They left the Enclave under cover of darkness, taking a treacherous mountain pass that few knew existed. The descent was harrowing, made worse by the knowledge that Darius's forces were closing in behind them.
On the second day, disaster struck. An avalanche, either natural or magically induced, cut off their escape route. They were forced to take shelter in a cave while the snow settled.
Inside, huddled near a small fire Kieran had managed to start, Elara noticed him favoring his left side.
"You're hurt," she said, moving closer.
"Just a bruise," Kieran dismissed. "From earlier, when the snow hit."
"Let me see."
Reluctantly, he pulled aside his cloak. His shirt was torn and bloodied, revealing a deep gash along his ribs. He'd been carrying her pack in addition to his own, and had said nothing.
"Kieran!" Elara exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you had enough to worry about," he said simply. "It's fine."
"It's not fine." Without thinking, Elara placed her hands over the wound. Silver light flowed from her palms, warm and gentle. She felt the magic working, knitting flesh, stopping bleeding. When she pulled her hands away, the wound was closed, leaving only a faint scar.
Kieran stared at her in wonder. "You've learned more than I realized."
"Apparently," Elara said, surprised by her own success. She felt drained but satisfied.
"Thank you," Kieran said softly. He caught her hand before she could pull away entirely. "For healing me. For trusting me. For being brave enough to face all of this."
Elara looked at their joined hands, feeling something shift between them. "I couldn't have done any of it without you."
"Yes, you could have," Kieran said. "But I'm glad you didn't have to."
The moment stretched between them, charged with possibility. But then the fire crackled, breaking the spell, and they both pulled back.
By morning, the avalanche had settled enough to continue. Three days later, exhausted and travel-worn, they reached the border of the Free Cities.
The first city they encountered was Thornhaven, a bustling trade hub known for its independence and its distrust of royal authority. Perfect for hiding, but challenging for recruitment.
Kieran led them to a tavern called The Silver Griffin, where he claimed an old friend worked. The friend turned out to be a grizzled warrior woman named Captain Sera Blackwood, who had once served under Kieran in the royal army.
"Well, well," Sera said, her scarred face breaking into a grin. "Kieran Ashford. I heard you were dead."
"Not yet," Kieran replied. "Though it's been close a few times."
Sera's eyes shifted to Elara, and recognition dawned. "Blood and thunder. You brought the lost princess here?"
"She's not lost anymore," Kieran said. "And we need your help."
Sera studied Elara for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Come upstairs. We have much to discuss. And Princess you're going to need an army if you hope to take back your throne."
"I know," Elara said, meeting the warrior's gaze steadily. "That's why I'm here. Will you help me?"
Sera grinned. "Girl, I've been waiting for someone to give that bastard Darius what he deserves. When do we start?"
For the first time since the coup, Elara felt genuine hope. She wasn't alone. And with allies like these, perhaps reclaiming her throne wasn't an impossible dream after all.