Chapter 21 Hoofprints #2
Something tightens in my chest.
I reach out, brushing my fingers over the leather, then dress quickly, grateful for the fresh trousers, given the state of my old ones. When I finish, a knock sounds at the door.
Cassian stands in the threshold, his gaze sweeping over me.
“It suits you,” he says quietly. “The king asked me to escort you to the courtyard once you’re ready.”
Something warm and unsettled coils in my stomach.
“I’m ready,” I say, slinging my satchel over my shoulder—my Pegasus dagger secure inside, along with the most recent book the library offered.
Cassian’s eyes linger on me—assessing, approving, protective.
“You look ready,” he says at last, gesturing for me to follow.
By the time we reach the courtyard, the sun has crested the eastern wall, casting long shadows over stone.
And there he is.
The king.
Keiren.
He stands beside two horses. I recognize the black stallion instantly—his coat gleaming like obsidian, nostrils flaring as he shakes his mane, pawing at the ground like a storm caught mid-charge. Beside him, a tall silver-gray tosses his head and whinnies, sleek and powerful.
“Have fun, kids,” Cassian murmurs with a wink before turning back toward the keep and disappearing up the steps.
I don’t take my eyes off the horses. Keiren doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“They’re ready,” Keiren says. His voice is calm, but there’s a glint in his eyes—a warmth he doesn’t bother hiding.
I stop a few feet away. “You saddled him.”
He nods once. “It took nearly half the morning. I know you prefer to ride bareback, but I figured you’d want a saddle for where we’re going.”
“You trust me not to let him bolt off into the wild?”
“No,” he says, flashing me a wicked grin. “I’m counting on it.”
I bite back a smile. “Does he have a name?”
“He will,” Keiren says, “once you give him one.” He holds out the reins. “He’s yours.”
I blink. “Mine?”
He nods, stepping closer and offering his hand to help me mount.
The stallion snorts, nudging my shoulder. I run a hand down his neck, still a little stunned.
“My mother used to say every creature is born with a God-given name,” I murmur. “That every creature’s eyes hold their truth.”
Keiren tilts his head. “She sounds like a wise woman.”
“She was.”
I study the stallion—the way his hooves are scorched dark like coals, the wild defiance in his stance. When I reach out, he lifts his head and presses his velvet-soft nose into my palm. I meet his gaze and swear I see sparks dancing in the depths of his obsidian eyes.
“Brimstone,” I whisper. “His name is Brimstone.”
Keiren’s lips curve into a smile, dimples flashing—turning him from handsome to devastating.
“Fire and Brimstone,” he muses. “Fitting.”
I take the hand he offers—though I don’t need it—and mount Brimstone without hesitation. Keiren swings up onto his own steed, and together, we ride.
At first, it’s quiet. The wind hums through the trees, and the sound of hoofbeats against the earth becomes a steady, grounding rhythm. The kingswood opens like a sigh, cool and green and dappled with shifting light. It smells of pine and moss and something older still.
We trot along, side by side, the canopy parting above us in brief glimmers of blue. I chance a glance at Keiren and suddenly notice he’s strapped a thick saddle bag and a longsword with a sapphire pommel to his saddle.
It’s a surprise,” he shouts back.
“And are these woods so dangerous that you need a sword?”
He keeps his gaze forward. “One can never be too careful.”
I eye him warily.
“You don’t trust me, Fire?”
“No,” I say flatly.
He grins.
“Is this still part of the trials?” I ask. “Testing if I can survive an afternoon in your company?”
His gaze flicks to mine. “No. Today isn’t a test. I just figured you could use the fresh air after being cooped up in that library for so long.”
Has he been keeping tabs on me—or do the walls of the keep have eyes and ears, along with their magic?
Then he turns and gestures grandly at the surrounding forest. “The kingswood extends for miles around the castle. A mercy from the curse. I think I’d have gone mad if I were confined to Noctryas alone for six hundred years.”
I raise one brow. “You say that like you haven’t already.”
He laughs, a low, genuine sound that does something strange to my chest.
“Whenever I’m around you, I’ll admit I question that,” he says.
I look away before the heat in my cheeks betrays me, clearing my throat before I change the subject. “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Aetherion,” he answers. “It’s an old word. It means ‘of the upper skies.’ He was my mother’s, before me.”
“So, he’s…”
“Cursed too? Yes. The night the curse was cast, every soul within the keep’s grounds—creature or man—was bound to it. To me.”
“And Brimstone…?”
“Yes. He was a wild stallion we found on the eastern ridge. Took Aetherion and me a full day to catch him in. That was… fifty years ago.”
“Fifty—” I blink. “He’s been here for fifty years?”
“And in all that time, no one has ever gotten close to him. Until you.” There’s something in his voice—a softness, a thread of memory. I want to ask more—about him, about his past—but I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I ask something far more practical.
“So… what would happen if you ever crossed the boundary line?”
His gaze flicks toward me, then back to the path. He’s quiet for a moment. The reins tighten slightly in his hands.
“The curse was designed to keep me contained,” he says at last. “Bound to the forest. The keep. This life. If I cross the edge…” He exhales. “My body would begin to tear itself apart. Shadows first. Then rot. Then—”
“Death?” I finish.
“If fate is merciful.”
He turns his head, studying the trees lining the path as if they’re suddenly fascinating.
I watch his profile. He says it like it doesn’t matter—like he’s already made peace with it. Something cold settles in my chest.
“Does that apply to the fae?” I ask. “The other creatures?”
“No,” he says softly. “Just me, though I’ve forbidden them from leaving the mist. It’s safer that way. Can’t have magical beings wandering a land that no longer believes they exist.”
“Is that why no one beyond the mist knows the truth?” I ask. “Everyone except Grathmoor?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Grathmoor has always known.”
“Hence why they take their selection process so seriously,” I say.
He glances at me, surprised—and impressed. “Exactly.”
“And the others?” I press.
“Eldrien and Korran Vale suspect something,” he says. “But Solmere…” His mouth tightens. “Your region has worked very hard to bury the truth. I don’t agree with it—but I respect their autonomy.”
“But why keep it secret at all?” I ask, frustration bleeding through. “Why rule by proxy? From the shadows? Why not unite the kingdom and let us all work together to break the curse?”
“And tell everyone there’s a tightening noose hanging around their necks?” He shakes his head. “No. I tried that once. It didn’t end well.”
Something clicks.
A passage I’d read in the library. A half-burned account of panic and collapse.
“Is that why Abrellia fractured?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” His voice hardens. “Most people don’t care about politics or prophecies. They just want to survive one day at a time. You’ve lived among them; you know that.”
I study him then. Really study him.
So he does understand his people. Even cut off. Even shrouded in mist. He cares.
And then I think of my father. Of the men who’ve thrived in corruption. Of systems that protect them.
“It’s exactly that kind of thinking,” I say slowly, “that allows people to remain ignorant.”
He looks at me. “You think the truth would make things better?”
“I think sacrificing twelve innocent women,” I say, my voice tight, “letting them and their families believe they’re being honored by the gods, only to doom them to fire and ash, is cruel.”
“But you knew,” he says softly.
“Yes,” I reply. “But only because I—”
I stop. The words catch in my throat. I look down at the reins in my hands.
Keiren clears his throat.
“I admire your courage, Fire,” he says. “But not everyone wants to face the truth.”
I fall silent.
And for the first time, I realize the forest isn’t just his prison.
It’s his shield.
And I’m riding closer and closer to the one line he can’t cross.
I goad my mount into a canter, then a gallop, taking off at top speed. Keiren follows my lead, but we quickly pull ahead. Brimstone is fast—faster than I imagined. When we reach the edge of the ridge, I pause. Something tugs in my chest like an invisible thread, pulling me north.
Keiren reins in beside me. “What is it?”
I don’t answer, just nudge Brimstone forward, veering toward a thin, overgrown trail, a path that snakes beyond the safety of the forest.
“Fire,” Keiren calls after me. “That way leads out of the kingswood.”
I ignore him, every nerve in my body sparking with instinct.
Then I hear it—a distant whinny, sharp and unmistakable.
My heart seizes, and I kick Brimstone into a gallop.
“Wait—!” Keiren shouts behind me. “I can’t protect you out there!”
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
The trees thicken. The trail narrows. Brimstone charges forward, swift and sure, dodging low branches and ducking through brambles as my heart thunders in time with his hooves.
The sound grows louder. Closer.
Finally, we break through the last thicket into a sun-drenched clearing by the riverbend, and I see her.
Her coat is the deep, muted black of old coal, soft, smoky, and ghosted with ash.
Dusty golden markings stretch along her flanks in curved, uneven lines that almost resemble wings mid-beat, like some forgotten god etched them there with sunlight and smoke.
Her mane is as pale as moonlight, wild and tangled with burrs.
And her eyes—those magnificent eyes—still hold the storm-touched sharpness of something untamed.
She isn’t just fast. She flies across the earth like she remembers something the sky forgot.
“Ashwing!”