The morning broke with a pale light that stretched across the inn's wooden beams, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke and bread. Elaine moved briskly through the corridors, waking Colden with a sharp tug at the curtains. "Up," she said, her voice clipped, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. Colden rose, heavy with thoughts, his silence louder than words.
Downstairs, Isabelle stood in her scarlet dress, her fur cloak draped with deliberate elegance. She spoke sharply to her sons, her tone commanding, but their nods were hollow, their defiance clear. Her lips tightened, anger flashing before she smoothed it away with practiced calm. Soon, the group was gathered, and the carriage rattled forward, wheels striking against the stone path.
Their destination was Dawson — a town whispered about in hushed tones, infamous for its armory and for the thieves who prowled its roads in broad daylight. Dawson was no place for the careless, yet the group pressed on, unaware of what awaited them.
The carriage rolled steadily, dust rising in faint spirals that caught the sun. Colden sat rigid, his gaze fixed ahead, though his thoughts wandered elsewhere. Marco's face haunted him — golden hair, laughter, warmth. Each memory pressed against him like a blade, reminding him of what was lost and what must be found.
Isabelle's eyes lingered on him, sharp and calculating. She leaned closer, her voice low but cutting.
"Colden, you waste yourself chasing shadows. Marco is gone. A king does not chase after lovers — he rules."
Colden's jaw tightened, his voice firm though quiet.
"You mistake loyalty for weakness. Marco is not a shadow. He is mine to protect."
Isabelle's smile was thin, venomous.
"Protect? Or cling? You will lose everything if you keep chasing what cannot be returned."
Colden turned to her, his eyes burning with defiance.
"I would rather lose a crown than abandon him. That is something you will never understand."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rattling of wheels. Isabelle leaned back, her smirk fading into cold disdain, while Colden's gaze returned to the road, his resolve sharpened.
The horses grew restless as they approached Dawson's entry line. Carmine's eyes narrowed, scanning the roadside. Villagers watched too closely, shadows shifted where none should have been. Her hand brushed the hilt of her blade. "Stay alert," she whispered.
The carriage slowed. The air trembled.
And then — the silence shattered.
Figures emerged from the daylight, cloaked in dust and steel, their eyes gleaming with malice. Dawson's roads had betrayed them; daylight was no shield here.
The ambush had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 4rd FEBRUARY 2026