Chapter 26 Frozen
Ryven
The taste of loss was sharp and bitter, like ash on the tongue. Yes, the enforcers foolish enough to stray into our path had fallen—but my rebel brothers who had crossed into the Cursed Forest never returned.
Ansel—another commander, stubborn to the bone—claimed they had seen a girl. A lone figure in a dark cloak, slipping between the trees as though the forest itself had parted for her.
“Leave her be, Ansel,” I had warned. “There is a reason it is called the Cursed Forest. Make no mistake—you will never return. And if you do, you won’t be the man you were.”
He scoffed, dark robes whispering as he shifted his stance, fingers flexing as though already shaping a spell. “If she can enter, I can enter. We’ll take the high ground—get a better vantage point.”
“Ansel—”
“Ryven,” he snapped, turning back to me, jaw set. “I cannot defy Aldo’s orders. He commanded me to find a girl wandering Ashwood Forest. She may be that girl.”
Before I could stop him, he and his men were already moving—boots splashing through the stream, bodies swallowed one by one by the trees.
Our side was light.
Theirs was dark.
And when the shadows closed around them, when the forest consumed their silhouettes whole, something in my gut twisted hard with dread.
I knew this was Magnus’s doing. I felt it in my bones. But I could not move against Aldo—not openly. He was our leader. Corrupted now, bloated with coin and indulgence, yes—but once, he had been a hero of the rebellion. The man who had ignited our cause.
As my unit and I waited at the forest’s edge, the air grew tense. The silence seemed to stretch.
Then came the screams.
Loud. Brief. Torn from throats in pure terror.
They were followed by howls—low, echoing, layered atop one another until the sound vibrated in my chest.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
“I’m going in,” Jehan, my second-in-command, said, already stepping forward, moving toward the stream.
I shot my arm out, blocking him. “I will not risk any of you.”
“They need our help, Ryven,” Helga growled. She towered over most men—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, her teeth stained yellow and dark from too much ale. “We can’t leave them to die.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped, the words tearing out of me. Fear and frustration tangled tight in my chest. “But if we enter, we die with them.”
“No,” Jehan said, already pushing past me, stepping into the stream. “I will not let my brothers—”
He froze mid-step.
The water went utterly still around his boots.
On the far bank, they waited.
Wolves.
Dozens of them, standing shoulder to shoulder like a living wall of fur and muscle. Their eyes burned—gold and silver, feral—glowing against the forest’s darkness. Low growls rippled through the line, teeth bared, warning clear.
Jehan took one careful step back.
Then another.
Until he was beside us again, face pale, hands trembling.
“I’m afraid Ansel won’t be coming back,” Helga said quietly.
“He may have already teleported home,” I said, though even to my own ears the words sounded hollow.
The sun dipped lower, bleeding red through the trees. Dusk crept in fast.
“It’s time we head back," I called out. "The forest is not kind at night.”
A few voices rose in protest, but most of my men understood. One by one, they vanished in flashes of magic, teleporting back to rebel headquarters from the forest’s edge.
I lingered.
Every instinct screamed at me to cross the stream—to damn the warnings and face whatever waited beyond. But as Ashwood darkened, the wolves advanced. Slow. Purposeful.
I could not enter, to do so would be to offer myself as fresh meat.
I raised my palm and whispered, “Manifestus,” just to confirm what I already suspected.
We swore a blood pact as commanders—a binding that linked us through any distance or threat, allowing me to witness his present.
Silvery wisps curled above my hand, weaving into fragile threads—
Then sputtered and died.
The bond had severed.
Ansel was gone.
There was only one thing left to do.
Goodbye, old friend.
I teleported back to rebel headquarters, buried deep within Ashwood’s heart, where towering trees devoured the sun and shadows stretched long like grasping fingers. My hands trembled from exhaustion. My heart pounded with a volatile mix of fury and grief.
We fought for equality. For the people. For a life beyond the Empire’s cruelty.
Every strike. Every spell. Every calculated risk had been taken for freedom—for justice—for the right to live without fear.
And yet, as always, his shadow followed me.
The one man I hated above all others.
Magnus Ironside.
My father.
A tyrant cloaked in power. A man whose poison had killed the former Emperor, whose ambition would topple the world if left unchecked.
And I—
I was his bastard son.
I decided to clean up before facing Aldo. My fists were clenched as I walked, chest burning, soul roaring with defiance even as grief for Ansel dragged me down.
Our home—small, humble, ours—came into view, and all I wanted was Rowenna. To hold her. To feel her alive in my arms.
Instead—
Magnus sat waiting for me at our tiny dining table.
Rowenna sat across from him, trembling. Tears streaked her face. Her dress was torn, fear carved into every line of her body.
Cold fury flooded my veins.
I forced it down.
Control. I needed control.
Magnus looked up, smiling slowly. “I told you you would pay for your insolence,” he sneered. “But I am willing to forgive… if you tell me about the girl.”
I did not hesitate.
“Let Rowenna leave,” I said with forced restraint, “and I will tell you everything.”
Magnus’s eyes flicked to her. “You may leave,” he said, but before she could rise, he licked his lips in a movement so vile it made my stomach turn. “Mmm... your taste... it lingers on my tongue. Oh, so sweet. I see now why Ryven fancies you.”
I lunged, fury igniting my veins. “You bastard!”
Magnus raised a finger. That simple action stopped me in mid-motion. I felt the spell freeze my muscles, my rage trapped inside my chest.
He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Such a pity,” he said softly, “that a boy with so much talent wastes it on mediocrity. You should return to the palace. Continue your training. I can make you powerful—truly powerful.”
“When pigs fly,” I spat the words, summoning every ounce of resistance.
Magnus’s lips curved into a smirk. “I can remedy that. Now, enough games. Tell me about the girl.”
“She’s on her way back to the Dust District," I spat. "I gave her a crude map to guide her. If my calculations are correct, she’ll reach the district in four or five days.”
I left out the part about Ansel—about the girl seen entering the Cursed Forest, about the men who followed her and never returned. Maybe it hadn’t been her. Maybe she was already holed up in one of the huts marked on the map I’d given her.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Magnus said.
He rose from his chair and stepped behind Rowenna.
My pulse roared in my ears, but I couldn't move.
His hand slid into the neckline of her dress, fingers closing around her breast. Rowenna shoved against the chair, a broken whimper tearing from her throat as she tried to pull away.
He flicked his hand almost lazily, and magic seized the air, binding her in an instant.
She stiffened, motionless.
I stood paralyzed, breath locked in my throat, made to watch as Magnus drifted nearer to her ear—his smile languid, and utterly pleased.
The hem of Rowenna’s skirt lifted as though guided by unseen fingers, exposing the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. Then her legs parted—slowly, helplessly—nudged open by the same invisible will.
Tears slipped from Rowenna’s eyes and fell onto her chest, glistening trails over flushed skin.
The veins in my neck bulged, my face burning red with fury. I wanted to tear him apart—to feel his bones break beneath my hands.
But I couldn’t.
I was bound by a paterlock. No matter how violently I resisted, my body refused to obey. I could not physically harm my father—not even a finger out of place.
Defiance was the only way I had ever hurt him. The only reason I had joined the rebellion at all.
And now he was here. In my home. Working with Aldo.
“Now, Ryven,” Magnus said, voice smooth as oil, “I have a mission for you.” His palm never left Rowenna’s breast; he kneaded it deliberately in front of me, thumb circling the peak. “Accept, and I leave the two of you to rot in peace in this miserable hut you call home. Refuse, and I will visit often. Each time will be… less comfortable than this.”
He slid his hand from her neckline, trailed it down her trembling side, then crouched beside her knees. His fingers glided up the inside of her thigh before settling at her center. He stroked along her slit—once, twice—then parted her with lazy precision.
A broken moan tore from Rowenna’s throat.
“So wet already, Ryven,” Magnus murmured, gray eyes glittering with cruel delight. “Listen to her. She’s enjoying it.” One finger sank inside her, slow and deep. “Show him how beautifully you come for me.”
“Stop!” The word ripped out of me. “I’ll do it!”
Magnus chuckled, low and pleased, but his hand never slowed. “You haven’t even heard the terms yet.” Rowenna’s head dropped back, lips parted on shallow, frantic breaths as he curled his finger, then added another. The slick, obscene sound of him working her filled the room. Her hips jerked involuntarily; her whole body quaked.
“That’s it, darling. Let him see.”
Rowenna’s body went stiff.
Then her scream shattered the air as she came—sharp, helpless, and erotic.
The sound hit me like a fist.
Her voice fractured—high, then low.
Her thighs quaked around Magnus’s hand.
Her back arched off the chair.
Tears still wet on her cheeks, but her mouth stayed open in pleasure she couldn’t hide.
Magnus watched her with cold eyes. A small, pleased smile curved his lips. “Good girl,” he said, soft like poison.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. The sight of her unraveling under his touch sent a dark, shameful heat straight to my groin.
With a smug smile on his face, Magnus withdrew his fingers, wiped them carelessly along her inner thigh, and stood. “Find me the girl with red hair and green eyes, Ryven. The one they call Sera Bale.”
Magnus released me with a flick of his hand. I staggered forward a step before catching myself as he turned toward the door, blue robes whispering across the wooden floor.
“If Aldo brings me a girl matching that description, your task is complete,” he said calmly. “Or if she reaches Dust intact and is handed straight to me, your obligation ends. Do not attempt to deceive me. I have eyes in Dust. They will summon me the moment the girl appears.”
“Why?” My voice cracked like dry wood under strain. “Why is some Dust rat worth all this?”
He paused in the doorway and glanced back, a slow, knowing smile curving his mouth.
“Because she will bring about the end of the world,” he said softly, “and with it, I will become Emperor.”
The words lingered between us—heavy, merciless, irrevocable.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the night.
I stood motionless, listening to Rowenna’s ragged sobs, feeling the unwanted hardness still straining against my trousers, my stomach churning with humiliation and rage, helplessness thick on my tongue.
The world trembled on the edge of ruin, and I—chained, raging, impotent—was left to witness it all unfold.
I moved to her then, pulling Rowenna close against my chest. “He’ll pay for this,” I murmured, fierce and certain. “I swear it—I’ll make sure of it.”