Chapter 6
Garrion POV
My men and I wait outside the stables, horses restless beneath them, armor glinting in the pale light. The air hums with anticipation, though none dare speak above a whisper. I catch fragments of their murmurs, then glance up.
Cora appears at the top of the stairs, an older woman at her side. She is no longer trapped in that absurd gown, though the heavy cloak she wears conceals her from head to toe. I cannot make out the shape of her body beneath it, not that it matters. She is my wife now, whether cloaked or crowned.
Earlier, I had taken a quick look inside the stables.
A beautiful white horse stood there, calm and proud, likely hers.
But at the far back, I caught a glimpse of another: a black stallion.
The moment he saw me, he went wild, thrashing against the stall, eyes burning with defiance.
Untamable. Dangerous. A beast like that is rarely ridden, more often kept for breeding.
I watch Cora descend, her steps measured, her cloak flowing behind her. My men fall silent, their eyes fixed on her. She is small against the weight of the moment, yet there is something in the way she carries herself, something I cannot yet name.
She disappears into the stables, and moments later reemerges, leading the black stallion. My blood chills at the sight. She rides this beast?
The stallion thrashes against the reins, wild and furious, as though he senses my unease.
His hooves strike the ground, muscles rippling with defiance.
But then Cora leans close, her voice soft against his ear.
“Easy, Zeus,” she whispers. Instantly, impossibly, he calms, his rage dissolving into obedience at her touch.
She glances up at me, her tone apologetic. “I’m sorry, my lord. Zeus is not fond of people.”
I nod, though the truth unsettles me. Not fond of people, yet utterly devoted to her.
I swing down from my horse, ready to assist her into the saddle, but she does not wait for me.
With practiced ease, she slips her right foot into the stirrup and pulls herself upward, her movements fluid, confident.
She swings her other leg across and settles firmly into the saddle, her posture straight, her command of the beast undeniable.
I watch her, silent, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirring in my chest. Fear, yes but also respect.
I catch Mika’s smirk from the corner of my eye. He is clearly impressed with Cora, and the pointed look he gives me says everything without words—I told you so.
I ignore him, swinging back onto my horse. My voice is steady, commanding. “Are you ready to go then?”
She meets my gaze, offering a polite smile that does not quite reach her eyes. “Lead the way,” she replies.
I set the pace, my men falling into formation behind me. Cora follows, astride her demon horse, the black stallion that unsettles even seasoned soldiers. The beast moves with power, yet under her control, as though bound to her alone.
We ride slowly through the city streets. People turn to watch, their faces filled with awe. Children wave, their small hands eager, and Cora answers with gentle smiles. She does not speak, does not linger, her kindness is quiet, restrained, as though she knows she must keep herself apart.
Once we pass beyond the city walls, the air shifts, open fields stretching before us, the road long and unbroken. I pull my horse to a halt and turn toward her.
I watch as she draws in a long, steady breath, her eyes closed, face lifted toward the sun.
The light spills across her features, and for a moment she looks untethered, like she is severing the invisible threads that bind her to this place.
It is as though she is tasting freedom for the first time, letting it settle on her tongue, fragile and fleeting.
“It is a two days’ ride until the closest inn. Can you manage that?” I interrupt her thoughts.
Her posture straightens, her voice calm though soft. “Yes, my lord.”
I study her for a moment longer, then nod. She is fragile, trembling beneath the surface but there is steel in her too.
Cora POV
I follow Garrion, his pace steady, measured. I keep waiting for him to break into a full gallop, but he doesn’t. Is he holding back for me? Does he think I cannot keep up? The thought burns in my chest.
Our first stop is Bellon City, and I know the way.
Leaning closer to Zeus, I whisper against his ear, “Are you ready to show them who we are, my love?” His ears flick back, and he huffs in approval, the sound sharp and eager.
I press my heels into his sides, and he surges forward, muscles coiling and releasing like thunder. He breaks into a full gallop, the wind tearing at my cloak, the ground trembling beneath us.
Behind me, I hear Garrion’s voice calling my name, sharp and commanding, but I do not slow. The thunder of hooves rises as he and his men give chase, but Zeus and I are already flying, untouchable, free.
For the first time today, I feel alive.
Zeus finds his rhythm, hooves pounding like thunder, and I release the reins. My arms spread wide, the wind slamming against me, pulling at my cloak, my hair. It is terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like flying, like breaking free of every chain that binds me.
“Are you insane?” Garrion’s voice booms beside me, sharp as steel. His mask is fixed firmly in place, unyielding, even at the speed we are riding.
“Try it,” I call back, breathless, defiant. “It’s freeing.”
His reply is a command, not a plea. “Slow down this instant.”
Reluctantly, I gather the reins, pulling Zeus into a trot.
The stallion snorts, displeased, but obeys.
Garrion halts his horse abruptly, dismounting with a soldier’s precision.
I hesitate, but the weight of his stare leaves no room for doubt, he expects me to follow.
I slide down from Zeus, my boots hitting the earth.
Without warning, his hand clamps around my arm, hard and unyielding. He drags me into the shadowed forest, away from the eyes and ears of his men. The trees close in, muffling the world beyond.
Then he shoves me back against the rough bark of a tree, his presence towering, suffocating. His voice is low, guttural, more beast than man. “You will stay at my side at all times.”
The growl reverberates through me, primal and commanding. For a heartbeat, I cannot breathe. He is not just a man in a mask, he is an animal, and I am caught in his snare.
“I don’t want to explain to your father that I let you fall off your horse and die. Is that understood, Cora?” Garrion’s voice booms, sharp and unyielding, echoing through the trees.
The force of his words terrifies me. My chest tightens, and suddenly I am no longer here, I am back in my father’s house, years ago, standing before him with trembling hands.
I remember the day too clearly. I had taken food from our kitchens, slipping it into baskets for the orphanage after overhearing the servants whisper that the children were starving.
I thought I was doing something good, something kind.
But when my father discovered it, he called me a thief. And thieves, he said, must be punished.
Three lashes across my back. The sting of leather, the humiliation of being branded disobedient, unworthy.
Now Garrion’s voice drags me back to that same place of fear. His authority, his anger, it feels like history repeating itself. He is going to be just like my father.
My body begins to shake uncontrollably, the memory and the present colliding. “I’m sorry, my lord,” I whisper, my voice breaking as the tremors spread through me. My whole body quakes with fear, powerless beneath his shadow.
Garrion POV
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. The harshness, the bite of command, it echoes too much like her father, and I see the way it lands.
She trembles before me, her entire body shaking, eyes wide with fear. The sight pierces something deep inside me, something I did not expect. I am a man forged in war, hardened by blood and steel, yet watching her shrink beneath my voice unsettles me.
Something shifts.
I step closer, my hand loosening from her arm, and before I can think better of it, I pull her into my embrace. She is small against me, trembling like a bird caught in a storm. I hold her tightly, steadying her as if my strength alone could shield her from the world.
Her fear seeps into me, but so does her warmth. The scent of her hair, the fragile press of her body against mine, it awakens a strange fondness, an urge to protect rather than command.
I lower my voice, softer now, almost foreign to my own ears. “You’re safe with me” I murmur, though I am not sure if she believes me.
For the first time, I wonder if this bond between us might become something more than duty.
We remain fixed in place, the forest pressing in around us. I lower my voice, gentler this time. “Are you ready to keep going?”
She nods against my chest. “If you want to sprint, just say so.” I offer.
Another nod, quiet but certain. I release her, leading her out of the shadows of the forest. I watch as she climbs back onto her horse, her movements fluid, practiced. She settles into the saddle and waits, silent, for me to lead.
Mika catches my eye, his expression sharp. He throws me a look that says plainly what he will not voice aloud, that I am being an ass. I ignore him, setting the pace once more.
We ride for hours, the rhythm of hooves steady against the earth, the silence between us heavier than the armor on my men. Cora follows without complaint, but she does not speak. Not a word since I scolded her.
“Garrion,” Mika calls out at last, breaking the quiet. He points toward a clearing nestled between the trees. “That looks like a good spot to set up camp for the night.”
I turn my horse in that direction, the men falling into line behind me. Cora follows, her face unreadable beneath the fading light. She keeps her silence, and I feel the weight of it pressing harder than any battlefield.
I watch Cora as she ties Zeus to a tree, her movements careful, deliberate.
She strokes his head with a gentle rub, then presses a kiss to his muzzle.
The stallion exhales, calm beneath her touch.
Their bond is undeniable, something rare, something deeper than simple ownership.
To me, a horse is a horse: a tool, a beast of burden, nothing more.
But to her, he is companion, confidant, perhaps even freedom itself.
Around us, my men move with practiced efficiency, gathering wood and kindling, building campfires that will burn through the night.
There is no room for tents here; the forest floor will be our bed.
I can sleep anywhere, stone, mud, snow, but I wonder if Cora will manage.
She is not a soldier, not hardened by years of war.
One of my men approaches, his face shadowed by disappointment, a frown etched deep. I feel Cora’s eyes on me, watching, listening, measuring my reaction.
“What?” I snap, the word sharp, cutting through the crackle of firewood.
“There were two deer in the next clearing,” he explains, voice low, “but they bolted before we could get close enough to release the arrow.”
I study him for a moment, then glance toward the trees, imagining the deer vanishing into the shadows. Food lost, opportunity wasted. My men will endure, they always do but I can feel Cora’s gaze lingering, wondering what my anger means, wondering if it will fall on her too.