The forest quiet was misleading. Calm on the outside, but under the surface—danger lurked.
Isla opened her eyes to the gentle movement of leaves and the steady in-and-out rise of Tristan's chest next to her. She didn't want to get up for a second. Snuggled in his arms, fire's warmth still in the air, it almost seemed like the world had moved on from them.
But the illusion was fragile.
A sudden snap came from between the trees. Not a bird. Not a squirrel. A footstep.
Tristan's eyes snapped open in an instant. Years of training hardened his body to steel in a second. He placed a finger across Isla's lips and quietly rolled back, grabbing for the dagger at his hip.
She trailed after, kneeling beside the ancient stone shrine, her heart racing.
A sound again—this time closer. Then two low voices. Perhaps three.
Tristan breathed softly, "Scouts. Probably from the palace. They've tracked our path."
"How?" Isla breathed.
He looked toward the trees. "Anything. A stray branch, hoof marks we didn't notice." He muttered something bad under his breath. "We have to go. Now."
They smothered the fire with earth, folded up in an instant, and stole out into the trees, abandoning the shrine to their single quiet night like a specter of memories.
They ran. Through dense underbrush and thick vines, hearts racing and lungs searing.
But behind them—horse hooves.
"They have horses," Tristan growled, anger gritting his tone. "We're on foot. We can't run from them like this."
"We have to hide," Isla said.
"No." He halted abruptly, caught her shoulders. "If they catch us, they won't just split us up. They'll kill me, Isla. You know your father won't spare me."
"I won't let them take you," she whispered hotly.
His gaze searched hers for an instant, then he nodded. "There's an abandoned hunting lodge two miles east of here. If we can make it, we'll have high ground."
They turned east. The woods thinned, the shadows deepened, but it was to their benefit. Each minute dragged out like hours. Their hands remained locked together as they ran, dodged, and scrambled towards safety.
And then at last—through the trees—they spotted it.
The lodge was only a stone husk now, but the tall terrace and the thin windows provided them with an outlook.
They ascended up through a crumbling wall, sweating, panting and spent.
Tristan eyed the trees sternly. "We have perhaps ten minutes before they reach us."
"Then what?" Isla asked. "Do we fight?"
His jaw clenched. "Only if we have no choice."
But even as he spoke, Isla saw something change in him. A determination hardening.
He turned to her, brushing hair away from her face. "If they come, you run. No questions. No waiting."
She clutched his arms. "No—no, I'm not leaving you."
"You must. You're the princess. If they bring you back, there's still hope for your life. Mine? Already lost."
Her eyes welled up with tears. "I would rather die out here with you than live without you in a cage."
Tristan's mouth formed a hard line. He leaned down, kissed her forehead, then her lips—long, slow, burning with all the things he hadn't spoken out loud.
"I love you," he repeated. "If this is the last time I get to hold you—"
"It won't be." Her voice cracked. "Don't say that. We'll survive. We always do."
But already, through the trees, she saw the flash of torchlight.
"They're here," he said softly.
She turned toward the open arch of the broken lodge window.
And then—arrows flew.
They ducked as one struck the wall inches from Isla's head.
Tristan pulled her into a narrow corridor, pressing a dagger into her hand. "Go down the back stair. Follow the path west. I'll draw them off."
"No—"
But he kissed her again, silencing her. This time the kiss was rough, desperate, final.
He drew back before she could grasp him more tightly. "Run, Isla."
She waited only a moment—long enough to commit his face to memory. Then she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Tristan emerged into the open, sword in hand. He stood before the guards with no fear, no regret.
Because for the first time in his life, he was fighting for love.
Meanwhile…
Isla pounded through the forest, branches cutting her skin, her heart splintering with each step. Behind her, the clash of battle—metal on metal, men bellowing.
She didn't pause. Not until the forest enveloped her completely.
And when she finally fell under the embrace of an old oak, gasping for breath and crying into the leaves. she didn't know whether Tristan was alive.
But she knew something:
This wasn't the end.
She would find him once more.
Even if she had to burn kingdoms to ashes to accomplish it.