Author's POV....
Morning arrived quietly, draped in pale mist and cold air.
The forest camp stirred to life as tents were dismantled, horses saddled, armor adjusted. Steel clinked softly, leather straps tightened, cloaks settled over shoulders. The remnants of last night's bonfire still smoldered faintly, thin smoke curling upward as if reluctant to leave.
Everyone looked refreshed.
Ready.
But not relaxed.
Maelis stood at the center of it all, already mounted on his black horse. Sunlight filtered through the trees, catching in his long silvery hair as it flowed freely behind him. He wore a dark royal riding coat reinforced beneath with light armor, embroidered in gold along the collar and cuffs. A crimson sash crossed his chest, the Ravencourt insignia gleaming proudly against the muted fabric.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
Riven noticed it immediately.
The sixteen-year-old prince adjusted his own armor, dark leather fitted to his tall frame, a sword resting easily at his side. His movements were precise, disciplined, far sharper than they had been years ago. His dark hair was tied back neatly, his sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.
Something felt different.
Maelis was not leading them toward the forest.
He was riding straight past it.
Riven frowned slightly but said nothing.
As always.
Maelis raised his hand.
The entire group stilled instantly.
"We are changing the route," Maelis said calmly. His voice carried authority without force. "We go directly to the village."
A murmur rippled through the princes and princesses behind him, confusion flickering across their faces.
But no one questioned him.
"Move out," Maelis ordered.
His horse surged forward, hooves pounding against the earth. The others followed without hesitation, banners snapping in the wind as the group accelerated into a swift, controlled charge.
They rode hard.
The village came into view faster than expected, nestled between low hills and scattered trees. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. Wooden houses lined narrow dirt paths. Too quiet.
Maelis lifted his hand again.
This time, sharply.
The group split instantly, each pair veering off exactly as trained. Guards poured into the village from multiple directions, weapons drawn.
Bandits barely had time to react.
One was struck down by the flat of a blade before he could reach for his weapon. Another was tackled to the ground by a spear haft pressing into his throat. Shouts erupted. Panic spread.
"Civilians first!" Maelis commanded.
Villagers were ushered out, guided quickly and safely away as guards formed a protective perimeter.
Riven moved like a shadow.
His sword flashed as he disarmed a bandit with one clean strike, spinning to block another attack aimed at a nearby guard. His movements were fluid, ruthless when needed, controlled always.
More bandits emerged.
And then more.
From the forest.
They had returned, exactly as Maelis predicted.
"Be ready," Maelis said sharply. "You take the rest. I will deal with their leader."
Before anyone could protest, he spurred his horse forward, leaping off mid-motion and landing smoothly on the ground.
Riven turned instantly.
"Maelis!" he shouted.
But Maelis was already moving.
The bandit leader stepped forward from the smoke, towering and broad-shouldered, his armor crude but thick. A massive sword rested in his grip, nicked and stained with old blood. His grin was sharp and ugly.
"So you are the crown prince," the leader sneered.
Maelis drew his sword.
Steel rang against steel as the first clash erupted.
The leader was strong.
Too strong.
His strikes were brutal, heavy, meant to crush rather than cut. Maelis dodged narrowly, boots skidding against dirt as the blade missed his head by inches.
Maelis countered swiftly, slashing low, aiming for joints, weak points. His fighting style was calculated, tactical. He used terrain, momentum, angles.
But the leader pressed relentlessly.
A heavy swing caught Maelis's arm.
Fabric tore.
Blood bloomed instantly, dripping down his sleeve.
Maelis hissed but did not stop.
Riven saw it.
Something snapped.
His vision narrowed, red flooding his senses.
He cut down the last bandit in front of him with vicious precision, barely registering the impact. His grip tightened around his sword as he turned, body already moving toward Maelis.
But another bandit lunged.
And another.
Riven cut them down without mercy, but the delay was enough.
Maelis was cornered.
The leader raised his sword high, preparing a devastating strike.
Maelis braced himself.
Then someone grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
The blade crashed into empty air.
Maelis stumbled, shocked.
He looked up.
A stranger stood beside him.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered, but lean. Dark ash-brown hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. Sharp eyes the color of storm clouds. He wore dark combat attire reinforced with silver detailing, a long coat flowing behind him like a shadow.
He smiled faintly.
"Not bad," the man said calmly. "You have improved a lot, Maelis."
Maelis stared.
"Now let us end this together," the man added, voice soft but deadly.
"Wait," Maelis breathed. "Who are you?"
The stranger dodged the leader's next strike with effortless grace, pivoting smoothly and driving his sword into the ground to block another swing.
"Come on," he said lightly. "Do not tell me you forgot your friend. I am disappointed, Maelis."
He kicked the leader hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backward.
Maelis's eyes widened.
"Theron Ashveil," he muttered.
Guards surged forward immediately, surrounding and restraining the leader.
The fight ended just like that.
Too quickly.
Theron turned back to Maelis, studying him closely.
Then, without hesitation, he reached out and wiped the blood from Maelis's cheek with his thumb.
"You are bleeding," Theron said quietly.
Maelis barely had time to react before Theron tore a strip from his own handkerchief and wrapped it firmly around Maelis's injured arm, stopping the blood with practiced efficiency.
"You should be more careful," Theron added.
Unseen by them, Riven stood frozen.
Blood covered his armor.
His sword dripped crimson.
His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached.
His gaze burned into the scene before him.
Theron.
Too close. Too gentle.
Caleb glanced at Lucien.
Lucien swallowed.
They both knew.
Riven was burning alive with jealousy.
And this was only the beginning.