The forest swallowed the last echoes of the soldiers' retreat, leaving only Elena's uneven breathing and the unnervingly steady figure standing in front of her—the one who had called himself Prince Soren.
He watched her without speaking. Without blinking. Without even shifting his weight.
It wasn't stillness. It was control—the kind predators had when they knew nothing nearby could threaten them.
"Come," he said at last. Quiet, but absolute. "More will come."
Elena didn't move.
Every instinct screamed no. Every rational thought countered with you won't survive alone.
Outstanding.
Those were her options:
1. Follow the forest warlord who fights like a nightmare, or
2. Let the discount knights finish what they started.
Soren didn't repeat himself. He simply held out a gloved hand—steady, patient, as though he already knew she would fall into step.
She didn't take it.
But when he turned and walked into the trees, she followed.
Okay, Elena, she told herself. Crisis plan:Step 1 — Don't die.Step 2 — Keep not dying.Step 3 — Stop noticing how broad his shoulders are.
His strides were long, but he slowed them just enough that she could keep up. Barely noticeable. Intentional.
He saw her notice.
The corner of his mouth twitched—something like amusement—before his expression locked back into its usual unreadable lines.
Branches leaned aside for him as though the forest recognized him.
They slapped her directly in the face.
Thorns caught her sleeves; roots shifted under her shoes. She stumbled more than once, breath lifting into her throat, but every time she faltered, Soren moved closer.
He didn't touch her. He didn't offer help.
He simply existed within reach—exactly where he would need to be if she fell.
Terrific. A deadly, polite murder-mountain. Love that for her.
"What were they going to do to me?" she asked, once her breathing steadied.
"Depends who reached you first," he said without turning.
"Very reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
She narrowed her eyes at his back. His voice shifted slightly—still cool, but less razor-edged.
"You crossed into disputed ground," he said. "Strangers are… valuable."
"Valuable how?" Elena pressed.
He stopped walking.
She nearly ran into him.
He turned just enough for moonlight to catch the scar along his cheekbone, the cut of his jaw, the dark focus in his eyes.
"That," he said quietly, "is exactly the question."
Her stomach tightened. "Because you think I'm dangerous?"
Soren stepped closer. Not aggressive. Intentional.
"You appeared out of nothing," he murmured. "Your clothing, your markings—none of it belongs to this realm."
"My markings?" she repeated.
His gaze flicked to her conference badge. Right. That marking.
He lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek with the same precision he used in a fight—efficient, steady, and far too intimate for her heart rate, which jumped into mild tachycardia.
Fantastic. A cardiac event in the making.
"You will not speak of your world to anyone but me," he said.
Not a suggestion. Not a threat. An order.
Possessive—with something buried beneath it. Concern? Calculation? She couldn't tell.
She stepped back for space. "Why should I trust you?"
His jaw tightened—like the question had hit something he kept locked down.
"You shouldn't," he said simply. "But every other man in this forest would kill you or claim you."
His gaze swept over her, slow and decisive. Heat fired under her skin.
"I," he added, "am the safer choice."
"That's the safe option?"
"For now."
The honesty made her pulse stutter harder than the danger did.
He turned and started walking again, cloak brushing lightly against her arm as he passed. "We leave the forest. Caer Varyn is just beyond the ridge."
Elena stared at his back—the armor, the dark fall of his hair, the quiet, lethal confidence in his stride.
A new world. A prince with too many secrets. A path she had no chance of walking alone.
"Sure," she muttered. "Follow the murder-mountain. What could go wrong?"
She exhaled and followed.
Not because she trusted him. Because he was the only anchor in a reality that had split open beneath her feet.
The trees thinned. Moonlight spilled across stone. And beyond the ridge, rising out of mist and darkness—a fortress crowned the horizon.
Massive. Silent. Watching.
Soren slowed when she reached his side.
"Welcome," he said quietly, "to Caer Varyn."
No warmth in the words.
Only inevitability.