Chapter 7
Cora POV
I listen as Garrion’s men explain how they lost the deer, their voices tinged with frustration. They are soldiers, built for brute force, for battle cries and steel not for the quiet patience of the hunt. Tracking requires silence, subtlety, and precision. Skills they do not possess.
But I do. Bastion taught me well. Long hours in the forest, learning to read the earth, the wind, the smallest signs of movement. My aim with a bow is nearly perfect, or so he said, pride in his voice each time my arrow struck true.
Without hesitation, I step past the men and reach for the bow and quiver of arrows lying on the ground. The wood feels familiar in my hands, steadying me. “Where is the clearing?” I ask one of the soldiers.
He hesitates, glancing toward Garrion. My husband gives a curt nod, and only then does the man answer. “This way, my lady.” He leads me through the trees, pointing toward the stream. “They were just there.”
I nod, crouching slightly, listening. The forest speaks if you know how to hear it. A faint call drifts through the distance, the deer. They haven’t gone far.
I step into the clearing, the bow already in my hand, my senses sharpened. Behind me, Garrion’s voice cuts through the air. “Cora.”
I turn my head slightly, raising a finger to my lips. Shhh.
The forest holds its breath with me.
I catch the faintest flicker of movement ahead, a ripple in the undergrowth. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to stay calm, each step measured, deliberate. I angle my body downwind, careful to keep the breeze carrying my scent away from the clearing. The deer must not smell me, not yet.
Behind me, I hear Garrion shift, the crunch of his boots against the forest floor. The sound is too loud, too careless. I raise my hand sharply, shewing him back without turning, a silent command to stay put. This is my hunt, not his.
I move closer, the forest alive with quiet. My ears strain, and then I see it, the twitch of ears above the grass, alert but unaware. My fingers curl around the bowstring, pulling it back with practiced ease. The wood creaks softly, the arrow steady as I lift it into place.
I steady my breath, slowing my heartbeat, narrowing the world to the single line of my aim. The deer’s head shifts, just enough.
I release.
The arrow flies, slicing through the air with a whisper. A heartbeat later, I hear the solid thud in the stream. The deer collapses, my mark struck true.
Relief floods me, mingled with pride. Bastion’s lessons echo in my mind, patience, precision, silence. I have not forgotten.
Another sound stirs near the stream, the faint rustle of movement. A second deer. My fingers tighten around the bowstring, the arrow nocked and ready. I draw it back, steadying my breath, waiting for the glimpse of its body.
The moment I see it, I release.
The arrow flies, but the shot is off. A sharp cry splits the clearing, the animal screams in pain. My stomach twists. I missed.
Without hesitation, I sprint toward the stream, my boots splashing through shallow water. The deer stumbles, collapsing, the arrow lodged cruelly in its throat. Its eyes are wide, panicked, pleading. I do not let it suffer.
I draw a dagger from my side, the blade gleaming in the fading light. With one swift, practiced motion, I grant it a quick death. Silence falls, broken only by the rush of the stream.
I kneel, my breath heavy, and dip the dagger into the water. Crimson swirls away downstream, vanishing into the current. I wipe the blade clean, slide it back into its sheath, and rise to my feet.
When I turn, Garrion and his men are watching. Their faces are unreadable, some surprised, some grim but all fixed on me. I meet their gaze without flinching, the weight of their silence pressing against my skin.
I walk toward them, the weight of their stares pressing against me. Garrion’s eyes fix on mine, unreadable, and I cannot tell what they are saying, judgment, curiosity, something else entirely. I lift my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze.
“I hope your men are hungry, My Lord,” I say evenly, before turning back toward camp. I feel him fall into step behind me, his presence heavy at my back, shadowing me all the way.
“Where did you learn to hunt and shoot like that?” His voice cuts through the silence, not harsh this time, but probing.
“Bastion taught me,” I answer simply, keeping my tone clipped, controlled.
“Who is he?” Garrion presses, his voice carrying a note I cannot quite place. Curiosity, yes but beneath it, something sharper. Is it jealousy?
I hesitate, then speak, though I do not know why I feel compelled to explain myself to him. “He and his wife, Aliah, looked after me since I was ten. We lived on a small farm. We had to hunt and grow vegetables to feed ourselves.”
The words spill out, plain and unadorned, yet they feel like pieces of myself I should have kept hidden. I glance at Garrion, wondering why he wants to know, why he cares.
We walk back to camp in silence, the forest swallowing our footsteps. Garrion’s men are busy tending the fires, their voices low, but I barely hear them. My focus is on Zeus.
I move to his side, loosening the strap of the small bag still fastened to his saddle.
Inside, the apples I tucked away earlier.
I pull them out one by one, offering them to him.
He eats greedily from my hands, his teeth crunching through the fruit, his warm breath brushing against my skin.
I smile faintly, stroking his muzzle, feeling the steady comfort of his presence.
With Zeus, I am grounded. With Zeus, I am safe.
But even as I tend to him, I cannot shake the weight pressing against me. Garrion’s gaze. I feel it on my back, sharp and unrelenting, like a blade. He does not speak, yet his silence is louder than words. Is he judging me? Measuring me? Or simply trying to understand?
I keep my eyes on Zeus, pretending not to notice, though every nerve in me is aware of him. The stallion huffs, nudging my shoulder for another apple, and I laugh softly under my breath. For a moment, it is just us, until I glance up and find Garrion still watching, unreadable behind that mask.
Garrion POV
I sit beside Mika, the fire crackling between us, but my eyes remain fixed on Cora.
She is still with her horse, her hands gentle as she whispers into his ear, offering him apples from her bag.
The stallion devours them greedily yet calms beneath her touch.
I did not expect this. I did not expect her to know how to hunt, or that she had ever needed to, simply to survive.
She is not the pampered daughter I imagined. She is something else entirely.
“Not what you expected, huh?” Mika’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and amused.
“No,” I admit, my gaze still locked on her.
“You like her,” he says, not as a question but as a statement.
“I tolerate her,” I correct him, the words clipped, deliberate. But Mika knows me too well. He sees through the mask I wear, the armor I keep around my thoughts. He knows it is a lie.
Because the truth is there, gnawing at me. The way she moves, the way she commands that beast of a horse, the way she silenced the forest with a single arrow, it unsettles me. It intrigues me. And though I try to deny it, something in me is beginning to shift.
The smell of roasting meat drifts through the camp, rich and heavy, mingling with the smoke of the fires. My men laugh quietly among themselves, but my focus is elsewhere. I take a few slices of the cooked venison, set them on a plate fashioned from broad leaves, and carry it to Cora.
She looks up as I sit beside her, her cloak drawn close around her shoulders. “Thank you, my lord,” she says softly, her voice careful, measured.
“You don’t have to call me my lord all the time, Cora,” I reply, my tone gentler than I intend.
She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp, searching eyes. “Alright… what should I call you then?”
“Garrion,” I tell her simply. “That is my name. You are my wife by law, not a subject I control.” I try to sound indifferent, detached, as though it makes no difference to me. But the words feel heavier than I expect, and something inside me stirs.
She nods, her lips curving faintly, and for a moment the firelight catches her face, softening her features.
I feel the urge to close the distance between us, to bridge the silence that hangs like a wall.
I force myself to remain still, to keep the mask of command in place.
Yet beneath it, I know the truth: I want to be closer to her.
“Alright, Garrion.” She says my name slowly, testing it out on her tongue as though it is unfamiliar, foreign. The sound of it from her lips unsettles me in ways I cannot name. Then she lowers her gaze and begins to eat the meat, calm and deliberate.
I watch her for a moment before speaking, my voice measured. “So why did you live on the farm instead of your father’s castle?” I want to understand her more, to piece together the fragments of her past that keep surfacing.
She swallows, her expression tightening. “Apparently I look like my mother, and he couldn’t stand the sight of me. He said I killed her the day I was born. And apparently I share in her caring nature, which got me into trouble with him many times. I suppose it was easier to send me away.”
Her words strike me harder than I expect. My jaw clenches. To cast out a child for resembling her mother, it is unthinkable.
“What have you done that is so heinous to warrant sending away a child?” I demand, my rage igniting, the firelight catching the edge of my tone.
She meets my gaze, steady but fragile. “I was stealing from the kitchen and giving the food to the orphanage. The children were starving.”
For a moment, I am silent, the weight of her confession pressing against me. Heinous? No. Noble. And yet she was punished for it, cast aside like a criminal. My fists tighten at the thought of her father’s cruelty.
I look at her differently now, not as a burden, not as a wife forced upon me, but as someone who has carried pain and compassion in equal measure.
We sit in silence, the fire crackling low, shadows stretching long across the clearing. I have nothing else to say. My mask presses against my skin, itching, suffocating. I could remove it, show her that I am not the disfigured monster everyone whispers about. But I am not ready. Not yet.
Instead, I rise and cross the short distance between us. She looks up, startled but calm, as I drape my cloak into her hands. “It may get cold tonight,” I tell her, my voice softer than I intend.
Her lips curve into a smile. “Thank you, Garrion.”
She says my name with ease now, and something in me stirs at the sound.
She walks to her horse, settling against a tree.
Zeus shifts, lowering his massive head into her lap, protective and tender.
She strokes him absently, her face serene in the firelight.
I watch her longer than I should, the warmth of her smile lingering in my chest.
“You are falling in love with her,” Mika mutters beside me, his tone sly, winding me up as always.
I don’t answer. My jaw tightens; my eyes still fixed on Cora. I want to deny it, to dismiss his words as foolishness. But the truth gnaws at me, undeniable.