The forest swallowed them whole.
Rowan moved quickly but carefully, guiding Lyra through the undergrowth as the Silver Oath horns echoed behind them. The sound was distant, but not distant enough. It carried the cold, metallic promise of pursuit.
Lyra stumbled over a root, catching herself on a tree trunk. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. The bells in her hair barely chimed — too exhausted to ring.
“Slow down,” she whispered. “I can’t… keep up.”
Rowan turned back immediately.
Her skin was pale, almost gray. Sweat clung to her temples. The aftershock of resisting the moon always hit her like a fever — he’d seen it last night, but now it was worse.
He stepped closer. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“You’re not.”
Lyra’s ears flattened. “If I slow you down, they’ll catch us.”
Rowan scanned the forest. The trees here were tall and ancient, their leaves a deep, unnatural red — the kind that only grew in cursed soil. The air smelled of moss, iron, and something faintly lunar.
“We’ll rest,” he said.
Lyra shook her head. “Rowan—”
“We rest,” he repeated, voice firm.
She didn’t argue again.
He guided her beneath a fallen torii gate, its wood cracked and half?buried in the earth. It offered just enough cover to hide them from passing eyes. Rowan crouched beside her, listening.
The horns sounded again — closer this time.
Lyra’s hands trembled. “They’re tracking me.”
“No,” Rowan said. “They’re tracking me.”
Lyra looked up sharply. “What?”
Rowan didn’t answer. Not yet. He listened until the horns faded into the distance, then finally spoke.
“The Silver Oath doesn’t forgive deserters.”
Lyra’s eyes widened. “You left them?”
“I didn’t leave,” Rowan said quietly. “I was cast out.”
Lyra swallowed. “Because of me?”
“No. Long before you.”
He didn’t elaborate. His jaw tightened, and Lyra sensed the wall he’d built around that part of himself. She didn’t push — not yet.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
A rustle in the trees snapped Rowan’s attention upward. He drew his sword in one smooth motion, placing himself between Lyra and the sound.
A deer burst through the brush and fled deeper into the forest.
Lyra exhaled shakily. “I thought—”
“I know.”
Rowan lowered his blade but didn’t sheath it. His eyes stayed on the treeline.
Lyra watched him — the way he stood, the way he listened, the way he positioned himself without thinking. He wasn’t just protecting her. He was preparing to die for her.
“Rowan,” she said softly. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “I do.”
She stared at him, stunned.
He didn’t look at her. “You fought the moon for me. I won’t forget that.”
Lyra’s throat tightened. She looked away, unable to hold his gaze.
A sudden crack of a branch snapped both their heads up.
Rowan grabbed Lyra’s arm. “Move.”
They slipped deeper into the forest, weaving between red?leafed trees. Lyra’s legs shook with every step, but she forced herself forward. Rowan stayed close, steadying her when she faltered.
The horns sounded again — this time followed by voices.
Rowan cursed under his breath. “They’re sweeping the forest.”
Lyra’s heart pounded. “If they find us—”
“They won’t,” Rowan said. “Not if we reach the old shrine.”
Lyra froze. “Rowan… the shrine is sacred to my people.”
“I know.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why—”
“Because it’s the one place the Silver Oath won’t follow.”
Lyra stared at him, breathless. “You’d go there? For me?”
Rowan finally met her eyes.
“For you,” he said, “I’ll go anywhere.”
The forest fell silent.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Then Rowan took her hand — not gently, not romantically, but with the fierce, unyielding grip of someone who had already chosen his side.
“Come on,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”
Lyra squeezed his hand back.
And together, they ran toward the shrine of the Wolf Queen.
with someone they want dead.
the shrine of the Wolf Queen.
