The ship anchored near dawn. Mist rolled across the coastline like a living thing, swallowing the cliffs and trees until only the cries of gulls broke the silence.
Evelyn stood at the rail, clutching her satchel. The land before them was wild and unshaped — no palaces, no banners, no echoes of war. Just sea, stone, and forest.
Edward came to her side, his voice soft. "Welcome to the Western Isles. They call it the Forgotten Shore."
Evelyn exhaled slowly. "It feels… untouched."
"Untouched," he repeated, "and unclaimed."
They disembarked with little more than their cloaks, a few coins, and the documents that had once condemned them both. The sailors wished them luck and vanished into the fog, leaving them alone at the edge of a vast, unfamiliar world.
Evelyn looked around. "What now?"
Edward smiled faintly. "Now we learn what it means to live without a crown."
By midday, they found a small village tucked between the hills — fishermen, traders, children running barefoot through the mud. No one recognized them here.
A kindly widow named Maris offered them food and shelter in exchange for labor. Edward spent his days mending roofs and helping the men at the docks; Evelyn tended the gardens and helped with letters for travelers who couldn't write.
For the first time in years, they laughed without fear. They shared small meals, quiet evenings, and the kind of peace that didn't feel borrowed.
But even peace, Evelyn learned, carried a shadow.
One evening, as the sun melted into the horizon, a traveler arrived — a messenger wrapped in foreign colors.
He stopped at the tavern, asking in low tones for news of a couple matching their description.
Maris overheard. Her eyes found Evelyn's across the room.
Without a word, she rose and barred the door.
When Edward entered moments later, she whispered, "They're looking for you. From the mainland."
Evelyn froze. "Already?"
Edward's expression hardened. "We knew this day would come."
That night, they fled the village. The stars above were clear and cold, their path illuminated by the pale glow of the moon.
As they reached the ridge overlooking the ocean, Evelyn stopped and turned. The village lights flickered faintly in the distance.
"I thought exile would be freedom," she said quietly. "But it's just another kind of waiting."
Edward took her hand. "Then we'll stop waiting. We'll find out who sent him — and why."
She looked at him, fear and hope mixing in her eyes. "You think it's the council?"
He nodded. "Or someone worse."
They stood in silence, the wind whipping around them. Below, the tide crashed against the cliffs — relentless, like the past refusing to drown.
Edward whispered, "Then it's time we stopped running from our story… and started rewriting it."
Evelyn met his gaze. "Together?"
He smiled. "Always."