The forest breathed like a living thing — cold, watchful, ancient.
Rain fell through the branches in steady whispers, threading through leaves and dripping onto the slick moss below. The sky above was a bruised gray, flashing with occasional bursts of silver lightning.
Aurelia ran.
Her heartbeat drowned out the storm. Every branch that snapped underfoot sounded like a chase closing in behind her. Her gown clung to her legs, heavy with rain and mud, but she didn't stop. She couldn't.
She just wanted distance — from the tower, from the blood, from him.
When she stumbled into the clearing — their clearing — it felt almost unreal to see it again.
The fallen oak still lay across the stream like a bridge, the same place she used to sit and listen to Malion's strange stories about faraway kingdoms and wars that never made it into the history books.
Once, she had laughed here.
Now, all she could taste was rain and regret.
A low voice broke through the storm.
"You shouldn't have run, Aurelia."
She spun. Malion stood at the tree line, the rain running down his black cloak, eyes gleaming like a predator's in the dim light. He looked carved from the night itself — sharp, composed, utterly unbothered by the storm she was drowning in.
"Don't follow me," she said breathlessly, taking a step back. "I don't want your help anymore."
"Don't you?" His tone was soft, but there was a weight to it — the kind that made her pulse stutter.
"Because I recall you begging for it not long ago."
"I didn't beg." Her voice trembled. "I just… didn't want to die."
He tilted his head slightly. "And yet, you run into the heart of a forest crawling with beasts. Strange way to prove your survival instincts."
"Maybe I'm tired of running," she shot back.
"Or maybe," he said quietly, stepping closer, "you're running from the wrong person."
The air between them seemed to narrow. Every drop of rain sounded louder. Aurelia's breath caught, and she forced herself to look away — to stare at the stream instead of his eyes.
"I don't know who you really are," she whispered. "And that's the problem.... you're acting strange."
Malion didn't reply. He just looked at her — too still, too controlled. The silence stretched until she finally broke it.
"I can't go back," she said, her voice cracking. "I won't marry the King."
Something flickered across his face — a brief, unreadable shadow.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because he's cruel. Because he destroys lives. Because everyone who crosses him disappears."
She swallowed hard. "Because he's a monster."
"Rumors," he said flatly.
"Then why do you defend him?" she demanded. "You talk like you know him."
His eyes hardened. "I do."
She blinked. "Then tell me — what is he like?"
"Complicated," he said after a pause. "Ruthless, perhaps. Misunderstood."
Aurelia frowned. "You almost sound sorry for him."
"Would that be such a crime?" His gaze met hers, piercing and strange. "Even monsters have hearts, Aurelia."
Her lips parted to respond, but the words were lost in the sudden snap of a bowstring.
Malion's hand shot out, grabbing her by the shoulder as an arrow whistled past and buried itself in the tree behind her.
"Down!" he barked, forcing her to the ground.
Before she could even scream, another arrow flew, grazing the edge of his cloak. He turned sharply toward the forest, his entire posture shifting — calm melting into lethal focus.
Through the sheets of rain, dark figures appeared. Assassins — six, no, eight — slipping between the trees like shadows given form.
Malion's voice was low, cold. "Stay down. Don't move."
"Malion, what—"
Her question turned into a gasp as one of the assassins lunged. Malion's knife flashed — silver and rain-soaked — and the man fell before his blade even finished its arc. Another came from behind, swinging a curved dagger, but Malion caught his wrist mid-motion, twisted, and slammed him into the mud.
The forest erupted with chaos — steel on steel, the wet crunch of footsteps, the smell of iron and rain.
Aurelia could barely see through the downpour. Every time she blinked, another body fell. Malion moved like he'd done this a thousand times — precise, efficient, terrifyingly graceful.
But she noticed something else too: he never looked panicked. Not once.
He had known they would come.
A cry tore through the storm as a massive wolf burst from the trees — its fur slick, eyes burning amber.
Then another.
And another.
The assassins turned their blades, but the wolves were faster — their jaws clamped down with savage strength, pulling men to the ground, tearing through flesh and armor alike. The forest filled with snarls and screams.
Aurelia pressed herself against a tree, her chest heaving, tears mixing with rain.
"Wolves… why are they—"
"Not enemies," Malion cut in, his voice low but clear, eyes locked on the beasts as if commanding them with a glance. "Not to me."
Before she could process that, a final assassin broke through the chaos, blade raised toward her throat.
Malion moved. One heartbeat, two — then the man was on the ground, his sword gone, his life spilling into the mud.
The world went quiet again, save for the sound of the storm and Aurelia's shaking breath.
Malion stood a few feet away, knife dripping red. His cloak was torn, one side of his hand bruised, but he looked utterly unbothered — calm, dangerous, unreadable.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"I…" She swallowed. "No."
He nodded once and turned away, sheathing his knife e.
But she couldn't stop staring — at the wolves circling them, at the corpses, at him.
"Who are you, Malion?" she whispered. "Who do you serve?"
He glanced at her, rain dripping from his lashes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
He said nothing — just walked to one of the wolves and laid a hand on its head. The creature stilled instantly, like a soldier awaiting command. When it stepped back into the shadows and disappeared, the rest followed, melting into the forest like mist.
Aurelia's heart thudded. He didn't fight them. He controlled them.
Her voice trembled. "You're not just a hunter, are you?"
He looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "No."
Silence stretched between them again. The rain had softened, turning to a fine drizzle. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and in her fear, she said the one thing that pierced the quiet.
"I shouldn't have trusted you," she whispered, almost to herself. "I should've listened to Rowan. Maybe I should've married him to avoid all this."
Malion froze mid-step.
His voice, when it came, was dangerously low. "Say that again."
Aurelia blinked, startled. "What?"
He turned toward her, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Say it again."
"I said maybe I should've—"
"Don't." His tone was sharp enough to cut air. "Don't say his name at all."
Her temper flared. "Why shouldn't I? At least he's honest! He doesn't pretend to care and then defend another against me!"
His eyes darkened, the flicker of emotion gone. "You think you'd be safer with him? You think that boy could protect you from what hunts you?"
"I don't need protecting!" she shouted. "And I don't belong to you!"
The words snapped through the forest like lightning.
Malion took one slow step toward her. His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow cut deeper than a shout.
"You belong to me, Aurelia."
She shook her head furiously, her voice breaking. "You don't have that right!"
He smiled — a cruel, bitter thing. "Don't I? After everything I've done to keep you alive?"
"I didn't ask you to!" she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. "You're no better than the king!"
Thunder rolled. The air between them burned with tension, with things unsaid — jealousy, anger, something darker neither wanted to name.
Then came the sound of heavy boots.
Dozens of them.
Malion's head turned sharply, and his fury melted into something colder, heavier. "Too late," he muttered.
Figures emerged through the trees — the shimmer of polished armor, the flash of gold emblems under torchlight. The royal crest of Velmire gleamed against their chests.
Aurelia stumbled back. "The royal guard— they've found us."
Instinct told her to run, but Malion didn't move. He stood perfectly still, rain sliding down his face.
"Malion, we have to—"
"Stay where you are," he said — not harshly, but in a tone that made her stop breathing.
The commander stepped forward, lowering his sword. Then, to Aurelia's utter confusion, he dropped to one knee — followed by every guard behind him.
The sight didn't make sense.
"Your Majesty," the commander said, his voice shaking. "Forgive our delay. The assassins will be investigated."
Aurelia blinked, her voice trembling. "Majesty…?"
Malion said nothing. He simply raised one bloodstained hand, and the commander immediately produced a silken cloth, cleaning it reverently.
"Forgive our incompetence, Your Majesty," the man repeated.
Aurelia's breath caught. "What did you just call him?"
The commander glanced at her in confusion — then realization dawned, and he looked away, as if afraid to meet her eyes.
Malion finally turned toward her.
The rain slowed, the forest holding its breath. Lightning flickered across his face, illuminating the mark on his wrist — a faint sigil shaped like a crown, glowing under his skin. She had seen it once in a book.
The mark of the royal bloodline.
Her voice broke. "You— you're—"
"The King," he finished quietly.
He stepped closer, eyes fixed on her. "You said you didn't want to marry the King, Aurelia Vale."
She took a step back, shaking her head. "No… you— this can't—"
"It seems," he said softly, with a ghost of a smirk curving his lips, "playtime is over."
Lightning split the sky — and the world went white.