Chapter 32 Alain
thirty-two
Alain
The amber-eyed woman haunted my dreams again, her silhouette barely visible against a backdrop of darkness so complete it seemed to swallow all hope. Her whimpers sliced through my unconscious mind, each sound dropping into the void like pebbles into a still pond.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice thread-thin with exhaustion, “I’m not strong enough anymore.”
The clink of chains followed her plea, metal against stone, a rhythm as steady as my own heartbeat.
I reached for her through the dream-fog, my fingers stretching toward that singular point of color in the darkness, toward those amber eyes that somehow matched the exact shade of my missing sister’s.
I woke with a strangled gasp, my body slick with sweat despite the biting cold that had settled over our camp during the night.
The canvas ceiling of my tent rippled in the pre-dawn breeze, shadows dancing across its surface like specters.
Three months of these visions, each one more vivid than the last, each one pulling me toward something I couldn’t name but felt in my marrow.
My hand trembled as I pushed damp hair from my forehead.
The dream lingered like the scent of smoke after a fire dies, impossible to shake off.
I’d spent my entire life being taught that magic was corruption, that it twisted and destroyed everything it touched.
My grandfather had purged it from our lands with ruthless efficiency, and my father continued his legacy with unflinching dedication.
Magic users were exiled or executed. Magical creatures hunted to extinction if within the city, but in the wild, everyone knew to leave them be from the old magic aiding them. Even speaking of the old ways was enough to earn suspicious glances and whispered accusations.
And yet here I was, Prince Alain Legrand, heir to the throne of Durand, dreaming of a woman who called to me with power that felt like ancient trees stretching their roots into my soul. If anyone discovered these dreams, the scandal would rock the kingdom.
The prince, tainted by magic’s touch. The future king, susceptible to supernatural influence. The court would demand purification rituals, public penance, maybe even reconsideration of my inheritance.
I dressed with mechanical precision, my fingers finding familiar paths through laces and buckles without requiring conscious thought. The weight of my hunting leathers settled onto my shoulders like armor against more than just the winter chill.
Outside my tent, the eastern sky had begun its reluctant surrender to morning.
A thin line of gray pressed against the black, neither light nor true darkness, the hour where night creatures retreated and day creatures had yet to stir.
Perfect for secrets. Perfect for decisions that might change the course of a kingdom.
Most of my men had already gathered around the central fire, steam rising from their cups as they passed a loaf of bread between them.
Their voices were low, conversations meant for this liminal time before the day’s duties fully took hold.
I spotted Thibaut at the edge of the circle, his weathered face turned toward the flame, his portion of bread nearly gone.
I approached with measured steps, careful to project the confidence expected of a prince even as uncertainty churned in my gut.
“Thibaut,” I said, keeping my voice low, “walk with me.”
He rose immediately, wiping crumbs from his beard with a quick swipe of his hand. No questions, no hesitation. The mark of a loyal man.
We walked until the murmur of conversation faded, until we stood at the edge of our camp with nothing but forest before us and the gradual awakening of day above. I could feel the weight of his patience, his willingness to wait for me to find the words I needed.
“I’ve been having dreams,” I finally said, the admission scraping my throat raw. “Visions, perhaps. Of a woman imprisoned somewhere in these woods.”
Thibaut’s expression remained carefully neutral, but I caught the subtle tightening around his eyes. “Dreams, Your Highness?”
“I know how it sounds.” I turned away from him, fixing my gaze on the distant, dead trees.
“Believe me, I know. But these aren’t ordinary dreams. They’re.
.. persistent. Specific. Always the same woman I cannot fully see, always in chains, always calling out with a voice that feels like it’s pulling something from deep inside me. ”
“Magic,” he said, not a question but a statement loaded with generations of fear.
“Yes.” No point denying what we both recognized. “Magic of some kind. But not...” I struggled to find the right words. “Not corrupt. Not like what we’ve been taught. It doesn’t feel twisted or wrong. It feels like something ancient waking up. Like remembering something I never knew I’d forgotten.”
Thibaut shifted his weight, snow crunching beneath his boots. “Your father—”
“Would have me exorcised,” I finished for him. “Would think me compromised or bewitched. I know. That’s why I’m telling only you.”
The silence between us stretched, filled only with the sound of our breath clouding in the cold air. When Thibaut spoke again, his voice had dropped lower, as if the trees themselves might report our treason. “What doth thou intend to do about these dreams, sire?”
I met his gaze directly. “I need to follow them. To find her.”
“It could be a trap,” he said immediately. “Someone using this captive woman as bait. The timing is suspicious, with the Tournament approaching. Thou’s participation has been rumored for months. Perhaps someone seeks to eliminate thee as competition.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “If only it were that simple. A rival hunter trying to remove me from the tournament would be far easier to deal with than this... this pull I feel.” I tapped my chest where the sensation lived, a constant tug like an invisible thread connecting me to something in the forest’s depths.
“It’s getting stronger, Thibaut. More insistent. I can’t ignore it any longer.”
“And if it leads thee into danger?” His loyalty battled with his duty to protect me, the conflict evident in the deep lines of his face.
“Then I face that danger,” I said simply. “But I believe we’re on the verge of discovering something important. Something that might even relate to Odette’s disappearance.”
The mention of my sister’s name hung between us like frost. Eleven years missing, her fate a wound that refused to heal in my family’s collective heart.
Thibaut’s resistance crumbled visibly. He’d been with our family since before Odette was born, had helped search for her until my father called off the hunt. If there was even a chance of finding answers about her fate...
“The men won’t understand,” he said finally. “Not without explanations we can’t give.”
“They don’t need to. Send them back to Durand with the meat from yesterday’s hunt. Tell them we’re scouting new territories.” I’d already thought this through, mapped the logistics during the sleepless hours after each dream. “You, me, and two others—thou’s most discreet men. That’s all we need.”
Thibaut nodded slowly, resignation settling across his features like the morning light now creeping over the horizon. “When do we leave?”
Relief flooded through me, so powerful it nearly buckled my knees. “Within the hour. The dreams always point in the same direction.Northwest, toward the heart of the Forbidden Forest.”
He flinched at the mention of our destination but didn’t argue further.
We both knew what waited in those twisted woods: corruption, danger, possibly death.
But also answers. And maybe, just maybe, a woman with amber eyes who had reached through the veil of dreams, her call for help only I could hear.
As we turned back toward camp, I felt the invisible thread pull taut in my chest. Hold on, I thought toward that unknown presence. I’m coming.
The ruined castle rose from the forest like a forgotten god’s skeleton, its towers jagged against the winter sky.
Three months of snow and wind had done nothing to prepare me for the hollowness of this place, the sense of abandonment so complete it felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest as I dismounted.
This wasn’t just a deserted structure. It was a monument to loss, to something precious ripped away and left to decay.
My boots crunched through frost-covered rubble as I stepped into what had once been a grand courtyard, my breath clouding before me in the brittle air with the setting sun.
The dream-thread in my chest pulled tighter, more insistent now, pointing me forward like a compass needle fixed on true north.
“Your Highness,” Thibaut murmured from behind me, his voice uncharacteristically tight. “Perhaps we should proceed with caution.”
I barely heard him. My attention had been captured by the roses.
They grew along the eastern wall of the courtyard, impossibly lush despite the winter’s grip on everything else.
Dark crimson blooms the size of my fist opened toward us like hungry mouths, their petals gleaming wetly in the paling sunlight.
But it wasn’t their unseasonable vitality that held me transfixed.
It was their movement. The bushes shifted subtly, thorny stems twisting and curling as if seeking something. As if they were breathing.
I approached despite every instinct screaming against it. Three steps closer and their scent hit me. Not the sweet perfume of garden roses but something metallic and primal. Copper. Salt. The unmistakable smell of fresh blood. One vine began to rise like a serpent wanting to look threatening.
“Sire!” Thibaut had drawn his sword, moving swiftly to intercept my path toward the roses. “We should steer clear of... unnatural things. We came for the woman, nothing more. Nothing that might curse us all.”