187

187
Lester pov

I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in pull, in force and in the sound of a name whispered into the dark and answered by everything that should be dead and isn’t.

And tonight, that name is his.

“Arvin,” I say, low and quiet like a curse I can’t unlearn.

The forest responds in kind, it doesn’t speak back with words - it moves, branches creak where there is no wind, shadows stretch longer than they should. My men say it’s superstition, that the forest is old and heavy with strange things, but I know better.

He came this way.

The scout kneels by a bent tree, hand hovering just over the bark. “There was blood here,” he says and looks up at me. “Not much, barely a smear, but someone hit the bark hard enough to tear skin.”

My throat tightens, the words almost die in my throat but I manage to force them out still. “Was it his?”

The scout looks away, as if he doesn’t want to look at me when he answers. “Could be, no way to know for sure. But it’s recent, fresh enough to say we’re close.”

Another one calls from ahead, holding something up like an offering to gods we stopped believing in, but today, the offering is for me not the gods. “This was under the leaves.”

I look up at what he’s holding. It’s a scarf, torn but familiar. Even from afar I can see that it’s mine.

I step forward and take it from him before I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells like pine and smoke and just a hint of something I can’t name but know deep in my bones. Arvin held this, wore it and maybe even cried into it. And now it’s here, discarded, forgotten, waiting to be found by someone who still cares.

The men are silent as I clutch the fabric in my hand and breathe in like it might bring me closer to him. It doesn’t, not really, but it does something else - it breaks something deep inside me, or maybe it bends my will to its rule like mine doesn’t matter anymore.

“Keep moving,” I tell them, voice sharper than I intend it to be. “He’s ahead of us, I know it.”

They nod, but one lingers. “My Prince,” he says, voice hesitant. “A banner came through, it’s from the rebellion.” I turn slowly and pin him down with a sharp glare. He swallows loudly but still continues, “they sent word. A warning about the court.”

I laugh, the sound is loud, too harsh and bitter. Even the trees echo it back in pieces, mocking and splintering.

“They think I care about thrones and about seats carved by men who never bled for them?” I shake my head and let the scarf drop to the dirt. “Tell them this - if they want war, I’ll feed them nightmares.”

“My Prince,” the scout tries again, stepping closer, more cautious now. “It wasn’t just a warning, it was a message, a formal one. They say Lady Orna has taken the castle and she claims she holds your court under her own banner now.”

My jaw tightens. “And?” I snap at him. Although he is nothing but the messenger, in this situation he becomes a casualty of my anger.

He hesitates and looks around, as if seeking a way out of this mess. “They claim the bastard Prince is with them and that he has returned to claim the throne.”

A long silence follows, my other men don’t dare speak as I step forward until I’m toe to toe with the scout. He doesn’t flinch, not at first, but I see the tremble start in his fingers. “You think I care about the throne?” I whisper, forcing every word that leaves me. “You think they can bait me with lies, stolen bloodlines and weak attempts at legitimacy?”

He doesn’t answer and averts his gaze down to his feet instead - smart man.

“Let her sit on my throne if she wants. Let her drape her puppet in silks and call him Prince. Fuck it, let them all celebrate. But mark this, soldier,” I grab his collar and yank him close enough that he can see the madness in my eyes. “If she touches what’s mine, if they so much as breathe in the direction of the boy who carries my scent, I will bring the forest down on their heads. I will bleed this land dry. I will drag their bones through ash and make the gods weep for ever allowing them to exist.”

I shove him back, the scout stumbles over his feet but doesn’t fall. Another man approaches right after, a younger one. He’s the quiet one of the bunch, always watching, never speaking up.

“My Prince,” he starts softly, his words measured, eyes taking in the surroundings cautiously. “We think he’s only a few hours ahead. If we push through the night, we might catch up.”

My breath hitches and my head snaps in his direction. “Did you see him?”

“No,” he mutters and shakes his head before he takes another step closer to me, “but the signs are there. We found footprints, broken branches and blood. But we have a reason to think he’s followed not only by us alone.”

I close my eyes and focus on anything but the view of Arvin’s blood that my mind keeps conjuring up. I even completely ignore the last remark, needing to stay as calm as I possibly can. “Find him,” I order through gritted teeth.

No one moves so I turn slowly, eyes wild, voice broken at the edges. “I said find him.”

The scouts scatter while I remain unmoving. Instead, I kneel beside the bark where his blood stained the wood and press my fingers to the rough grooves and then to my lips to taste iron. “Arvin,” I whisper again, softer this time. “What have they done to you?”

The forest doesn’t answer, but I feel it. I feel him and something has changed about him so much, I barely recognize the man I love more than I ever loved myself.

I know I will burn every shadow between us until he is in my arms again. But until then, I won’t stop, I won’t bother until the world falls and he’s back where he belongs. Even if the devil hates me after everything I do, I will stop at nothing for Arvin.

“Do you still trust that scent?” A voice whispers behind me. It’s Eron, one of few who has followed me through wars and worse.

“More than I trust any crown,” I answer without looking at him.

Eron squats beside me, eyes scanning the forest. “It’s madness, you know. The rebellion’s pressing in, Orna’s playing her games and that fake Prince is gaining followers. We should-”

“We should keep moving,” I interrupt. “He’s not far.”

“You think he ran? On his own?”

I shake my head. “No, Arvin isn’t a coward, someone pushed him. Or scared him, or lied to him. He wouldn’t leave me willingly.”

Eron sighs. “What if he did? What if it was his choice?”

I meet his eyes, and mine burn. “Then I will still find him and I will still love him. But first, I will drag the truth out of every traitor until my hands go numb.”

He nods. “Then let’s keep going.”

I stand again, boots grinding into roots, eyes on the blackened path ahead. Arvin is close and this time, I won’t lose him.