6. Chapter 6
T rekking through the forest was no small feat.
As the land began to rise, the hills gave way to jagged slopes.
The wind sharpened, its icy teeth biting at Ren's skin as though it meant to flay it from her bones. Each gust carried the acrid sting of ash, the taste of soot settling on her tongue. The air grew thinner. Ren didn’t need anyone to tell her where they were.
One look at the dark, smoke-wreathed peak looming above was enough.
They were climbing the outskirts of Mount Solfira.
Leaves that had crunched under their feet now turned into rock. The four of them moved in a strained silence. The dark-haired woman, Elira, led the way. She hadn’t spoken much since the attack other than sharing her name.
Sela trudged just behind Elira, her footsteps light and delicate.
Ren brought up the rear, wary of the fae prince walking a few steps ahead.
Sela had said her family’s farm was across this pass.
Ren had overheard one of the fae soldiers sneer about how the human girl had stolen something of value.
Valuable enough to earn a death sentence.
Then again, the fae rarely needed a reason to imprison a human.
Each time a fae lord visited a human settlement, the air in every village turned taut with fear.
Their arrival was never simple, never harmless.
They’d ride in, claiming to collect taxes for the crown, but they rarely left with just coins in their purses.
The wagons that rolled out behind them were heavier, laden with humans bound in chains.
Sometimes it was the ones who couldn’t pay their dues, sometimes those accused of petty crimes.
They were taken deep into the woods, where even sunlight feared to linger, straight into ogre territory. From there, the prisoners were split into two lines. The lucky ones were marched to the work camps. The others were sent to execution.
Ren had always wondered why the fae thought that it was a good idea doing this in ogre territory.
Maybe it was convenient. Maybe cruelty. But more likely, it was strategy.
Ogres were territorial to the bone, content so long as their borders weren’t crossed, savage only when provoked.
They didn’t care for land or power, just the sanctity of their domain.
The fae knew it. Sending humans there meant no pursuit, no witnesses.
The ogres would never stray beyond their borders, and they rarely touched fae royalty.
A perfect disposal ground.
The memory of Ren’s own sentencing felt like it happened just yesterday, even though it happened just days ago.
The woman in front of Ren broke before they even called her name.
When the verdict came for the woman in front of Ren announcing work camp , she sobbed into her bound hands, whispering a prayer of thanks as though the gods themselves had intervened.
Ren readied herself as the guards dragged the woman aside.
She didn’t know what the punishment was for punching a fae, but she doubted it was execution.
Saints, it wasn’t like she’d killed the bastard.
“And you? What's your name?” the thin, wiry fae called to Ren. He met her gaze over his ledger and a quill, poised to write her name when spoken.
Beside him, the lumbering fae commander watched her with open disgust, like she’d already decided Ren’s worth and her sentence in the same glance. Ren didn’t look away. She met the fae commander’s stare head-on, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
Ren had only sneered. "Why? Planning to write me a love letter?"
"We keep records of our prisoners."
The female commander beside him scoffed. “She was charged for assaulting a fae noble, and mark me, she’ll be a repeat offender. ”
The male clicked his tongue and began to write. “Working camps, then.”
Ren’s shoulders slackened. Work camps. Hard labor, pain, hunger, but not death. Not yet. The smallest breath of relief slipped past her lips before the female’s voice cut through it like a blade.
“No.” The woman’s teeth showed in a slow, cruel smile when Ren tilted her head. “To the block she goes.”
Ren thought she’d misheard. “What?” The word tore from her throat, half disbelief, half fury. Chains bit into her skin as she jerked against them, the metal clinking in protest.
She hadn’t killed anyone. Saints, she’d barely bloodied the bastard’s nose. And yet this fae was smiling, as if sending her to die was nothing more than a game of amusement.
A hush had fallen. The male hesitated, brow lifting. "Even by our laws, that is a punishment far beyond her crime," he murmured hesitantly to the commander.
“She’ll do it again,” the commander insisted, letting her gaze pin Ren like a specimen. “Take her to the block. It'll save us time and do the realm a favor. Now get her name for us so we can log the next prisoner.”
As Ren opened her mouth to fire off a retort, hands had seized her.
Before she could wrench free, a shoulder drove into her ribs and she staggered, knees buckling.
A hard palm cracked against her jaw; the world tilted into a burst of light and sound.
When she tried to push up, a booted toe shoved her back down, pain flaring along the side of her face.
Fingers dug into her hair; another blow sent a hot sting through her ribs and a thin star of dizziness flared at the edge of her vision.
Two fae soldiers set upon her, boots and fists driving her to the ground until she could barely breathe. Every blow stole another scrap of air, another word, until all she could do was gasp and glare up at them through the haze. Each hit was a promise she’d been warned of: obey, or be erased .
One of the fae crouched until his face was level with hers. His hands seized her cheeks and tilted her head until her eyes were forced open to meet his. Up close, his smile didn’t reach his eyes; it was all unwavering patience and promise of cruelty.
“Tell me your name,” he said. “Speak it. Or, you die. ”
The threat was as clean as a blade. Ren tasted copper and the aftershock of pain. For a second the world narrowed to his breath.
Finally, with a sound half swallowed and half spat, Ren forced her name through clenched teeth.
He studied her, thumb hooked under her chin, as if weighing the sound of the syllable.
Then, he let go. The fae commander met Ren’s gaze.
Ren spat toward her boots, still thrashing against the hands that held her down.
The woman didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.
“Next,” she called coolly, already turning away, as if Ren were nothing more than another name to scratch from a ledger.
The guards dragged Ren upright, but the burn in her chest wasn’t from the blows anymore; it was from the way that single word hollowed her out.
Back in the present, Prince Talen moved ahead of Ren with maddening steadiness, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow stitched in silk. His footsteps pressed into the earth with purpose, each one as measured as his voice had been when he made that damn proposition.
Of course the fae would hide their heir in an unmarked prisoner’s cart. Not a gilded carriage, not a royal escort decked in banners—just iron bars and wood, the perfect disguise . It was a smart move.
No one would suspect a prince among the condemned.
Her stomach turned, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. All those soldiers she’d thought were overkill, the endless patrols shadowing their journey. It wasn’t for keeping an eye on the prisoners.
It was because the prince rode among them.
And of course it was the damn prince.
Because why not make this disaster more complicated than it already was?
Now that the fae prince was in their company, she couldn’t just vanish into the trees at the first opportunity. No, now she had to watch him carefully because she had no idea what his true motive was.
And the stories didn’t help.
She’d heard them whispered in taverns across half the realm, always shifting depending on the drink or the teller.
That he’d been banished by his own parents, practically stripped of his birthright for a forbidden love affair with a nobleman’s daughter or a foreign prince.
Others swore he’d dueled a general of Vaelaran’s armies and refused to yield, even when his blade ran red.
And then there was the most ridiculous tale of them all – the goat debacle.
That the prince had been caught sneaking into a vineyard late at night, not for wine, but to liberate a herd of prized goats.
The goats escaped, ran throughout the markets, and even rampaged through the royal gardens.
They devoured the queen’s roses and trampled a visiting ambassador’s ceremonial cloak.
By morning, the prince was gone from court, and the story had become legend.
Out of all the outlandish rumors, this one had to be the most absurd. As if the heir to House Vaelaran would waste his night breaking into vineyards to set goats free. Entire herds of them, no less. She pictured him, flinging open a pen of goats while bleating chaos poured out like a tide.
No. Impossible. The image was so ridiculous she almost laughed the first time she heard it.
Then again , she thought grimly, this was Vaelaran court politics. Stranger things had happened.
She had no way of knowing which tale, if any, was true.
But one thing was clear: now, she was shackled to him.
Her jaw clenched as she followed the steady line of his back through the darkened pass. She’d thought her greatest problem was surviving the butcher’s block. Now she was stuck keeping pace with a certain male fae who might be every bit as dangerous as the monsters waiting in the trees.
And, gods help her.
She was fucked.
They pressed on, the forest’s silence broken only by the crunch of boots over roots and stones.
Each step sent a dull throb through Ren’s heels, sharp reminders of the endless marching since dawn.
Just as her patience frayed, the faint rush of water reached her ears, growing louder until they broke through the trees onto the bank of a river .
Ren dropped to her knees at once, plunging her hands into the cold current.
The icy bite stole her breath, but she didn’t care.
She scrubbed at the dried stains until the last of Corrin’s blood slipped away downstream.
For a moment, she just stared at the ripples, letting them carry what she couldn’t.
When she glanced up, she realized she wasn’t the only one.
Sela crouched a few paces downriver, sleeves rolled to her elbows as she splashed water over her thin arms to wash the dirt and blood away. Beside Ren, Elira dipped her forearms in, the current dragging trails of crimson from her skin before vanishing into the flow.
Elira's dark eyes lifted, steady and searching. “You all right?” she asked, her voice low but carrying over the river’s murmur.
Ren blinked, throat dry. “Yeah,” she muttered
Elira tilted her head, like she didn’t quite believe her, but didn’t push.
Ren turned her focus back to the water. She watched the ripples warp her reflection, the current pulling her face into something unrecognizable. Her thoughts tangled with the stream.
There was no way in hell she was going with Talen to the capital of House Vaelaran, known as Pyraelia.
She had never visited Pyraelia, but she’d heard enough from visitors to know of its luxury.
She knew about its inhabitants’ love for the arts and fine foods like wine and cheeses that Ren couldn’t pronounce the names of.
Masquerade balls were famous in the palace’s halls, and the royal family was known to be not only strikingly beautiful but also a force to be reckoned with when crossed.
Ren wasn’t built for court games.
But the girl with the shaking hands and wide, haunted eyes, trudging quietly ahead of her…
Ren would make damn sure Sela got home safe.
After rinsing the blood and grime away, they resumed their climb.
Mount Solfira loomed larger with every step, its slopes tilting steeper, forcing their bodies to lean forward as though bowing to the stone itself. Loose gravel skittered beneath their boots, whispering down the incline with each misplaced footfall.
The air thinned the higher they went, turning every breath into a shallow, burning drag that left Ren’s lungs raw.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, sweat dampening the collar of her tunic despite the cool bite of the wind.
Soon, their pace faltered – steps dragging, their steps grew slower from the exertion.
Prince Talen turned to glance over his shoulder at Ren when she paused by a tree to catch her breath.
Ren met his gaze with a flat stare. “Something on my face?”
“Say the word if you need us to ease the pace.”
Ren waved him off. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”
They had been climbing for only a few minutes when Ren felt the earth shifting treacherously beneath her boots. What had been solid, blackened ground moments ago now felt slick and unstable.
Her foot skidded, nearly sending her to her knees. Heat pulsed up through the soles of her boots, a steady thrum that made her stomach twist with unease. Before she could warn the others, the ground let out a low, guttural growl.
A violent hiss split the air.
Ren barely had time to scream before the world exploded in fire and ash.