Chapter 7 Hearts Unspoken #2
Caelan lowered the spyglass.
His instincts sharpened immediately.
He climbed down from the tower and walked the perimeter one more time. The damp earth outside the stone wall still held yesterday's footprints.
His own.
Rowan's.
No one else's.
Yet the uneasiness remained.
When he reached the riverbank, he crouched beside the muddy edge and studied the ground carefully.
A broken fern.
Fresh.
A small stone overturned where the current hadn't touched it.
Someone had crossed here recently.
Not close enough to reach the sanctuary.
Close enough to search for it.
He followed the trail for several yards before it vanished beneath rocky ground.
Professional.
Careful.
Whoever had passed through knew how to avoid leaving obvious tracks.
Caelan returned to the lodge without wasting another moment.
Rowan was already outside, splitting firewood with considerably less success than enthusiasm.
The axe struck the log at an awkward angle before bouncing harmlessly into the chopping block.
Rowan sighed.
"I was hoping you hadn't seen that."
"I've seen worse."
"I doubt it."
"I once watched a recruit miss the log entirely."
"That makes me feel only slightly better."
Caelan accepted the axe and split the stubborn log with one clean strike.
"We have company."
Rowan's expression changed immediately.
"They found us?"
"Not yet."
"But they're searching."
The prince set the remaining firewood aside.
"How close?"
"Close enough that we stop pretending this place is invisible."
He pointed toward the surrounding forest.
"Finish breakfast."
"We're working today."
An hour later the sanctuary looked different.
The peaceful retreat had quietly begun transforming into a defensive position.
Caelan avoided obvious fortifications.
Visible defenses warned enemies they had found the correct place.
Instead, he relied on patience and terrain.
Together they stretched nearly invisible cord across narrow game trails where riders would naturally pass.
They scattered loose stones along steep slopes to create unstable footing.
Simple warning bells were hidden among bushes, carefully concealed beneath leaves and branches.
Nothing designed to kill.
Everything designed to delay.
"You're making them reveal themselves," Rowan observed as they worked.
Caelan nodded.
"A patient hunter survives longer than an aggressive one."
Rowan carefully secured another warning line between two trees.
"I've spent years studying military history."
"But reading it isn't the same as living it."
"No."
"It isn't."
Caelan looked around the clearing.
"It's time."
"For what?"
"Learning how to protect yourself."
Rowan raised an eyebrow.
"I thought that was your job."
"It is."
He picked up a wooden practice sword leaning against the stable wall.
"My job becomes easier if you can keep yourself alive long enough for me to reach you."
Rowan accepted the practice weapon.
"I should warn you."
"I've never been particularly gifted with a sword."
"I know."
"You do?"
"The palace instructors complained."
Rowan laughed.
"They told you that?"
"They told everyone."
"I suddenly dislike them."
Caelan smiled faintly.
"They also said you never stopped getting back up."
The prince rolled his shoulders.
"That part is true."
The training began simply.
Not elegant techniques.
Not elaborate forms.
Basic survival.
"Keep your feet apart."
Rowan adjusted his stance.
"Wider."
He moved again.
"There."
Caelan circled him slowly.
"A fight isn't won because someone swings harder."
"It's won because someone stays standing."
He demonstrated a defensive position before handing Rowan the practice sword again.
"Your turn."
Rowan copied the movement.
Awkwardly.
The sword felt unfamiliar in his hands.
"Too tense."
"I thought tension helped."
"It slows you."
Caelan gently adjusted Rowan's grip.
"Relax your shoulders."
The correction lasted only a second before he stepped back.
"There."
"Better."
They practiced throughout the morning.
Footwork.
Balance.
Awareness.
How to create distance instead of chasing an opponent.
How to escape rather than trying to win every fight.
Rowan learned quickly.
Not because he possessed natural talent.
Because he listened.
Every correction became improvement.
Every mistake happened only once.
By midday, sweat dampened both their shirts despite the cool mountain air.
"I finally understand why soldiers complain after training."
Caelan offered him a waterskin.
"You're complaining."
"I've earned it."
"You've earned lunch."
"I'll gladly accept that reward."
They had barely returned to the lodge when one of the hidden warning bells rang.
A single soft chime echoed through the trees.
Then silence.
Both men froze.
Caelan immediately set down the bowl in his hands.
"Inside."
Rowan didn't argue.
He retrieved the crossbow Caelan had insisted he learn to use only two days earlier while Caelan climbed quickly onto the watchtower.
Through the spyglass, movement flickered among the trees.
Four riders.
No banners.
Dark traveling cloaks.
They dismounted nearly half a mile away and continued on foot.
Scouts.
Professional ones.
"They're tracking us," Caelan murmured.
He climbed back down.
"Four."
"Assassins?"
"Scouts."
"The others won't be far behind."
He handed Rowan a quiver of bolts.
"Remember what we practiced."
"I'm not trying to defeat anyone."
"Exactly."
"I'm buying time."
Caelan nodded.
"Good."
The sanctuary became perfectly still.
Minutes passed.
The hidden bells remained silent.
Then...
Another chime.
Closer.
One scout had discovered the outer trail.
Caelan waited.
Patience.
The first man stepped into the clearing moments later.
He wore leather armor without insignia and studied the buildings carefully.
Another followed.
Then a third.
The fourth never reached the clearing.
A hidden trip line caught his foot, sending him crashing into a pile of loose stones with enough noise to echo through the valley.
The others spun instinctively toward the sound.
Caelan moved.
"Now!"
He stepped from cover with sword already drawn.
"Drop your weapons."
The scouts answered with arrows.
One struck the stable door.
Another glanced harmlessly from the stone wall.
Caelan closed the distance before they could fire again.
His blade knocked one bow aside while a sharp kick disarmed another attacker.
Rowan remembered every lesson.
Don't chase.
Create distance.
He fired the crossbow not at a man, but at the ground directly in front of the remaining scout.
The bolt buried itself into the earth.
The startled man stumbled backward directly into another concealed warning line.
A suspended log swung downward, striking him hard enough to knock the weapon from his hands.
Caelan finished the fight moments later.
Within seconds, three scouts lay disarmed.
The fourth had already fled into the forest.
"We let him go?" Rowan asked, breathing heavily.
"No."
Caelan watched the trees thoughtfully.
"We let him carry a message."
"What message?"
"That finding us..."
He looked toward the captured scouts.
"...won't be easy."
The prisoners exchanged uneasy glances.
One of them finally spoke.
"There are more coming."
"I know."
"You can't stop them."
Caelan's expression remained calm.
"We don't have to stop all of them."
He looked toward Rowan.
"We only have to survive longer than they expect."
The scouts were secured inside the old storehouse while Rowan helped repair the damaged warning lines.
Only after the work was finished did Caelan truly look at the prince.
Rowan's breathing had already steadied.
His hands no longer trembled.
Despite everything that had happened, he had remained calm, remembered his training, and protected both of them without losing himself to fear.
The court had spent years believing Rowan Ashbourne was a sheltered royal who needed constant protection.
Standing beneath the mountain sky, crossbow still resting confidently in his hands, he looked like something entirely different.
Not merely a prince worth saving.
A man fully capable of standing beside those who fought for him.
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