Chapter 8 - Into the Southern Wastes
The journey to the southern border was a grueling three-day ride through dense pine forests and jagged, wind-whipped mountain passes. Riding pressed against Kalin’s back, Eloin felt the constant, reassuring warmth of his magic shielding her from the biting cold. By nightfall, they made camp beneath the sprawling branches of ancient oaks, sharing rations by the crackling warmth of a campfire.
"You've never ridden like this before," Kalin noted softly, tossing a dry branch onto the flames as he sat across from her. "Most noblewomen would have demanded a carriage and a retinue of maids."
"I spent seven years carrying heavy slops and scrubbing marble floors, Kalin," Eloin replied with a faint, tired smile. "A horse and a bit of cold air are a luxury compared to Lord Vain’s dungeons."
Kalin’s expression darkened, the warmth in his eyes shifting to a protective, smoldering intensity. "Vane will pay for every day you suffered under his roof. I swear it on my crown, and on the blood oath we shared."
"I know," she murmured, leaning closer to the fire. "Tell me about Meera. What was she like?"
A bittersweet smile touched Kalin’s lips, softening the hard lines of his face. "She was the only light in this castle after our parents died. Fierce, stubborn, and endlessly curious. She used to sneak out into the lower village just to taste the sweetcakes from the bakeries. When she vanished... part of this castle went cold."
May you like
"We’ll bring her home," Eloin promised, reaching across the space between them to place her hand over his.
The moment their skin touched, the golden bond pulsed violently through the camp, sending a cascade of warm sparks dancing into the night air. Kalin turned his hand over, interlocking his fingers with hers, holding her tight as the forest whispered around them.
