The horses had been running full tilt through the forest when, without warning, they skidded to a halt. The sudden stop sent the riders lurching forward, hands gripping reins tightly, boots digging into the stirrups to maintain balance. A deep frown formed on all four men's faces as they urged their steeds onward, but the animals refused, ears twitching, hooves pawing uneasily at the damp earth.
Leonard's midnight eyes swept the forest. Something was off. This section of the woods was heavier, darker, suffocating almost. Spiderwebs hung like veils across low branches, and a pungent, fetid stench clung to the air. His men, seasoned as they were, pressed handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths, but even that did little to mask the rot and decay. Leonard followed suit, covering his own face, but his attention was elsewhere.
A light rustle came from above, leaves quivering unnaturally. His grip on his sword tightened. Then, subtle vibrations skittered across the forest floor. He glanced down. Dark green, serpent-like vines slithered through the mist, moving with purpose, soundless and fluid.
The horses sensed it first. Their ears twitched, neighs cutting through the fog as panic set in. Before the men could react, the vines struck with lethal precision, wrapping around arms and legs like living ropes. The riders were yanked from their saddles, slammed against trees with bone-jarring force. Limbs pinned, weapons unreachable.
The horses bolted, hooves thudding across the undergrowth, scattering into the fog. Leonard's frown deepened as he struggled against the green coils, but they were relentless, seemingly guided by intelligence. His gaze swept the forest, eyes narrowing. These vines were controlled. Someone was here.
A hoarse, echoing cackle cut through the mist. Leonard's lips curved into a faint smile. Recognition flickered in his eyes.
"Prince Leonard," the voice hissed, low and serpentine, crawling along the edges of the mind like ice. Even through the fog, it carried the weight of centuries of hate.
Leonard's smirk widened. "Hello, Theashee. How have you been?" His voice was casual, almost conversational, as though they were merely passing pleasantries and not trapped in the heart of a forest rife with death and danger.
A sharp edge of pure loathing crept into the witch's voice. "How have I been doing, you asked?" Her tone dripped venom. Long fingers, tipped with cracked black nails, curled into fists as she advanced. The corner of her lips twitched in anger.
Did he just… ask her how she was doing after slaughtering her entire clan? After trapping her here, severing any connection to the outside world, leaving her with no allies, no power? Her footfalls were deliberate, measured. The vines coiled tighter around Leonard's neck, constricting, forcing him to the brink of suffocation.
"You massacred my family. Left me alone, trapped in this cursed forest—and you dare to ask how I've been?" Her voice rose, echoing off the ancient oaks. "I have waited… I have waited a long time for this moment. What I would do to you, you cannot even imagine!"
Leonard's crimson eyes flickered beneath his calm exterior, his frown deepening. Behind the mist, he had already vanished from the witch's grasp. She froze mid-step, her gaze darting around the foggy clearing, brows furrowing in confusion and anger.
Where was he?
The crown prince's gift—his secret, carefully hidden from the rest of the royal family—had allowed him to teleport silently, undetectably. A blink and a breath later, he stood behind a massive tree, eyes locked on Theashee. She was formidable, cunning, and deadly, but to get answers, he needed her alive, at least temporarily.
He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing the small green vial he had prepared. Unlike the ones he had used on the previous witches, this one wouldn't kill her. It would strip her of her magic for a few minutes, rendering her human, fragile, vulnerable—a perfect target for his methods. The forest itself would bear witness to her torment, the fog and gloom serving as an unforgiving theater for what was about to unfold.
Leonard's smirk returned, a predator ready to strike. He could compel her to talk, yes—but where was the fun in that? Where was the satisfaction? The joy of bending a powerful adversary, forcing her to confront her helplessness while extracting the truth… that was a pleasure worth savoring.