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Chapter Four: Shadows and Secrets
Ruth pressed forward, the firstborn's fragile life in her arms—hope flickering in the darkness.
They reached the back of the church where David had already prepared the carriage, its wheels resting on the muddy ground beneath a canopy of twisted branches.
Ruth nodded and stepped into the carriage carefully, cradling the baby close. David took a seat on the coach box, holding the reins of the horses. Liora followed, settling beside Ruth."
The caretaker stood by the door. "Take care of yourself and the baby," she said, voice low but firm.
Ruth looked up at her, grateful. "Thank you—for everything. Please, check on Noa. Make sure she's safe."
The caretaker inclined her head. "I will. She's strong.
Ruth smiled softly. "We owe you more than words."
The caretaker watched as the carriage started to move, the horses pulling steadily through the wet earth.
As the wheels turned and the carriage disappeared down the path, the caretaker bowed deeply.
Only then did realization dawn on her face. "Princess Ruth…" she whispered, a mix of awe and concern flickering in her eyes.
The carriage jolted along the uneven forest path, wheels crunching over mud and scattered leaves. The dark trees loomed on either side, their skeletal branches scratching the night sky like grasping fingers. The moon peeked faintly through thick clouds, casting ghostly silver light over the quiet woods.
Inside, Ruth sat stiffly, cradling the small bundle wrapped tightly against her chest. The baby's soft cries were muffled, but the tension in the carriage was thick enough to choke on. David guided the horses with careful hands, his eyes darting nervously between the road and the shadowy treeline. Liora sat close by, her pale face taut with worry, glancing often at Ruth.
Finally, the forest gave way to the flickering glow of lanterns and the low murmur of late-night town life. Wooden houses lined narrow cobblestone streets, smoke curling from chimneys into the chilly air. Lanterns hung from windows, casting warm pools of light onto passersby wrapped in heavy cloaks.
As the carriage rolled into the town square, quiet voices hushed and heads turned. Though the windows were thick and tinted, the familiar shape of the royal carriage was unmistakable. A few townsfolk dipped into deep bows, eyes lowered in respect and a hint of fear. No one dared to peer inside.
David slowed the horses, turning to Ruth. "Where now, Your Highness?"
Ruth's pale eyes flicked to the shadows beyond the town. For a long moment, she said nothing, lost in thought. Then her voice came quiet but firm. "The palace, as planned."
Liora and David exchanged uneasy glances. "With the baby?" David asked, disbelief clear.
Ruth nodded without hesitation. "Yes. But we'll stop first."
David frowned. "Where?"
"By the herberlist's. There's someone nearby who can help—soften the boy's appearance. No one must know who he is," Ruth said, her voice low but resolute.
Liora bit her lip, glancing at the infant in Ruth's arms. The baby's eyes were a rare violet, shining softly through the cloth. She whispered, "Are you sure this is wise?"
Ruth's gaze hardened. "We have no choice."
David pulled the reins, the carriage slowing once more. "Whatever you say, Your Highness."
Then Ruth turned serious. "And there's one more thing. You and Liora — you will never speak of today. Not a word. No one must learn what happened. I know your fears about the Xant, but you must trust me."
Liora swallowed hard, her fingers trembling. David's jaw clenched tightly.
Ruth's eyes bore into them. "No matter what I say, no matter what you see, keep silent. There are only a few I trust, and you are among them. Protect this secret. Protect him."
A heavy silence filled the carriage, broken only by the baby's soft whimpers.
David finally nodded. "We understand."
Ruth smiled faintly, brushing a stray strand of hair from the infant's face. "Good."
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Far away, in the cold shadows of the old church, Noa sat on the rough straw pallet cradling her second-born son.
His violet eyes blinked open, calmer now, the strange glowing light that had surrounded him faded like mist.
Noa's voice was soft, trembling. "You're safe now, little one. I'm here."
Doris stood nearby, her expression sad but steady. She kept silent, watching Noa with a mother's compassion.
Suddenly, loud footsteps thundered down the hall, growing closer and more urgent.
The heavy door burst open with a crash just as Doris moved to lock it.
A group of hunters flooded the room, their faces grim and hard.
One shoved past Doris roughly, causing her to stumble backward and hit her head on the stone wall. She blinked, stunned.
Noa's heart pounded. She clutched the baby tighter, her voice cracking. "Please… don't take him."
A hunter stepped forward, taking the infant from her arms with a firm grip.
"We've found her," the leader said coldly, signaling the others.
Noa's tears fell freely as the hunters began to bind her hands.
Outside the room, the hunters spoke in harsh whispers.
"The law says harming a Xant child before eight years brings a curse upon the attacker's family."
"No one dares harm them directly," another added. "They send these children to remote places — hidden in the mountains where they can't be found."
The leader growled, "The mother will face judgment. We've sent the message for her sentence."
Noa's sobs echoed through the church as the baby was carried away.
The cruel night swallowed her cries.