Chapter 19 #2
Mercenary knights, now nothing but brittle skeletons in rusted armor. Some still clutched weapons in their bony fingers—swords crusted with rust, bows snapped and tangled among the undergrowth.
They had come for her. For Cedric.
They had come believing themselves the hunters.
And now, they were the warning.
Gwenna stepped past them, unbothered, the same way she had every time since the first incursion. There was no guilt. Not anymore. Only the cold understanding that had settled in her bones these past few months.
If she hadn’t killed them, they would have taken her. Would have killed Cedric and carried his head back as a trophy.
She had simply corrected the mistake of their arrogance.
Their rusting armor, their rotting bones, their useless swords still clutched in skeletal hands—they were a message now. A silent promise to anyone else who thought they could come for them.
Gwenna did not look back. Let the dead rot where they fell.
The living had far bigger problems.
By the time the village came into view, the sun had burned away most of the fog, casting warm light over the cluster of thatched roofs nestled in the valley.
The rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed from the far side of the square, accompanied by the occasional burst of laughter from the tavern, where early risers had already settled in with their tankards.
Gwenna took a calming breath, forcing herself into the role she had crafted over years of careful deception. A trader. A nobody. Just another face passing through.
She entered the village with the easy stride of someone who belonged, nodding to the occasional merchant she recognized. Her ears remained sharp, sifting through the buzz of conversation for anything of use.
At first, it was all the usual prattle—weather and crop yields, the neighbor’s no-good son sneaking out at night, the latest engagement between two families whose grandmothers had feuded for years.
As Gwenna arranged her wares in the market square, she paid little attention to the chatter around her—until something made her stomach lurch.
“…heard it straight from my cousin in the capital,” a merchant gossiped nearby, his voice low but urgent. “King Darius is offering a fortune for anyone who brings him the lost princess.”
Gwenna froze, her fingers tightening around a wooden carving she had just handed to a customer.
“The princess?” the other scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t she kidnapped years ago? Probably long dead by now.”
The older woman across from Gwenna clicked her tongue. “Terrible business,” she muttered, accepting the wrapped fox carving without noticing the way Gwenna’s hands had stiffened. “You’d think the king would have given up by now.”
But the first man shook his head. “No, no. Word is she’s alive. The king’s desperate to get her back. The reward…” He let out a low whistle. “Enough to set a man up for life.”
For half a second, the world tilted.
Gwenna forced herself to move, to keep her hands steady as she tied the twine on the package. She nodded at whatever meaningless words the woman was saying, forcing a polite smile. She couldn’t afford to falter.
A reward.
For her.
Why now?
She exhaled through her nose. This isn’t the time to panic. She needed more information—how much did Darius know? How much had Finn told him? Had Cedric’s secret been exposed, or was this just about her?
A hundred thoughts tangled in her mind, but only one thing was clear.
She had to get ahead of this.
As the day wore on, she kept her ears open for any scraps of useful information. The rumor of the king’s reward was spreading like wildfire, excitement crackling through the air with every whispered conversation.
“I heard she might be in this very region,” a young man was telling his friends, his voice alight with the giddy thrill that came from thinking himself at the heart of something important. “Can you imagine? We could walk past a princess every day and not even know it!”
You are right now, idiot. But then he held something up—a sheet of paper, edges curled from handling.
Gwenna shifted closer, careful not to look too interested. The inked lines were crude, the details rough—but there was no mistaking it. A woodcut portrait of her face, printed for all the world to see.
The artist had clearly worked from an old royal painting, back when she’d been forced to sit still for hours while some court fool tried to capture her likeness. The carving hadn’t been kind. The nose was wrong, the eyes too large—but the shape of her face, the set of her jaw? Unmistakable.
This is bad.
She edged backward, heart pounding as though she had already been spotted.
Her fingers itched to tear the poster from the boy’s hands and stomp it to tatters beneath her heel.
Instead, she ducked her head, turned, and quickened her pace.
Calm. Stay calm. You’re just another trader, just another face in the crowd.
She needed to get back to Cedric. She needed to warn him.
But as she turned, she collided with something solid—someone solid. Gwenna nearly lost her balance, breath hitching as soft hands caught her arms. Too close. Too close.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” a breathy voice exclaimed.
Gwenna looked up into the round, weathered face of the innkeeper’s wife. Her gut clenched.
The woman peered at her, kindness laced with curiosity. “No harm done, dear?”
Gwenna forced a smile, stepping back, but the woman’s grip on her arms remained firm.
“Are you all right?” the innkeeper’s wife asked, eyes narrowing. “You look pale as a ghost.”
Gwenna swallowed, shaking her head. “I’m fine, truly. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”
The woman frowned. “You know... now that I get a proper look at you, you do seem familiar. Have we met before?”
A bolt of panic lanced through Gwenna. She forced a breathless little laugh, the kind meant to brush things off, to make people stop looking. “Oh, maybe. I come to the village now and then, but I don’t live here. Probably just one of those familiar faces.”
The innkeeper’s wife didn’t look convinced.
“No, I know I’ve seen you before,” she mused, her gaze sharpening. Then, her attention drifted toward the young men still gawking at the wanted poster.
Gwenna’s heart slammed against her ribs. No, no, no, you are not about to put this together right in front of me.
She needed to end this. Now.
“I’m sorry,” she said, layering her voice with feigned embarrassment. “But I really must be going. My husband will wonder where I am.”
Before the woman could respond, Gwenna twisted free, slipping into the crowd. Her heart thundered as she forced herself not to run. Running drew attention. Running made people chase.
She was nearly at the edge of the village when another problem presented itself. She hadn’t eaten.
Gwenna could push through on sheer willpower, sure, but collapsing from hunger halfway back to the outpost was not a risk she was willing to take.
The market was too exposed now. Too bright. Too many people who might glance between her and that damned woodcut and start putting things together. But the tavern...
A slow, cunning smile curled at her lips. The tavern is always dim.
She spun on her heel and made for the squat wooden building.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale, roasting meat, and unwashed laborers taking their midday meal. Gwenna found a seat in a shadowed corner, ordering a bread bowl of beef stew. She kept her head down, ears open, letting the flow of conversation wash over her.
And then…
“...heard there’s trouble in the capital,” a gruff voice muttered nearby. “Some knight locked up for treason, if you can believe it.”
Gwenna stilled. She nodded thanks as the server dropped off her meal, gripping the spoon so hard it bit into her fingers.
“Treason?” another voice asked. “What’d he do?”
“Don’t rightly know,” the first man replied. “But word is, it’s got something to do with the princess. You know, the one there’s a reward for now.”
A chill crawled up Gwenna’s spine. A knight. Imprisoned. For treason. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“You don’t think...” a third voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You don’t think it could be that knight who came through here recently? The one asking all those questions?”
“Might be,” the first man mused. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since then.”
Gwenna’s hand clenched under the table. Finn. They had to be talking about Finn. Her stomach soured, the rich scent of stew suddenly sickening.
The conversation shifted, meandering to idle speculation about the reward, about whether the princess might truly be nearby. Then—worse—whether she might be hiding in the forests surrounding the village.
Gwenna forced down her food, even as their words coiled around her like a noose.
She rose, slipping toward the exit. The moment she was outside, she turned toward the trees, her mind already racing ahead.
She had the necessary information. She needed to get back to Cedric. Now.
The journey back to the tower seemed to take an eternity.
Gwenna’s legs burned from the relentless pace she set, but she didn’t dare slow down.
Every rustling leaf, every snapping twig sent her heart hammering, paranoia clamping around her like an iron vice.
She kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see torches bobbing through the trees, soldiers emerging from the mist.
By the time she reached the clearing, she was breathless and trembling.
“Cedric!” she shouted, voice raw with urgency. “Cedric, where are you?”
A deep rumble answered her. Gwenna silently cursed herself.
The sun’s still up. Damn it. She clenched her jaw and stormed toward the stables, hardly sparing a glance for Clarence as the goat trotted after her.
Judging by the scattered hay and the way the fence gate hung ajar, he’d orchestrated another mutiny among the goats.
Typical. Another disaster for an already disastrous day.