Chapter 14 Branded as Mine
Branded as Mine
Raisa
On the way back to the castle, we move through the forest like something it made, not something that wandered in. The hush isn’t silence, but the absence of human noise. No heavy breathing, no careless tread, no muttered bickering.
Not even Sable breaks the spell with a joke.
We move as a single, hungry animal with eight bodies. Mine is the smallest, but nobody treats me like a weakness.
I walk near the front, flanked by Onyx and Shade, with the others arrayed behind. Their presence is a heat licking up my spine, a steady pulse of protection. I’m not the caged princess anymore. I’m the eye of their storm, fierce and wild.
We’re not running. We don’t need to.
It’s nearly dusk when the trees thin on the twelfth day, the path curving up to a broad, mossy shelf that overlooks the shadowy layers of the forest. There’s a small creek at the edge, the water barely moving, choked with roots and bright red leaves.
I know this place.
I stop, memory washing over me. The first night after I fled the palace, this is where we stopped.
Shade halts at my side, reading my thoughts, or maybe just the angle of my head.
“We camp here,” he says. There’s no question in it, only the hard certainty I’ve come to trust.
No one argues. The others fan out, moving to their tasks with unspoken precision.
Onyx strides to the far side of the clearing, where the wind hits hardest. His shoulders are a boulder under his shirt, every movement deliberate. He scouts the perimeter first—always cautious, always the sentinel—then returns, his arms loaded with a bundle of dry branches and fallen pine needles.
He dumps them near the center of the clearing and starts breaking the bigger limbs with his bare hands to make a bed, no axe, no showy flourish. His forearms strain with the effort, veins standing out in sharp relief.
Rune is next, slipping off to the edge of the trees.
He kneels, his fingers trailing over the leaves and moss, tracing invisible lines.
I can feel his magic fizzing, even from here.
It’s a subtle shiver in the air, like the forest is suddenly listening.
He circles the camp, muttering softly. Wherever his fingers press into the dirt, a faint pattern glows and then fades, leaving the ground marked in a way that only the two of us see.
Talon vanishes, as silent as a shadow. I know he’ll return before nightfall with a rabbit, or two, or maybe something bigger if we’re lucky. He hunts like he fucks—relentless, focused, not for sport but for need. I think I understand that about him now.
Bran, Grim, Sable, and Shade stay with me. They work together gathering moss and the thick, oily branches that make the best fires. Bran is careful, always glancing at me with the smallest of smiles, the kind that says he’s thinking of the last time I kissed him.
Grim is all economy. He moves faster and more efficiently than the others, his eyes never leaving his task unless necessary.
Sable…he tries to joke, but it comes out gentle, like he’s afraid to disrupt something sacred.
Shade starts the fire with a single spark, coaxed from a striker and a bit of fluff.
The flame builds quickly, blue at the base where sap burns off, orange at the tips.
He crouches over it, his face hard and beautiful in the glow, and I want to run my hands over the planes of his jaw, the back of his neck, the scar near his eye.
I don’t, not yet. I let him work because he likes to feel necessary.
I watch them for a while, letting the rhythm of their movements settle the chaos in my head.
Last time I was here, I was nothing but fear, desperate for freedom and terrified of what it would cost. Now, I’m something else.
I stand with my arms crossed, watching these seven men build a temporary home out of nothing, and I feel bigger than my body.
Every bruise and scar is a badge. Every mistake is a lesson, pressed deep into my bones.
They treat me differently now, too, not like an idol, or a burden, but like a vital organ. I am their reason, and they are mine.
Onyx lays out the bedding first, lining up fresh pine boughs and dried moss, and then tops it with the blankets he’s carried the length of the forest and back. He stands back, checking it with an engineer’s eye. Only when he’s satisfied does he wave me over.
“It’s the softest spot,” he says, deadpan, as if the ground could ever be soft enough. His hand is rough when I take it, but he strokes my knuckles as he pulls me down to sit.
Grim piles more wood on the fire, then squats next to me, wordless. He keeps his body angled slightly away, the way predators do when they’re forcing themselves not to pounce.
Bran joins on my other side, his hands already stained green from the moss. He slings his arm over my shoulder, careful but firm. “You’re thinking too loud,” he whispers. “Shut your brain off for once.”
Shade joins us last, taking the spot in front of the fire where he can watch everyone. He flicks a glance at me, then at the bedding, then back. His lips twitch, just barely.
“You could be queen of all this,” he says, gesturing at the wilderness.
“Who says I’m not?” I reply.
The sun is nearly gone now, the sky painted in violent stripes of red and purple. Rune returns, his hands dirty, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat. He drops onto the pile of pine next to me, breathing hard.
“What did you do?” I ask.
He grins, white teeth flashing. “Set a ward and warning sigils. Nothing gets close without me knowing.”
“Except Talon.”
“Nothing human,” Rune amends. “Or anything else that isn’t hungry enough to try us.”
I nod. The implication is clear. We are not the most dangerous things in this forest, but we are close.
The whole journey, we’ve circled wide around the barest hint of civilization, avoiding anyone and everyone.
But I know they’re out here—monsters, just like us.
This forest gathers them like it’s calling its lost sons home.
It’s ironic that my father’s kingdom is on the edge of it when he’s the biggest monster of all.
The air grows colder as the sun dips below the horizon. Bran tucks the blanket around my hips, then drapes another over my shoulders. It smells like smoke, sweat, and something sweet. I lean into him, and he squeezes once, just enough to let me know he’s there.
Talon returns as promised, a brace of rabbits slung over one shoulder and a wild, savage grin on his lips. He’s bleeding from a shallow cut across his cheek, but doesn’t seem to notice.
“Dinner,” he announces, tossing the animals onto a flat stone near the fire.
Sable is the first to react, springing up and seizing the nearest rabbit. He skins and guts it in seconds, his hands almost delicate despite the speed.
“Who wants liver?” he asks, waving the wet organ on the tip of his knife.
“Me,” Rune says, reaching out. Sable flicks it into his palm, and they both laugh, the sound sharp and cruel.
Grim prepares the rest, using his own knife and an eerie, practiced efficiency. He never makes a mess. He arranges the meat on spits, sets them up over the fire, then wipes his hands on the grass. His eyes meet mine for a second. There’s heat in them, and maybe a dare.
The smoke thickens, taking on the sweet, oily smell of roasting fat. My stomach growls, but nobody mocks me for it. They’re all hungry, in their own ways.
We sit in a loose circle, the fire crackling and the world narrowing down to the orange light, the scent of food, the press of bodies against mine.
Shade is the first to speak, his voice low. “We’ll reach his castle tomorrow.”
Nobody has to ask who “he” is. My father’s name is a curse now, best left unspoken.
“Will he be waiting?” Sable asks, licking blood from his fingers.
Shade shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Either way, he doesn’t win.”
Grim snorts, but doesn’t argue.
I stare into the fire, the heat prickling my skin, and think about the promise I made to myself: Never feel powerless and caged again.
I feel powerful now. Not because of the magic, though I know it’s there. Not because of my brothers, though I know they’d die for me. It’s something else—a certainty of my place, a rightness in the way I fit here, the way their lives tangle with mine and refuse to let go.
When the food is done, we eat in silence, tearing meat from the bones with our teeth, licking the grease from our hands. It’s primitive, almost obscene, but I love it. There’s no pretense, no careful manners or staged politeness. Just hunger, and the blunt joy of filling it.
Afterwards, I watch them clean their knives, tend the fire, and set up the sleeping arrangements.
They check on each other without words. Bran sets Sable’s broken nail, Onyx cleans Talon’s cut, Rune wipes sweat from Grim’s brow, and gets a flick on the nose for his trouble.
I catch Shade staring at me, his eyes dark. He doesn’t look away when I meet them.
I want him beneath me, ruined the same way he ruins me. The thought is sudden, absolute, a demand in my bones. The desire isn’t sweet. It’s a deep, roaring hunger, something that would have scared me once upon a time.
The magic pulses under my skin, impatient and greedy.
I stand, letting the blanket fall from my shoulders. My skin tingles, both from the cold and from the way seven pairs of eyes track my every move.
Shade is the first to speak. “Princess,” he says, but there’s no question in it, just raw invitation.
I ignore him, stepping out of the bedding and unbuttoning my shirt. The fabric sticks to my skin, peeling away to reveal pale flesh, bruised and marked by love and war. I let it fall, then drop my pants as well, leaving me naked in the gold-blue firelight.
Sable whistles, long and low. “Fuck, Raisa. You’re trying to kill us.”
Grim’s eyes burn from the shadows, his jaw tense, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s deciding whether to pounce or pray.