Chapter 49 Alain
forty-nine
Alain
The mare’s hoof prints were clear as day in the soft spring earth, mocking me with how easy they’d been to follow since dawn.
Each depression in the mud was like a signpost pointing straight to Isabeau, and if I could read them this clearly, so could Gaspard and his hunters.
I’d barely slept, leaving the castle grounds under cover of night with supplies Brigida had smuggled to me, my mind consumed with one thought alone: find her before they did.
Before the tournament’s final “hunt” could claim her life.
My stallion’s breath fogged in the early morning air as we traveled the same path she’d taken less than a day before. The sun was barely cresting the horizon, painting the sky in violent streaks of orange and pink that reminded me of blood in water. An omen I refused to acknowledge.
The trail led down toward a small river, the water rushing over smooth stones with a constant murmur that almost masked the sound of my approach. Almost, but not quite. If anyone waited beneath the stone bridge ahead, they would hear me coming.
I dismounted, leading my stallion by the reins the final stretch.
Better to approach cautiously than charge in like the privileged fool I’d always been.
The one who thought he could keep a woman locked away for her own protection, never seeing the prison I’d created was no better than the one I’d rescued her from.
“Easy now,” I whispered to the stallion as we approached the bridge. The structure was ancient, moss climbing its stone sides like a slow invader, patient enough to wait centuries for victory.
The prints led directly beneath the arch. I tied my mount to a nearby tree and approached on foot, hand resting on the hilt of my sword though I expected no confrontation. If my timing was right, she would already be gone, but not by much.
The space beneath the bridge was exactly the kind of shelter a person on the run would choose. Protected from the elements, hidden from casual passersby, with water close at hand. I ducked under the low arch, my eyes adjusting to the dimmer light.
She’d been here. The ground was disturbed where someone had slept, a slight depression in the earth the perfect size for a woman’s body.
I knelt, placing my hand against the soil.
Still holding a whisper of warmth despite the morning chill.
Hours old. She couldn’t be far ahead. Her rest gave me time to catch up.
My fingertips brushed against something soft.
A strand of auburn hair caught on the rough stone, gleaming like copper in a shaft of morning light that penetrated the bridge’s shadows.
I lifted it carefully, as if it might dissolve at my touch, and felt an ache spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the long night’s ride or lack of sleep.
“Isabeau,” I murmured, her name a prayer and a promise wrapped in few syllables.
I should have listened. Should have believed her when she spoke of beasts and curses and responsibilities I couldn’t comprehend.
Instead, I’d dismissed her fears as trauma, her determination as delusion.
I’d become exactly what I despised. Another man who thought he knew better than she did with what she needed, what was best for her safety.
And while I’d been strutting around the tournament field winning meaningless competitions, my father and brother had been plotting her execution with the very man who had broken her in the first place.
My fist clenched around the strand of hair.
If I ever got my hands on Gaspard Coventry again, tournament rules would mean nothing.
I would end him for what he’d done to her, for the fear that had paled her face at the mere mention of his name, for whatever horrors had driven her to flee into the Forbidden Forest rather than face him again.
But first, I had to find her.
I backed out from under the bridge, scanning the ground around me with new urgency.
The tracks were painfully obvious. A single horse heading directly toward the distant line of trees that marked the beginning of the Forbidden Forest. Anyone with even basic tracking skills would be able to follow this trail.
“Shit,” I hissed, suddenly realizing how vulnerable she was. The hunt wouldn’t officially begin until later today, but Gaspard wasn’t one to play by rules. He would have set out at first light, perhaps even before, eager to reclaim his prey before anyone else could intervene.
I glanced back toward the distant city I’d fled.
By now my absence would have been discovered.
My squire would have reported that I never returned to the castle after the last event yesterday.
Father would be furious, but not surprised.
He’d seen how I looked at her, had warned me about getting too attached to a woman he considered beneath my station.
Now he would have confirmation of what he’d always suspected.
That his second son lacked the backbone to put duty before personal desire.
He was wrong. This wasn’t about desire, though I couldn’t deny Isabeau had awoken something in me I’d never felt before. This was about doing what was right when everyone around me was content to perpetuate a monstrous wrong. This was about saving an innocent woman from a fate she didn’t deserve.
My gaze returned to those damning tracks, and a cold certainty settled in my gut.
I wasn’t the only one who would follow them.
The tournament’s final hunt was hours behind at most, because Gaspard would never wait for official sanction.
He would be on the move already, tracking her with the same single-minded determination that had made him the kingdom’s most celebrated huntsman.
“I need to buy us time,” I muttered to my stallion, who simply flicked an ear in my direction, unimpressed by human problems.
I returned to my horse and mounted up, an idea forming that might just work to slow down any pursuers. It would give us more time. And time was valuable for her right now.
Instead of continuing to follow Isabeau’s trail, I began riding in wide circles around the bridge, deliberately crossing over her tracks again and again from different directions.
Then I took my mount down to the river’s edge, riding along the shallow water for a stretch before emerging on the opposite bank.
Back and forth I went, creating a confused web of hoof prints that led in multiple directions.
To the east, toward the next village. South, back toward the city.
North, following the river. And yes, some heading west toward the forest, but now they were just one set among many, no longer a clear path for hunters to follow.
If only Isabeau knew the lengths I’d go through to protect her from this madness.
The work was tedious and time-consuming. Every moment I spent creating this false trail was another moment Isabeau rode deeper into danger, another moment she pulled farther away from me. But it was necessary. Without this precaution, Gaspard would find her within hours.
I dismounted at the water’s edge, studying my work with a critical eye.
It looked as though multiple riders had met at this spot, perhaps a patrol or a hunting party, before splitting off in different directions.
Good. Let Gaspard waste precious time trying to determine which set of tracks to follow.
As I stood there, chest heaving slightly from exertion, I imagined Gaspard’s face when he arrived at this spot.
The perfect mask of courtly manners would slip, revealing the predator beneath.
He would recognize the deception immediately—he was too skilled not to—but it would still cost him time to untangle the true trail from the false ones.
Time Isabeau needed. Time I needed to reach her first.
My thoughts turned darker as I mounted up again.
What had Gaspard done to her in Thorndale?
She’d never spoken of it directly, but I’d seen the shadows in her eyes when his name was mentioned, had watched her hands tremble at dinner.
Whatever horrors she’d endured at his hands had been enough to drive her into the Forbidden Forest rather than remain under his power.
“Magic,” I murmured, remembering my father’s words. Witch, they’d called her. As if having power different from their own was sufficient reason to hunt her down and burn her alive.
I’d never believed in magic to be evil even before finding Isabeau in that dungeon.
Had dismissed the stories of witches and curses as peasant superstitions, useful for controlling the masses but meaningless to educated men like myself.
I had witnessed Isabeau heal Thibaut from a poisoning that should have been fatal.
She could’ve let him die, could’ve used her powers to leave my side sooner.
So did she stay once she unlocked her gift?
That’s what made my heart flutter a bit.
Though, perhaps there was more truth to her talk of beasts and curses than I’d been willing to admit. Perhaps the magic my father feared was real after all, but it didn’t come from her. Never her.
I turned my stallion’s head toward the forest looming in the distance.
Dark and foreboding, its trees twisted into unnatural shapes as if shaped by malevolent hands.
The Forbidden Forest had claimed countless lives over the centuries.
Those who entered rarely returned, and those who did were never the same.
And that was precisely where Isabeau was headed. Where I must follow.
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
I was a warrior, trained in combat since boyhood.
I had led men into battle, had faced opponents twice my size without flinching.
But the forest ahead inspired a primal fear I couldn’t entirely suppress.
I’d killed one monster before being chased by a pack of them.
What else waited in those shadows? What beasts had left those marks on Isabeau’s shoulder? And why was she so desperate to return to them?
Questions I couldn’t answer from here. Questions that wouldn’t matter if Gaspard found her first.
I dug my heels into my stallion’s flanks, urging him into a gallop toward the forest’s edge.
The wind whipped past my face, cold enough to sting my eyes and bring unwelcome moisture that I blinked away impatiently.
Not tears. Just the wind. Second sons of kings didn’t cry, not even when they betrayed everything they’d been raised to uphold.
The distance melted beneath my mount’s powerful strides. Isabeau had a head start, but she’d also rested beneath that bridge. I’d been riding through the night, pushing myself and my stallion to our limits. With luck, I would catch her before she penetrated too deeply into the forest’s dangers.
With each hoofbeat, the trees grew larger, more menacing.
The morning light seemed unable to penetrate the canopy, as if darkness itself had claimed permanent residence beneath those twisted branches.
Legends spoke of people who entered the Forbidden Forest during daylight only to find themselves in eternal night once within its borders.
I didn’t know if I believed those stories, but I wasn’t eager to test them either. Yet I would. For her.
The first twisted trees were now just minutes away, their gnarled limbs reaching toward me like arthritic fingers.
I leaned lower over my stallion’s neck, urging more speed even as fatigue burned through my muscles.
Somewhere ahead, Isabeau rode toward whatever fate awaited her in that accursed place.
Somewhere behind, Gaspard and perhaps others followed, intent on a hunt that would end in her death.
Between those two terrible possibilities, I rode. Not quite hero, not quite villain. Just a man who had finally found something worth fighting for beyond duty and crown.
As the first shadows of the forest fell across my face, I made a silent promise to the woman I pursued. I would find her. I would protect her. And this time, I would listen to her truth, however strange it might seem to my rational mind.
The Forbidden Forest swallowed me whole, darkness descending like a curtain as I passed beyond the boundary of civilized lands. There was no turning back now. For either of us.