The Yellow Forest was not a place meant for mortals, yet as Princess Eleanor and Ronita Tamra wandered beneath its golden canopy, it felt like stepping into a forgotten dream. The air shimmered with living light. Trees glowed with amber veins; butterflies with wings of crystal drifted through the dusk, their songs weaving melodies that seemed half lullaby, half lament.
Eleanor laughed as a cluster of glowing petals swirled around her like tiny lanterns. "Do you see them, Ronita? Singing butterflies! My grandmother told me they'd vanished before she was born."
Ronita smiled despite her unease. "Vanished or hidden. The world hides many wonders from those who fear to look."
A dark horse—sleek and black as spilled ink—emerged from the mist, its eyes molten gold. It bowed its head before the princess, then dissolved into shadow, leaving behind only the scent of rain and ash.
Eleanor's laughter echoed through the trees, bright and unburdened for the first time in years. "Perhaps this forest isn't cursed after all."
But Ronita's instincts whispered otherwise. The air hummed with power—beautiful, but wrong. "My lady, the Yellow Forest shows kindness before it claims what it wants. We should turn back before night falls."
Eleanor brushed off the warning with a smile. "Afraid of a few enchanted trees and creatures?"
"Afraid of what hides within them," Ronita murmured.
They walked deeper, the path winding between roots like coiled serpents. Overhead, the light began to fade from gold to amber, then to a deep, pulsing crimson. Somewhere above, something hissed softly—too faint to notice, too near to ignore.
Eleanor brushed at her arm suddenly, wincing. "Strange… something stung me."
Ronita turned. "A thorn?"
"Perhaps," the princess said, forcing a laugh. "It's nothing."
But the laughter didn't reach her eyes.
As the sun sank behind the trees, Frizington Palace descended into chaos. Servants raced through corridors, guards scoured the gates, and messengers rode out in every direction. The princess was missing.
At the war table, King Eldritch's hands trembled over a map stained with ink and fear. "They left before dusk. No guards, no horses. The forest is vast. They could be anywhere."
Queen Tianaa's voice was brittle with rage. "Find them before the King of Blueshire learns of this. If Lucian believes we deceived him, he'll see it as war."
Prince Alaric Vauclair, who had been preparing to depart, remained silent until now. "Allow me, Your Majesty. I can track them."
Eldritch frowned. "You? Why would you—"
"My senses are sharper than any mortal's," Alaric said evenly. "If the maid or the princess left any trace, I will find it."
Tianaa's gaze narrowed. "And what will you use to track them? The princess's garments are sacred—no man may touch them until her wedding night."
Alaric's expression did not falter. "Then I will use the maid's. The scent of her magic lingers wherever she walks."
There was a pause—long, uneasy. Finally, Commander Tony Tamra stepped forward, pale and grim. "She is my daughter. If her scent can lead you to her, then so be it."
He returned moments later with a folded scrap of white linen, wordless as he handed it over.
When Alaric took it, the fabric felt impossibly light, yet it carried warmth—faint traces of lavender and rain. He brought it close, closing his eyes, and the hall seemed to still around him. The scent was innocent, mortal, and yet it stirred something within him that he did not understand.
A flicker of hunger, quickly buried beneath control.
When he opened his eyes, the silver in them burned brighter. "I have their trail," he said.
And without another word, he was gone—into the storm, the scent of lavender guiding him toward the forbidden woods.
Back in the Yellow Forest, the world had changed. The golden glow had turned dim and feverish, like candlelight in a dying room. Eleanor's laughter had faded hours ago. Now, her skin looked pale under the forest's light, and her lips had taken on a faint blue hue.
Ronita crouched beside her, alarm rising. "My lady, you're cold."
"I'm fine," Eleanor whispered, though her voice trembled. "Just… tired."
Ronita brushed back the princess's sleeve—and froze. On her wrist bloomed a mark no larger than a coin, but black as ink and pulsing faintly. The veins around it shimmered with an eerie blue light.
"By the gods…" Ronita whispered. "You've been bitten."
Eleanor blinked sluggishly. "It's nothing."
"No," Ronita said, her throat tight. "This is no ordinary bite. This is the mark of the Death Spider. Its venom kills the body slowly—freezing the blood before it stops the heart."
Panic clawed through her chest. She reached for her amulet, whispering a spell of summoning, but the forest hissed in response. The golden leaves shimmered and fell like shards of glass. Her magic sparked—then recoiled, snapping back through her hand in a burst of light.
Ronita cried out as the energy seared her palm. The spell collapsed into smoke.
"The forest is turning my magic against me," she gasped.
Eleanor leaned weakly against the glowing tree, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Then perhaps it's time to rest. You've done enough."
Ronita knelt beside her, tears forming. "Don't say that. I'll find a way to help you. I swear it."
Eleanor's fingers brushed hers, faint and cold. "Do you remember when we were children? You said you'd follow me anywhere—no matter where I wandered."
"I meant it."
"Then here we are," Eleanor murmured, looking up at the glowing branches. "Somewhere no one else has ever been."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The forest hummed softly around them, strange and sorrowful. In the distance, the singing butterflies began to weep instead of sing.
Ronita tried again to summon a beacon, but her magic flickered weakly. Her strength was draining, her vision blurring. Still, she forced a laugh through her tears. "Well… if this is the end, at least it's beautiful."
Eleanor laughed faintly, the sound breaking on her breath. "Promise me something, Ronita. If I don't make it… don't let them give me to that monster."
Ronita's lips trembled. "Don't speak like that."
"Promise me."
"I promise," she whispered.
The princess leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. The glowing light around them dimmed to amber, then to gold. Their laughter—weak but defiant—mingled with the forest's sigh.
And high above, unseen through the branches, a shadow moved—swift and silent, following the faintest scent of lavender through the storm.
The hunt had begun.