**Chapter 9 – The Forest Remembers**
The next morning, the palace gates opened to a procession of armored horses and gleaming spears. Trumpets did not sound, though this was a royal outing. There was no need for fanfare. This was not for the people. This was for tradition—and control.
It was the prince who rode at the front, not the king. And behind him, cloaked in violet and fur-lined leather, sat Amaris.
She rode a gray mare that trembled with every command she gave. Her own fingers were no steadier.
Her body ached from the tension of the previous day. Her dreams had offered no peace—only fragments of memory. Her mother's voice again. Her old home burning behind her closed eyes.
And now, this.
The forest loomed ahead like a living mouth.
"You're holding the reins too tight," the prince said without looking at her. "You're not strangling the beast. Just guiding it."
She adjusted slightly, muttering under her breath, "No one ever taught me to ride."
"Then you'll learn now."
"You say that as if it's a promise."
He glanced her way then. "It is."
The prince's tone was even, but there was something colder in it than the morning air. Something he hadn't yet said aloud.
They entered the Northwood in silence.
The deeper they rode, the darker the forest became. Trees grew taller here—older than cities, some said. Their bark was black with age, and their leaves, even in spring, seemed dull. Mist curled at the base of each trunk, and the underbrush crackled with unseen life.
Amaris could hear every movement: the click of horse hooves on root-wrapped soil, the distant baying of hounds, the flutter of unseen wings above.
The guards fanned out, flanking the party in formation.
The prince raised his hand and the group slowed. A deer had been spotted ahead—tall, horned, fast.
He reached for his bow with trained precision, drew back, and released. The arrow struck true, landing between the stag's ribs. It cried out once before stumbling into the moss and collapsing.
The horn blew behind them. The hunt had begun.
He dismounted without a word. His guards followed to retrieve the body. Amaris remained on her horse, watching from above as the life faded from the animal's eyes. It made her stomach twist.
"It feels like killing something holy," she murmured.
No one answered.
The breeze picked up suddenly. Cold. Wrong. The trees creaked above her, and the scent of iron filled the air.
She looked around. The others had gone slightly ahead. She was—separated.
"Prince?" she called.
No response.
She turned her mare in a tight circle, searching. Where had he gone? Where were the guards? The dogs?
Everything was too quiet.
A gust of wind cut through the clearing like a warning. Then—
A crunch.
A footstep.
Behind her.
She spun in her saddle, heart leaping into her throat.
No prince. No soldiers.
Just shadow.
The sound came again. Heavy. Deliberate. Something moving between the trees.
"Prince?" she called louder this time, voice catching.
Still no reply.
The horse beneath her began to tremble, its ears flicking backward. It sensed what she did.
They weren't alone.
A figure emerged from the trees.
Not a beast. A man.
Dark hood. No crest. Covered in leather armor dulled by dirt and old blood. He moved with the slowness of a predator. His eyes locked on hers.
She froze. Her scream caught in her chest.
He took one step forward, hand reaching for his belt—
Then another figure burst from the brush behind him.
A flash of steel.
A single slash.
Blood sprayed in a wide arc.
The man dropped without a sound.
The prince stood over the body, sword slick with crimson. His chest rose and fell, not from exhaustion, but from rage.
His gaze snapped to her.
"I told you not to wander."
"I didn't—" she gasped. "You left—"
"You were never alone." His voice was low, but sharp. "I've been watching you the entire time."
Amaris could barely breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears.
"That man—he was going to—" she couldn't finish the sentence. Her throat was tight. Her hands shook.
"Yes," the prince said grimly. "He was."
More figures emerged in the trees. Guards. They surrounded the area, securing it quickly. One of them inspected the body. Another searched the perimeter.
The prince never took his eyes off her.
"You were marked," he said. "This wasn't chance."
She stared at him, barely hearing the words. "Why me?"
"Because of who you are. Or maybe who you're supposed to become."
She shook her head. "I'm no one."
He stepped forward, slower now. "Someone disagrees."
The wind howled through the trees again, carrying with it the heavy scent of damp leaves and something fouler beneath it—blood, death, magic.
"You need to take this seriously," he continued. "This is the second attempt in three days. You think that's a coincidence?"
"Who would want to kill me?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and touched her face.
His hand was still bloodstained.
But his touch was gentle.
"You're shaking."
"I didn't think I would die this soon," she whispered.
"You won't," he said. "Not while I breathe."
That silenced her.
He turned to the guard captain nearby. "Double the perimeter. Send a rider ahead. I want the woods swept. And I want the corpse stripped. I need to know who paid him."
Then he looked back to her.
"We can't go back yet."
Amaris blinked. "Why?"
"Because the danger isn't behind us."
He paused, eyes scanning the shadows.
"It's around us."
Then, lower: "And I need to know who's watching… and what they're waiting for."