The city of Ravelle was cloaked in twilight, her towers painted in amber and violet hues as the sun dipped below the western hills. Inside the stables beneath the palace grounds, Marcus tightened the final strap on a black stallion with a white streak down its nose—a horse as restless as its rider.
Erin arrived a moment later, her cloak drawn up, a satchel slung over one shoulder. Her hair was braided tight, her face unreadable in the shadows.
"I hope you're not planning to ride off without me," she said dryly.
Marcus gave her a half-smile. "Not a chance. You'd probably track me down and punch me again."
"I'd do worse."
He mounted the stallion and offered her his hand.
She raised a brow. "You brought one horse?"
"It's less suspicious. Two cloaked figures on separate steeds draws more eyes."
"Fine. But if you fall off mid-gallop, I'm not catching you."
He grinned. "You're catching feelings though."
She rolled her eyes and swung up behind him.
They rode out through the eastern gate, past the sleeping guards bribed with enough silver to forget their faces. The road ahead wound through darkening woods, lit only by moonlight and the glimmer of distant fireflies.
For a time, neither of them spoke.
Then: "How far is Elyria?" she asked.
"Three days, if we ride hard. Two if we take the merchant path through Hollowmoor Valley."
Erin shivered. "That place is haunted."
"Everything's haunted if you ask the right people."
They fell into silence again.
Eventually, she leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now. "I've never left the city before. Not like this."
"You afraid?"
"No," she said honestly. "Just… aware. That every step we take leads us further from who we were yesterday."
He nodded slowly. "That's how I felt when my father died."
She paused. "What was he like?"
Marcus hesitated. "Hard. Cold. Sharp. Like a blade forged for war, never peace. He loved this kingdom, but I'm not sure he loved anyone in it."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not," he said flatly. "But I do wonder… if he knew something about the curse. He used to say things that didn't make sense. Warnings I thought were riddles."
"Like what?"
Marcus's voice dropped to a whisper. "'The heir must bleed before he rules. Or all will bleed instead.'"
Erin inhaled sharply. "That's in the Elyrian texts."
"I thought so. But he claimed it came from a dream."
They rode on in silence for a time, the wind whispering through the trees like spirits in mourning.
At midnight, they stopped to rest beneath a crooked oak. Marcus lit a small fire while Erin unrolled her maps and notes. The warmth pushed back the creeping chill, casting flickering shadows on the forest floor.
She sat cross-legged, scribbling notes by firelight. "Elyria's ruins are near the old Sable Lake. There's a temple there—one of the last places unmarked on Ravelle maps."
Marcus leaned back on one elbow, watching her. "You always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Get so focused you forget where you are?"
"I don't forget," she murmured. "I just don't want to be where I am."
He looked at her for a long moment, then offered a wrapped biscuit from his pouch. "Eat. Royal secret: prophecy tastes better with food."
She accepted it, smirking faintly. "Is this your attempt at humor?"
"Yes. Is it working?"
"A little."
They ate in comfortable quiet, the fire popping softly.
Then, Erin asked, "Do you ever wonder who you'd be if you weren't born royal?"
"All the time."
"And?"
"I think I'd still find trouble," Marcus said with a soft laugh. "And you?"
"I'd be free."
He looked at her, eyes serious now. "You still can be."
She shook her head. "Not if this curse is connected to me. I don't get to run. I have to see it through."
They stared at the fire for a while, their shoulders nearly touching.
Eventually, Erin rested her head against a tree trunk. "Wake me if something tries to kill us."
"Of course," Marcus said, settling closer to the fire. "But only if it's serious."
She closed her eyes, lips curving. "Define serious."
"If it has claws."
"Or teeth."
"Or knows your name," he added.
Erin's smile faded slightly, but she didn't open her eyes. "Then I guess everything's serious now."
The night wrapped around them like a velvet cloak. And for the first time in days, they slept not as prince and rebel—but simply as two souls, drifting between fate and choice, on a road lined with ghosts and fire.