4. Ryewood
Ryewood
“This is a terrible idea,” Hayes mutters as we slip through the servants’ entrance onto the grounds. Crisp night air hits my lungs, kicking my pulse up.
Classic Hayes, every fucking time. He says it like he hasn’t already committed, like he won’t be beside us all night, drinking ale for ale.
Finn shoves him forward. “Move your ass, Your Highness.”
I smirk and tug the borrowed guard leathers into place. We take the east path without slowing, our boots hitting stone in a familiar rhythm. The training yards rise above us on the hill to our right, empty and quiet in a way they rarely are.
Tomorrow’s going to hurt.
Finn won’t let up. He never does, no matter how late we’re out, how much we drink, or how hard our heads are pounding. Dawn comes, and so does he.
“Any chance you go easy on us tomorrow?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Finn doesn’t even look back. “This how you’re going to be after your awakening, Princeling?”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. He’s been waiting all night for that one.
We keep moving, the smell of hay and leather thick in the air as we pass the stables. Noble row comes next, houses tidy and lifeless.
Hayes slows half a step, his attention drifting toward the house closest to the stables. Of course, Rosie’s house.
I roll my eyes; he’s got it so bad. Finn catches it too.
“Not tonight,” Finn says, already steering Hayes forward. “Tonight’s about women we haven’t met yet.”
The servants’ gate comes into view as we round the bend, plain and unadorned, the one Father doesn’t bother to dress up.
Grier steps forward with that quiet authority he carries like a second skin. “Evening.”
The guards straighten the moment they spot him, pulling their shoulders back. One of them sweeps his eyes over the rest of us in our guard leathers. “Heading into the city, Commander?”
“Long shift,” Grier says simply. “These three are with me.”
The guard glances toward the gatehouse. “We were told to—”
“I said they’re with me.” Grier’s tone hardens just enough.
Nobody speaks for a beat, then the guards step aside without another question. “Of course, Commander. Have a good evening.”
The gate swings open, and I can already hear the distant sound of trial season spilling through the gap, like the city can’t contain itself. My pulse jumps, anticipation blooming in my chest. Tonight’s going to be a good night.
The streets closest to the castle are quiet, shutters drawn, stone swept clean, like the city ends at their doorstep.
It doesn’t last. I feel the shift before I see it, the noise thickening, voices overlapping.
Terrath always gathers around the markets, the rare place where calloused hands and silk sleeves interact.
But tonight, the city is infectious, with trial fever turning every street into a celebration.
There’s music and laughter spilling out from every doorway.
A flash of silver cuts through the crowd. Davrik’s men.
Three of them, silver and blue, catching the torchlight, moving with purpose instead of drift.
Finn clocks them a heartbeat after I do.
“This way,” Grier says quietly.
We adjust without slowing. By the time we rejoin the main street, the silver and blues are gone.
We fall into the familiar curve of the markets, the massive stone wall rising beside us, old and unignorable, the kind of thing you stop seeing until you remember what’s on the other side.
A year from now, Finn and I walk through that archway and into the Weeping Woods. Miles of forest sealed behind the stone wall. With nothing but steel between us and whatever waits on the other side. The thought settles heavy in my chest, uninvited, and I push it down and keep moving.
The city shifts as we follow the wall north, houses growing tighter and less polished. The outskirts are the kind of place where no one pretends to be something they’re not, and it’s more alive for it.
Hayes loosens the farther we go, his posture finally matching ours. Finn’s already scanning ahead, zeroed in on noise and light like he can pick his favorite trouble from a distance. He’s easy to track in a crowd, with black hair and warm brown skin you don’t see much in Terrath.
I grin and keep moving. I know exactly where we’re headed.
The Mossy Barrel comes into view, noise pouring out into the street as a couple staggers out. I can already smell the ale and roasted meat.
We head for the door, but a hand shoots out, stopping us.
“Masks are required tonight, lads,” the doorman says, waving toward a vendor stationed just outside. The old man’s cart is loaded with masks with all the common shifter forms. “Boss’s orders. It’s costume night for the trial season.”
I glance at the others.
Finn’s already grinning. “Who’s gonna be a housecat?”
That gets all of us. We move to the cart, and I grab a wolf mask. It’s sleek, predatory, and fits my mood perfectly tonight.
Grier picks up a bear mask, lifting it with a raised eyebrow.
“Suits you,” I say.
He gives me a rare smile.
Finn grabs a stag mask, antlers and all, shoves it over his face, and steps beside Hayes with a shit-eating grin. “I make this look way better than you do.”
Hayes shoves him, grinning. “Careful. Someone’s going to think we’re related.”
“You look like an idiot,” I say with a snort at the ridiculous antlers.
Finn ties the mask on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ladies love antlers.”
Hayes rolls his eyes, still laughing, finally giving in to the night, and picks up a dog mask.
“Loyal and obedient,” Finn says smugly. “How fitting.”
“All right, boys,” I say, slapping the coins down for our masks. “First round’s on Grier.”
“Pretty sure you two are the ones with the royal coffers,” Grier says dryly.
“Not tonight, we’re not,” I shoot back. “Tonight, we’re just some dashingly handsome guards.”
Grier chuckles as I push inside, the bell over the door lost in the roar of music and voices.
Heat rolls over me, the air thick with ale and sweat. The Mossy Barrel is alive tonight, with tables nearly full, bodies packed three-deep at the bar trying to get their next round.
“Grier, you really are going to need to get the first round,” I say. “You’re the only one big enough to cut through that mess.”
Grier smirks and moves to the bar, bodies parting for him.
Finn is already leading us toward the last open booth tucked in the back corner. Hayes and I slide in. It has a good view, I can see the whole room from here.
Grier comes back a few minutes later with four mugs.
I wrap my hand around mine, moving to take a swig—
“Wait, wait, wait!” Finn’s up before any of us can drink, mug raised like he’s about to give a speech in the damn throne room. “A toast!”
Hayes groans, but he’s grinning. “Here we go.”
Finn beams like he’s just been handed a crown. “To the four best-looking guards in Terrath and the poor bastards who have to compete with us tonight!”
We clink and drink. The ale is cold and perfect, cutting through the heat and sweat and noise, and I take a long pull, letting it settle.
The Barrel is chaos in the best way, with music thudding and laughter cracking through the air. Waitresses weave through it all in costume like it’s normal to serve drinks with antlers and rabbit tails. Trial season makes everyone louder and looser.
Finn drops back into his seat and leans in. “Incoming,” he murmurs, nodding.
I follow his glance. Three women in costume, a cat, an adorable chipmunk, and somehow a beaver that should not look that good, are headed straight for us with bright eyes and confident steps.
“Evening, boys,” the cat says, voice sweet and practiced. “You four look like you’re celebrating something.”
“Just finished a long shift,” I say easily, leaning back against the booth. “Thought we earned a drink.”
“Just one?” the chipmunk asks, eyes bouncing between Finn and me, playful and curious.
Finn flashes that grin, the one that never fails. “Maybe more than one.”
I tilt my head toward the booth. It’s invitation enough; they don’t hesitate, chairs scrape, and perfume cuts through the heat of the room.
“You guards?” the beaver asks.
“What gave it away?” I say, all false innocence.
The cat laughs and drapes an arm over Finn’s like it belongs there. “You all work the trials this year?”
I catch the twitch at the corner of Hayes’s mouth; he’s trying not to laugh at how obvious this is.
Finn’s already on his feet. “Can we buy you ladies a drink?”
The chipmunk lights up. “We wouldn’t say no.”
Finn gestures her into his seat beside Hayes. She slides in without missing a beat.
By the time Finn gets back, I’ve steered the cat and chipmunk toward Hayes, both of them leaning in, their attention fully claimed. Finn lifts an eyebrow as he sits, clearly impressed. I raise my mug in response and take a slow sip.
He turns his charm on the beaver. I glance toward Grier and spot him two booths over, deep in conversation with guards from the training yards.
I sink back into the booth and take it in.
Hayes is laughing, really laughing, his shoulders are loose, eyes bright, nothing held back the way he is at the castle. Finn’s got the beaver leaning in, hanging on his every word. Even Grier looks lighter, like the night’s finally given him permission to breathe.
This is exactly what we needed.
The door chimes. I glance over, and the rest of the room disappears.
Fuck. The fox.
The mask covers the upper half of her face, painted whiskers, pointed ears perched in dark hair, but it’s everything else that stops me cold.
Loose waves spill over her shoulders, catching the lamplight. Brown at first glance, darker in the shadows, warming into copper when she moves. Her skin is sun-touched, golden in a way you don’t see much in Terrath.
She’s all soft curves and quiet strength, with a bushy fox tail flaring behind her that should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t. It’s somehow both adorable and devastating at the same time.