman with eyes as green as emeralds. At first, she had done little more than warn the princess about her late-night excursions, but she eventually realized there was nothing that could change Arabella's mind or her love for the people of Rosengard. That was precisely why Clara loved and respected her.

"We'll have to be extra careful this time, Your Highness. This village is near the border..." Clara trailed off, putting on leather boots. It would be very cold where they were headed.

Arabella nodded. "I promise not to take too long." She pulled the cloak over her head and stepped into the secret passage that led beyond the castle walls. Arabella moved swiftly; she was worried about the village. Her father had insisted the people would be taken care of, but unfortunately, Arabella had learned long ago that a king's word was not always honest. She had her doubts about her father, but he was the only family she had left after her mother was killed the year before.

Queen Gwyneth Rosenthal. She had been loved by everyone in the kingdom. Arabella frowned. She had not thought about her mother in quite some time.

"Ready, Your Highness?" Clara asked as she opened the stable gate.

"Let's make haste," Arabella said, climbing onto her horse before disappearing into the forest.

After a few hours of traveling, they had finally reached the village of Ravenmoor. As they drew closer, they immediately noticed the commotion. Villagers ran in every direction. Some cried, while others tended to the wounded. Without removing her cloak, Arabella dismounted and hurried toward the crowd, Clara close behind.

"What happened here?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

The villagers turned toward her, their faces filled with anger and grief.

"The Shadow King," one wounded man grunted.

Arabella glanced at Clara. "He's hurt."

Clara immediately grabbed her satchel of medicine and knelt beside him.

"He came with his men," another villager exclaimed. "They destroyed everything. They took everything!"

A younger man shook his head, "No! He would not do this-"

"They killed my son," a wounded man whispered, tears filling his eyes as he pointed beside him. A young boy-no older than twelve-lay face down in the dirt, a stab wound in his side. Arabella knelt beside him and gently placed a trembling hand on his back.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes, "I know an apology won't bring him back, but we will give him a proper burial," she said, looking toward the villagers, "I've brought food, water and medicine. Please, do not be afraid to take whatever you need."

One of the villagers stepped closer, "Who are you?" Arabella offered a gentle smile. In the faint light, it was difficult for anyone to recognize the princess, "I'm merely a traveler."

Before anyone could respond, another villager screamed, "They're coming back! Hide everything!" Panic spread instantly. The villagers grabbed what little remained and scattered.

Clara seized Arabella's hand, "We need to leave, Your Highness!"

The two women hurried back to their horses and galloped into the forest. Arabella glanced over her shoulder. One soldier had broken away from the others and was pursuing them.

"Clara, ride east! I'll distract him!" Arabella ordered. Clara shook her head, "No! Your safety is more important. I won't leave you."

"This is an order, Clara." There was no time to argue; the soldier was gaining on them. Much to Clara's dismay, she obeyed.

Arabella veered west, the soldier following close behind. Although fear tightened her chest, she was confident she could lose him. No one in the kingdom knew it, but Arabella was an exceptional horsewoman.

After several minutes of weaving through the forest, the soldier finally lost sight of her. Frustrated, he turned back toward the village. Arabella smirked, "Bella one, random soldier zero."

Even after escaping, she couldn't stop worrying about the villagers. She wanted to make sure they had survived, even if she could only watch from a distance. But before she could make it back to the village, something caught her attention - A man was lying beneath a large maple tree.

Arabella slowed her horse. At first, she thought he was dead. Then she heard a low grunt, making her hesitate. Something about him made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Still, she urged her horse forward.

One step. Then another.

As she drew closer, she noticed the dark clothing first, black from head to toe. His boots were muddied, his clothes torn in places, and one hand was pressed tightly against his side. Blood seeped between his fingers. A sword lay beside him, its blade stained crimson.

Her gaze slowly traveled upward.

His face. She knew that face.

She had seen it in her father's study. On wanted posters. In the paintings the council had commissioned after his attacks.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Ambrose Veyne.

The Shadow King.

Arabella instinctively tightened her grip on the reins. For a moment, she didn't move. Then his dark eyes opened and they immediately found hers. There was something unnerving about his gaze. Even wounded and exhausted, there was an intensity in his eyes that made her feel as though he could see straight through her.

His expression hardened. "Are you just going to stand there all night?"

Arabella blinked. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that wasn't one of them. She swallowed, "You're..." Her voice caught.

Ambrose raised an eyebrow, "Yes?"

Arabella stared at him. "You're the Shadow King."

A faint, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I am."

The words sent a chill down her spine. Everything inside her screamed at her to turn around.

Run. Find the guards. Tell her father.

She could practically hear the stories in her head. The villages he'd destroyed. The soldiers he'd killed. The people who had disappeared after crossing his path. She should leave him, let him bleed to death. For every crime he had committed, he deserved whatever fate awaited him beneath that tree. And yet...Arabella's eyes drifted toward the hand pressed against his side. Blood continued to seep through his fingers.

"You're injured," she said.

Ambrose glanced down at himself as though he had somehow forgotten, "Very observant."

Arabella frowned. "You'll die if you don't stop the bleeding."

"I've been through worse."

She stared at him, "Like what?"

Ambrose looked back at her, "Like this conversation."

Arabella's eyebrows shot upward. For a moment, she simply stared. Then she folded her arms, "And yet you're still participating in it."

Silence. Ambrose's expression remained unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. It was quiet, short. Arabella's lips parted slightly. She hadn't expected that. She certainly hadn't expected to hear laughter from the man she'd been taught to fear her entire life.

She studied him carefully. In the dim moonlight she could faintly make out his features. A sharp jawline, deep set eyes, a scar running down the right side of his eye from the tip of his temple to his cheek. He was handsome.

Was this really the Shadow King?

Ambrose caught her staring, "What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I was not." She dismounted her horse and hurried over to him. Ambrose's eyes traveled over her features for a moment before returning to hers.

"You're either very brave..." he murmured, "...or very foolish."

Arabella lifted her chin, "I've been called both."

"I imagine you have." There was something almost teasing in his voice. Arabella wasn't sure whether that irritated her or amused her. Perhaps both.

She reached for the satchel hanging at her side. She had bandages, medicine, water...she could help him. But the moment she took a cautious step forward; Ambrose's hand moved straight toward his sword. Arabella stopped and her eyes dropped to his hand, then to the weapon. For several seconds they simply stared at one another.

"I..." Arabella began. Her voice was softer this time. "I am not here to hurt you."

Ambrose's eyes narrowed, "No? Most people who find me usually are."

There was no humor in his voice. Arabella studied him. Despite everything she'd heard about him, there was something in the way he said it that made her pause. He didn't sound dangerous. He sounded exhausted.

"I only have bandages and medicine," she said in an attempt to convince him. Ambrose glanced at her satchel, "I've seen people do impressive things with less."

Arabella sighed, "I cannot believe I'm standing here bickering with the Shadow King."

"And I can't believe the Princess of Rosengard is scolding me."

Arabella stiffened. Princess. He knew.

She suddenly became aware of how exposed she was. Her hood had fallen from her head sometime during her escape, leaving her face completely visible. Her heart sank, "You knew..."

Ambrose's smirk returned, "I've seen your portraits, Princess."

She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. Of course he had. She had spent her entire life being painted and presented as Rosengard's perfect princess. Apparently, even the Shadow King had seen her face.

"If you know who I am..." She hesitated. "Why haven't you taken me prisoner?"

Ambrose leaned his head back against the tree, "Would you come willingly?"

Arabella shook her head, "...No."

"Then that means I'd have to carry you," His eyes dropped briefly to his injured side, "I don't particularly feel like doing that at the moment."

Arabella stared at him; she tried to remain serious. She really did. But a tiny laugh escaped her, and she immediately covered her mouth. Ambrose's eyes narrowed, "So," He paused, "You've decided I'm amusing."

Arabella lowered her hand, "I didn't say that."

"You laughed."

"I couldn't help it."

"That's usually what people say when they find something amusing."

She rolled her eyes, "You are incredibly irritating."

"And yet you're still here."

Before she could answer, Ambrose suddenly winced. The amusement disappeared from his face. His hand immediately returned to his wound. Arabella's smile faded, she looked at the blood staining his fingers. He was losing too much. Whatever argument they'd been having suddenly felt unimportant.

Arabella lowered herself to her knees beside him. Now they were nearly at eye level, "May I?"

Ambrose looked down at her. His gaze lingered on her face, he seemed genuinely confused, "Why?"

Arabella frowned slightly, "Because you're hurt."

"No, why are you helping me? Have you forgotten who I am?"

She shook her head and looked directly into his eyes, "I don't care what your title is right now."

Her voice softened, "If I can help you, then I will."

Ambrose said nothing. Her words seemed to catch him off guard. He studied her carefully, as though searching for some hidden motive. But there wasn't one. There was only genuine concern-something that seemed foreign to him. Slowly, Ambrose moved his hand away from the wound. Arabella could see the distrust in his eyes, but he still allowed her to help.

She carefully opened her satchel. The forest around them seemed strangely quiet. Just the rustling of leaves overhead and the distant sound of small animals. Arabella gently cleaned the wound while Ambrose remained completely still. She could feel his eyes on her and she tried not to look up but immediately failed and their eyes met. For one brief moment, neither of them looked away. Then Arabella cleared her throat and returned her attention to the wound.

"There." She tied the final knot. Her fingers lingered for only a second before she pulled her hand away. Ambrose looked down at the bandage then back at her, "You've done this before?"

Arabella nodded, "My mother insisted I learn."

He glanced at her, "A princess should know how to save lives?"

Arabella offered him the water skin, "A ruler should know how precious those lives are. We must cherish them."

Ambrose took the water, but he didn't drink. He simply continued looking at her. Arabella couldn't understand why, but something about the moment felt strangely intimate. She had spent years hearing his name spoken with hatred. Yet here she was, sitting beneath a tree with him, beginning to wonder if perhaps there was more to the Shadow King than the stories had told her.

Ambrose finally looked away and he pushed himself to his feet. Arabella immediately reached out instinctively, "Careful."

"I'm fine." He spat.

"You were just bleeding to death."

"I've survived worse."

Arabella frowned, "You seem to say that often."

"And yet it remains true." He picked up his sword. Arabella watched him carefully, "You should return to the palace." he said.

"And you should rest."

His jaw tightened, "Don't worry about me, Princess."

Arabella stood, "I wasn't."

Ambrose looked at her and she held his gaze. Then the faintest hint of amusement returned to his expression, "Of course you weren't."

Before Arabella could respond, he turned away. He walked several steps before disappearing into the trees. Arabella remained where she was. She watched him until the shadows swallowed him completely. Only then did she realize she was still holding her breath.

She slowly exhaled. She had found the Shadow King. The most dangerous man in Rosengard. And instead of running from him, she had bandaged his wounds. Arabella looked toward the trees where he had disappeared. For the first time in years, she wondered if the stories of the Shadow King were true.