Chapter 56
Alora
Twilight cast the forest in shades of lavender and fading gold, painting the trees with the hush of evening.
Alora wandered into the wood as she sang, her bare feet soundless on the carpet of clover, a woven basket of berries hooked over one arm. The lilting melody called to the birds who chirped along as the fairies listened.
And so did another.
He came through the dusk like a dream stitched from shadows. A black horse carried him, hooves silent over root and stone. The rider in black wore a crimson cape, his long black hair loose, his eyes gleaming with mirth and secrets. Alora stilled as he dismounted, heart fluttering against her ribs.
“I feared I was under a spell of the forest,” he said, approaching with a courtly bow. He took her hand and kissed it lightly. “But your song led me to you.”
Alora’s breath caught somewhere between caution and curiosity. He was so terribly beautiful with eyes like copper, she thought him fae, but he was human.
One of royalty by the black crown on his brow.
“Oh, hello…” Alora greeted, lowering into her a curtsy. “Have we met before? You seem familiar.”
He gave her a sly smile. “Perhaps in a dream.”
She laughed softly, lowering her gaze. “This is the Midlands, land of the fae. You’re not permitted to be here. How did you get in past the wards?”
“Magic, perhaps.” He grinned. “You have put me under your spell.”
“Certainly not. What kingdom do you hail from?”
“One too far from here.”
She frowned, suspicion blooming.
“It is a small court beyond the mountains,” he amended with a dramatic sigh, voice warm and wistful. “Too insignificant to be acknowledged in most circles.”
Her gaze drifted to the crest of a dragon embossed on the silver pauldron at his shoulder.
“And your family name?”
He gave a faint smile. “I had one, once. But I have since renounced my House. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here. I have run away.”
She raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “Run away from what?”
“Destiny. Circumstance. My father’s expectations,” he said with a shrug, though she heard a hint of bitterness. “And you? What brings a beauty with the voice of a songbird into the woods alone?”
She hesitated, then offered a quiet, wry smile. “I suppose... my father as well. Except he’s the one avoiding me.”
His expression softened. “Then we are well met, fellow fugitives.”
Before she could answer, a voice rang through the woods, sharp and scolding. “Alora!”
Her eyes widened. “I must go. My godmother will be furious if I am caught out alone with you.”
“Is that so?”
Alora opened her mouth to answer but stopped. She couldn’t tell a stranger who she really was. Even if she was an exiled princess no one cared for anymore.
“You are a stranger in the woods. I don’t even know your name.”
“Then you may call me Rune.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it, sending a flush through her cheeks. “May I meet your godmother? I would welcome the introduction.”
“Oh no,” Alora said quickly, backing toward the direction of her cottage. “That would not be best. I must go.”
He watched her back away with a faint smile. “I was enchanted to meet you, Alora. If I am so fortunate, may we meet again.”
Even as she rushed home, Alora turned back once, but Rune had already faded into the twilight, like a shadow lost to the trees.
“The king has summoned you home.” Lady Zinnia’s words cut through her thoughts of Rune like the cold wind that swept through Argyle’s halls. One moment she stood among trees, the next she sat in the dining hall, her fingers knotted in her lap.
Across the table sat her father. A stranger in gold, flanked by guards and nobles. Ten years of silence now broken with duty.
“You are to wed the Prince Calveron,” he declared, voice firm and devoid of warmth. “It is the only way to ensure peace.”
Her heart sank like a stone in her chest. Alora said nothing. She bowed her head in compliance.
Guards escorted her to royal chambers, dressed in silk and suffocation. Then she collapsed onto the velvet bed, tears silent, thinking of the stranger with copper eyes and gentle hands.
Alora wished she had his courage. Wished she had fled too.
Then a knock came at her window.
Rune stood beyond the glass, dark cloak billowing, hair tousled by wind. He smiled, his eyes catching in the candlelight. Alora rushed to unlatch the window.
“It’s you...”
He climbed through with ease, hands outstretched. “Don’t marry him, Alora. You need not accept the fate others have chosen for you. Your life is yours.”
Tears blurred her vision. No one had ever offered her that before. A choice. A way out.
“But a Sleeping Curse is spreading over the land. It has weakened my kingdom and led to an invasion. I cannot turn my back on my people...”
“Then we will find a way to break it.”
With that promise, she placed her hand in his.
And fled toward a new fate.
Rune brought her to a cottage nestled in unfamiliar woods, tucked between wisteria trees, where sunlight sometimes danced through stained-glass windows in fractured rainbows.
It was his hidden dwelling, he told her, somewhere to retreat when the world pressed too close.
It was hers now, to stay as long as she wished.
That first night, Alora lay awake, uncertain of this new life with a charming stranger. Yet Rune never asked for more than her company by the fire, speaking softly of distant places, of old songs and wandering roads. When she grew tired, he only brushed a kiss to her knuckles and bid her rest.
He left each morning before dawn and returned in the evenings with fresh game, wild herbs, and news from Argyle. He devoted his evenings to studying the Sleeping Curse that choked her kingdom, poring over maps and scraps of lore as if breaking it were his personal mission.
Then she slept soundly in that small cottage secured by his generous kindness.
So, when Alora woke to the patter of water dripping through the roof and striking the hearthstones below, she was determined to fix it herself.
With a huff of determination, Alora stepped out into the pale morning light and dragged the old ladder from the shed. The rainstorm last night had disturbed the thatch. Nothing she couldn’t mend.
She climbed up to the top, wind tousling her hair. But when she stepped on a loose bundle, her foot slipped.
The world lurched.
Alora barely had time to scream before she fell backward off the roof. Strong arms caught her mid-fall. Rune grunted beneath the impact. She clung to him, breathless, heart racing.
“Rune!” she gasped, laughing.
“You are becoming a menace to gravity, songbird,” he smiled lightly, but it didn’t disguise his wince.
And she smelled smoke.
Alora stepped back, looking him over. The back of his dark coat was scorched. The skin at his nape and cheek blistered, angry and red, as though he had reached through flame.
“By the Seven, you’re hurt!”
“It’s nothing.” He rushed them inside the cottage, drawing the curtains closed. “Merely a small burn.”
Alora followed, seizing his hand before he could retreat. “This is no small burn, Rune. Please sit. Let me see it.”
Guiding him to the small dining table, she helped him remove his coat. He hissed faintly as she unveiled the burns on his back.
“By the Seven.” She covered her mouth and rushed to grab bandages and ointment. “Who did this to you?”
Rune’s gaze flicked away, jaw tightening. He didn’t move as she gently cleaned the wounds and dressed them.
“My father…” Rune sighed. “I failed to meet his approval.”
“So, he burned you for it?” Alora demanded angrily. He must have returned home to properly denounce his title.
Rune’s gaze grew distant as he glanced at the window. “I occasionally wonder why he let me live.”
Her anger softened into something else. Something aching. The worst her father had done was send her away.
“You never speak of your home,” Alora said quietly.
“There is little to say.” Rune gave a thin smile. “I have no family. No banner. No kingdom that would claim me.” His gaze lowered to the bloody bandages on the table. “I have long lost my home, Alora.”
She knew that pain well.
Her home was gone the moment her mother died. Argyle had never wanted her. The Midlands had only tolerated her. She had learned to make herself small inside borrowed walls.
But she would carve out home for herself now.
Alora stepped close and cupped his face between her palms. He went utterly still beneath her touch, his breath halting.
“Then you will have one here with me,” she murmured.
Rune’s eyes softened, leaving something raw beneath.
“I…” His throat worked. “I was cast out for due reason, Alora.”
She searched his face, seeing a prince with shadows in his features. As lost and untethered as she was.
“Rune,” Alora said gently. “Whatever you did, whatever condemned you, I care not. You will always have a home… with me.”
Rune’s breath turned shallow. His lashes lowered and he leaned into her touch as though it were the first warmth he had felt in years. “You should not promise such things, songbird.”
“I do,” she said, unwavering. “I promise.”
His hands found her waist, trembling before tightening as he drew her close. Rune folded around her, face buried against her shoulder, arms sliding up her back. He held her as though she might vanish into mist if he loosened his grip.
“Then I will never let you go.”
And the vow settled deep in her bones.
The days that followed were filled with laughter, with quiet moments beneath ancient trees. They danced beneath the stars, flowers crowning their hair, bare feet skimming moss. Told stories in meadows with only the night for company.
“Why do you never step into the sun?” she asked.
Rune’s smile wavered only for a moment, then he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “The light doesn’t agree with my fair complexion.”
Which Alora didn’t understand, for his skin would almost glow in the moonlight.