The journey continued in near silence.
The carriage moved steadily along the winding road toward Darcien's palace, the aftermath of the ambush fading behind them but not leaving either of their minds. Outside, the forest thinned gradually, trees giving way to open stretches of land bathed in the dull gold of late afternoon.
Maya sat quietly, hands folded in her lap.
Too quietly.
Her gaze drifted to the window, but she wasn't really seeing the road or the sky beyond it. Instead, fragments of the visions replayed in her mind—sharp, disjointed flashes that made her chest tighten all over again.
The overturned car.
The sound of shattering glass.
Her own feet pounding against the ground as she ran—ran without knowing why—into a forest that felt eerily familiar.
None of it made sense.
Back then, in the modern world, she hadn't remembered any of it afterward. It had vanished as if it had never happened, like a dream that slipped away the moment she woke. Yet now, in this world, it was returning to her in pieces, uninvited and vivid, as though something inside her was unlocking memories she was never meant to keep.
Why now?
Why here?
Across from her, Darcien watched her from beneath his lashes.
She hadn't spoken since the attack. No sharp remarks, no defiance, no restless movement. Just silence.
He assumed he knew why.
Killing took something from you the first time. Even when it was necessary. Even when it was survival. He had seen warriors shaken to their core, their confidence cracked by the weight of a single life taken.
And Princess Elowen had done it with a stone.
Human hands. Human strength.
His jaw tightened. He should have protected her better.
He opened his mouth, intent on saying something—anything—to ground her, to pull her back from whatever thoughts had claimed her.
Before he could speak, she turned to him.
"What if…" she began, hesitating. Her brows knit together, uncertainty flickering across her face. "What if I'm not from here?"
Darcien stilled.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone careful, eyes sharpening on her.
For a heartbeat, she considered telling him everything. The flashes. The memories that didn't belong to this world. The feeling that her life had been split in two.
Then she shook her head.
"Never mind," she said quickly, turning back to the window. "It's stupid."
Darcien studied her in silence.
It was not a stupid question.
But whatever had driven her to ask it, she had buried it just as fast. And he knew better than to press her when she withdrew like this. Still, unease settled deeper in his chest.
She was not merely shaken.
She was searching for something.
And Darcien had the unsettling sense that wherever Princess Elowen truly belonged, it was far more complicated—and far more dangerous—than either of them yet understood.