Chapter 234 TEIGEN LVIII
Trust—she gave it so freely, though the world crumbled around them. He squeezed her hand once more, then stepped into the cold water, leading her downstream, careful to place her feet where his had already broken the surface.
Behind them, Rae’s voice rang sharp against the soldiers’ advance.
“You’ll not find what you seek in those woods, my lord!” he called. “They’re old and thick, wild enough to swallow even the Empire’s might. Better you turn back to your polished halls.”
Sawyer’s snarl cut through the silence. “Enough of your prattle, old goat! Men—search! Tear the forest to its roots if you must!”
The pounding of boots grew louder as squads broke from the village and stormed into the tree line. Hounds barked, their handlers shouting as they were loosed. Trumpets wailed again, summoning order to the chaos.
Ryker cursed under his breath, urging Elara faster along the stream. “Dogs. Damn them—they’ll scent us.”
Her breath hitched, green eyes darting to the slope above. “Ryker, what if—"
“No what-ifs.” He cut her off, his voice firm, almost harsh. “We keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t think.”
The water bit at their ankles, soaking their boots, but Ryker pressed on. His gaze swept the trees, every shadow a threat. Memories surged of drills with the Duke’s men—how they flushed rebels from caves, how they cornered prey in ravines. He knew the soldiers’ tactics. He knew how relentless they could be.
And now he was the hunted.
At last, the stream bent sharply, vanishing into a rocky cleft. Ryker guided Elara out of the water and into a thicket, dropping to his knees. “Rest a moment,” he whispered. “Just breathe.”
Elara clung to his sleeve, her chest rising and falling fast. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ryker lifted a finger to her lips. From beyond the trees, voices carried—faint but growing clearer.
Soldiers. “Fan out! She can’t have gone far!”
“She’s the Duke’s blood, she’ll stand out among these rats.”
Ryker’s jaw tightened. He shifted to peek through the brush. A patrol moved down the streambed they had just left, armored boots splashing in the water. One soldier bent low, pointing at disturbed reeds. The hounds barked, straining against their leashes.
Elara’s hand trembled against his arm. He turned to her, lowering his voice to the barest breath. “Elara, listen. If they find us—”
“They won’t,” she whispered fiercely, though her voice shook. “You won’t let them.”
The faith in her eyes struck him like a blade and shield at once. He swallowed hard, nodded once, then pressed her hand against his chest where his heart thundered. “Stay close. Always close.”
They crept along the edge of the thicket, circling uphill. Ryker moved with a hunter’s precision, guiding her step by step, even as the shouts below grew louder.
Meanwhile, back in the village square, Rae held his ground. Soldiers shoved past, trampling gardens and splintering doors, but he did not yield. Sawyer’s horse loomed over him, the noble’s sneer sharp as he reined closer.
“You waste my time, cripple. Speak truth, and I might spare your tongue.”
Rae leaned heavy on his cane, his voice steady. “I’ve lived in this valley near fifteen years, my lord. I’ve seen every wanderer and peddler who’s passed through. If you think a Duke’s daughter would choose muck and toil over silk and silver, then you know her less than I do.”
The villagers stirred at his boldness. Sawyer’s eyes flashed, anger sparking like a whip. “Careful, old man. Treason drips from your tongue.”
Rae’s smile was thin. “Then call me traitor. But you’ll find no girl here.”
Sawyer’s face hardened. He raised a hand, ready to strike, when a sergeant rode up fast. “My lord! Tracks by the stream. Two sets of feet, fresh. They head east.”
Sawyer’s expression turned from fury to cold satisfaction. He lowered his hand. “At last.” He turned to the crowd, voice booming. “Your silence damns you! If I find you’ve aided them, I’ll burn this village to ash.”
Gasps rippled. Mothers clutched children tighter; men lowered their eyes in shame. Rae’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. His gamble had bought minutes, nothing more.
Sawyer spurred his horse toward the woods, shouting to his men. “After them! Bring me the girl alive. Kill the dog that guards her.”
Trumpets blared, soldiers surged, and the hunt swept into the forest.
Ryker and Elara scrambled up the slope, hearts hammering as horns echoed behind them. The forest seemed to close in, each tree a sentinel, each root a snare. At the ridge’s crest, they paused, chests heaving. Below, torches flickered between the trees, search parties fanning wide, dogs baying.
Elara clutched his arm, her voice barely a breath. “Ryker… how long can we run?”
He looked at her, her cloak askew, fiery hair loose in tangles, green eyes wide with fear yet burning with resolve. The sight nearly undid him. He pressed his forehead briefly to hers, closing his eyes against the world.
“As long as it takes,” he whispered. “As long as I breathe."
And with that vow, he pulled her into the shadow of the trees, slipping deeper into the wild as the Empire closed its jaws around the village they had called home.
BACK AT THE DUKEDOM
The high doors of the great hall swung wide with a heavy groan, and the sound of armored boots echoed as a breathless messenger stumbled inside. The Duke Cortez sat upon the dais at the far end, a heavy goblet in his hand, though the wine within remained untouched. His dark eyes lifted as the man bowed low, sweat dripping from his brow.
“My lord… news from the valley,” the messenger panted. “Lord Sawyer’s men… they have pursued your daughter into the forests beyond the village of Kareth.”
A ripple of unease stirred the gathered courtiers. The Duke’s grip on the goblet tightened, his knuckles whitening. “Into the forests?” His voice was low, almost disbelieving. “She was there?”
The messenger nodded quickly. “Yes, my lord. The villagers claim ignorance, but her trail was found. She was not alone. The bodyguard—the traitor, travels with her.”
A hush fell. Cortez rose slowly from his seat, his robes falling about him like shadow. For a moment, his composure cracked; he pressed a hand to his brow, his shoulders bowed under a weight unseen.
“My own blood,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She runs from me as though I were her gaoler. Do my duties weigh so cruelly upon her heart?”
The words shocked those who heard them; seldom did the Duke speak so openly, so vulnerably. A courtier shifted uneasily, as if to step forward, but before anyone could answer, another presence emerged from the shadows by the throne.
Fowler.