[Rowan’s POV]
The twins were strapped against my chest beneath my cloak, with their tiny bodies warm against my skin. Every rustle of leaves made me tighten my grip on the reins, and every snap of a twig set my heart hammering.
“Almost there,” I whispered to them, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. “Just stay quiet. Stay with me.”
Elowen’s directions pressed into my thoughts: Take the old forest road. Cut past the ravine. No guards ride there; it’s too narrow for patrols.
I had trusted her. I had no choice. But as the trees thinned and the faint line of the path appeared before me, something shifted in the air, like breath held too long.
A second later, four men stepped out from the shadows. Armed! They were waiting. My horse reared, sensing danger. I pulled him back hard.
“Hold there,” one called, raising a hand. “Rowan of Eryndale?”
Every instinct screamed run, but the twins moved against my chest, too fragile for sudden flight. I kept my posture steady.
“That depends who’s asking,” I said.
The leader stepped closer. He wore a traveling cloak, mud on his boots as if he’d hurried through the night to meet me. His eyes swept over me with unsettling calm.
“Elowen sent us,” he said. “She told us you were coming this way with valuable cargo. She feared you’d be alone, so she asked us to escort you.”
My blood chilled. “Elowen sent you?” I asked. “By what message?”
“She said you’d be wary,” he answered smoothly. “Said to tell you this: ‘Mind the river bend; it washes away tracks.’”
My jaw clenched. Elowen had said those exact words earlier in the night. But something was off. Too pat; too rehearsed. And the men—none looked like palace allies. They carried themselves like mercenaries. Wolves, not guards.
I shifted in the saddle, keeping my cloak tight over the babies. “I travel alone,” I said. “I don’t need an escort.”
The man smiled thinly. “We insist.”
Before I could reach for my sword, the trap sprang. Two men lunged for my horse, grabbing the reins and jerking the beast sideways. The other two went for me, hands reaching for my cloak—the exact place the infants lay hidden.
“Back!” I roared, kicking one in the chest and swinging down from the saddle to keep them away from the twins. One of them grabbed my arm. I twisted free and slammed my elbow into his jaw. He stumbled, spitting blood.
“Bastard—take him!” Steel flashed.
The first blade skimmed my ribs—I felt the burn but ignored it. I swung my sword with my free hand, catching one man across the shoulder. He screamed, dropping his weapon.
The second charged me from behind. I pivoted, knocking him into a tree, cracking his skull against the bark. He slid down, stunned.
For a moment I thought I could hold them all, but the leader moved in fast—too fast. He rammed into me, and I hit the ground hard, the twins between us. My world split open with terror.
“Don’t—!” I choked out, twisting my body to shield them.
But the man behind me grabbed my cloak from the neck and yanked it down, exposing the tiny bundles.
Both infants began to cry.
“Here they are,” he barked. “Take them!”
“No!” I lunged upright, but a fist slammed into my jaw, blurring my vision. Another tore at the bindings I’d tied so carefully, ripping them free.
The boy was pulled from my arms; the girl followed him a moment later. Their cries ripped through the forest like torn silk.
“Stop!” I staggered to my feet, slashing wildly. My blade sank into one man’s thigh—he shrieked and fell, but the other three ran, vanishing into the trees with the twins wailing in their arms.
I tore after them, branches whipping my face, blood pounding in my ears.
“Come back!” I roared. “Give them back!”
But they were trained or desperate, or both. They flickered through the brush faster than a man carrying newborns should. One turned briefly, and I threw my dagger.
It struck him squarely in the back, but the others were already gone. Their footsteps faded. Their shadows were swallowed by the trees.
“No…” I sank to my knees, with the arm pressed against my chest. “No, no, no—”
Cold air touched my hand. I looked down just to notice a crest gleamed on the fallen man’s cloak: black iron shaped into a hooked raven.
Blackharrow! Aldric’s enemy. The rival lord who’d been waiting for any chance to strike.
On the dead man’s wrist was a braided thread: green and white, knotted three times. Elowen’s herb-string!
She’d marked and guided them. She’d betrayed us.
My vision tunneled. Rage and disbelief surged so hot I nearly choked on it. “Damn you,” I whispered. “Damn you, Elowen.”
There was no time to weep. No time to bury the dead man or track the others. The twins were gone—already deeper into enemy hands.
I mounted my horse with shaking legs and kicked hard into the forest path. I rode like the world was ending.
By the time Blackthorn Castle came into view, the sun had begun its slow rise. The walls towered like a sentence waiting to be spoken.
I jumped off my saddle and ran through the gate, ignoring the soldiers shouting after me. My boots clattered on the stone, on the slippery paths leading to the stable—the queen's temporary chambers. I burst inside.
Seraphine lay half-upright, pale, trembling, and barely conscious. Her eyes flicked open—and at the sight of me, a fragile spark lit in them.
“Rowan…? Where—where are they?” Her gaze dropped to my arms, and her face went empty.
“No,” she whispered. “No, Rowan. Not this. Not—”
I went to her, kneeling by the bed, my breath coming in ragged bursts. “I fought them,” I said. “Four men. Ambush on the forest road. They were waiting for me.”
Her hands flew to her mouth.
“They said Elowen sent them.”
Seraphine shook her head violently. “No—no, she wouldn’t, she—”
I loosened the dead man’s knotted thread from my cloak. Her breath hitched.
“She contacted Blackharrow,” I said, voice breaking. “She planned it. She gave them the route, and they stole the twins. Took them into the woods.”
Seraphine’s entire body folded in on itself.
Elowen—her friend, her healer—had delivered her babies only to hand them to Aldric’s enemies.
“I should never have sent them,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I should never—never have trusted—” She collapsed against me, sobbing so quietly it barely sounded human.
“I’m sorry,” I choked. “I’m so damned sorry.”
Before I could say more, a sound shattered the moment. A horn. Deep, resonant, and commanding. It echoed through the courtyard, through the stone, through our bones.
Seraphine froze. “No,” she breathed.
Another blast. Closer and louder. Final.
I turned toward the window. A line of black banners crested the hill. Iron-armored riders. A king’s procession.
Aldric had returned. And the castle was soaked in secrets ready to explode.