I woke to the soft golden light of dawn spilling through the fabric of the tent. Stretching my arms, I pushed myself up, blinking the sleep from my eyes. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint traces of smoldering embers from last night's fires.
Stepping outside, I found the camp already alive with movement. Soldiers bustled about, securing supplies, tending to their horses, and preparing to depart. The rhythmic clanking of armor mixed with the low murmur of conversation, creating a steady hum of activity.
My gaze swept over the camp until it landed on Lord Draven. He stood by his horse, eyes turned toward the sky, his expression unreadable. There was something almost tranquil about him in that moment, a stark contrast to the warrior I had seen before.
"Good morning, Lady Majesty."
I turned to find Starlion behind me, his tone oddly polite. My eyes narrowed slightly. Why was he being so kind all of a sudden?
"Good morning, Starlion," I replied cautiously.
"We are about to leave for our kingdom," he informed me. "Preparations are nearly complete."
"Oh, I see." I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
"Do you know how to ride, Majesty?"
The question came from Lord Draven himself. His voice was calm, effortlessly commanding as he approached.
I turned to him, my hands tightening at my sides. "No, Lord Draven, I don't."
Thanks to my mother, there were many things I never learned. Riding was just one of them.
I wondered why he never asked about my relationship with Lady Nyxelene. Was he waiting for me to say it myself?
"Then you'll ride with me," Lord Draven said simply before walking away.
I stood there for a moment, trying to process his words.
"You know, Lady Majesty, you're the first person he's ever treated this nicely," Starlion remarked with a knowing smirk.
I blinked. "Is that so?"
Starlion nodded. "Lord Draven isn't the type to concern himself with others. He's cold, distant, and honestly, most people are terrified of him. Yet, here he is, offering to let you ride with him. That's something."
I wasn't sure what to say to that. Lord Draven wasn't exactly warm, but compared to the way he treated others, I supposed he had been… different with me. I frowned, pushing the thought aside.
"It's a long journey to Persia. Let's eat first," Starlion said, leading me toward a fire where soldiers were gathered, roasting rabbit meat over the flames.
The scent of the meat filled the air, rich and smoky, making my stomach rumble. Some soldiers sat on makeshift stools, sharpening their swords while talking in hushed tones. Others stood in small groups, laughing quietly. Despite their rough exteriors, they looked relaxed—probably because the war had ended, and they were finally returning home.
One of the soldiers handed me a piece of rabbit on a wooden skewer. I took a bite, the meat tender and flavorful, though a little salty.
As I ate, Starlion's words lingered in my mind. Why was Lord Draven treating me differently?
After finishing the meal, I wiped my hands and looked toward the horses. The moment of rest was over—it was time to depart.
He helped me onto his horse, his hands warm and unexpectedly soft. For a warrior who wielded a sword, his touch was surprisingly gentle.
The moment he took the reins, we surged forward. The wind lashed against my face, carrying the scent of earth and pine. His hair streamed behind him like flowing silk, and for a brief moment, I caught its scent—a fresh, almost intoxicating fragrance, like a flower plucked from the heart of a hidden garden.
Starlion rode beside us, easily matching our pace, while the rest of the soldiers followed in a disciplined formation. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the earth filled the air, a steady, thunderous beat that echoed through the vast landscape.
I tightened my arms around his torso, pressing close as we raced across the open terrain. I wasn't used to riding, and the speed at which we moved made my heart pound. I thought I saw the faintest curve of his lips—a hint of amusement, perhaps? But it was gone before I could be sure.
We rode through towering mountains that cast long, dark shadows over our path, their jagged peaks disappearing into the sky. The air grew crisp as we climbed higher, the scent of damp stone and moss thick in the air. Then, we descended into a rolling valley, where golden fields stretched endlessly, swaying under the gentle caress of the wind.
Deeper into the journey, we entered a dense woodland. The trees stood tall, their ancient branches forming a canopy that filtered the sunlight into soft, dappled patterns on the ground. The scent of damp leaves and rich soil filled my lungs, and the sound of rustling foliage surrounded us like whispers of unseen watchers. Birds scattered at our approach, their wings flapping wildly as they took flight.
Through it all, he rode effortlessly, his posture steady, his grip firm yet controlled. I couldn't tell if he was simply accustomed to this pace or if he was doing it on purpose—riding like the wind, as if daring me to let go.
But I held on tighter.
After a few hours of riding, he gave Starlion a signal to slow down. Starlion yelled the command, and we began to ease our pace. Up ahead, a river flowed through the dense woods, its surface shimmering under the afternoon sun. The sound of rushing water filled the air, mingling with the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds.
Lord Draven dismounted first, then turned to me. Without a word, he reached up and effortlessly helped me down . His hands were steady, but his touch was fleeting, as if he had barely touched me at all. Even so, I felt the warmth of his palm linger against my waist before he stepped back.
Starlion barked out orders for the soldiers to let the horses drink. Some men moved toward the river, loosening saddles and refilling their flasks, while others took the opportunity to stretch and rest.
"How are you feeling, Majesty?" Draven's smooth voice pulled my attention back to him.
"A little dizzy," I admitted, pressing a hand against my forehead.
Draven studied me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, without a word, he removed his cloak and draped it over my shoulders. The unexpected warmth of the fabric, carrying his scent—earthy and crisp, like steel after rain—made my breath hitch.
"Better?" he asked, his voice steady but softer than before.
I blinked up at him, unsure how to respond to the unexpected kindness. Instead, I nodded.
Still, something weighed on my mind. I had been expecting him to ask about Runevale, about my connection to Lady Nyxelene. But he hadn't said a word.
"Lord Draven?" I called, watching as he scanned the surroundings. His expression was unreadable, but the way his eyes moved made me uneasy.
"Yes, Majesty?"
I hesitated. "Why haven't you asked me abou—"
Pain exploded through my back before I could finish. A sharp, searing agony that stole the breath from my lungs. My body jerked forward, and for a split second, I couldn't process what had happened.
Then I saw the tip of an arrow protruding from my shoulder.
Gasps rang out. Metal scraped against metal as soldiers unsheathed their swords. Someone shouted orders, but everything around me blurred into distant noise.
My legs buckled.
Draven caught me before I hit the ground, his arms steady, secure. His face was unreadable, but his grip tightened as his gaze flickered to the direction the arrow had come from.
"Majesty," he said, voice lower now, controlled—yet dangerous.
His warmth was the last thing I felt before my vision turned dark.