The palace was a lie.
The throne was stolen, wrapped in silks and deception. And Naomi sat on it like she had bled for it.
Ariel could still see her, draped in elegance, her painted lips curling into a smirk. Bianca sat at her feet, the perfect little princess, wearing a crown that was never hers to claim.
Ariel's stomach twisted.
She dug her heels into the horse's sides, demanding more speed, more distance, more air.
Faster.
The trees blurred into streaks of green and shadow. The wind clawed at her skin, tangling through her silver hair, but she barely felt it. The weight in her chest was heavier. Suffocating. The world inside that palace had shrunk until there was no space left for her to breathe.
Out here, she was still something more.
The bow pressed firm against her back, a familiar weight that steadied her even when the world spun out of control. She reached for an arrow, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingertips, the slight tension in the string as she pulled back.
She exhaled.
Aimed.
The arrow cut through the wind.
A sharp whistle. A solid thud.
The target stood still, the arrow buried deep in its center.
A perfect shot. A perfect moment of silence.
Something was wrong.
The air had changed.
The wind carried a scent—burning. Thick. Acrid. Her horse snorted, ears flicking back, nostrils flaring. That was not firewood. It was heavier, fouler.
The forest had gone silent.
No leaves rustled. No insects hummed. The quiet pressed into her ears, thick and unnatural.
A branch snapped.
Ariel reached for another arrow, fingers curling tight around the shaft as she turned.
Something was watching her.
She could feel it before she saw it. The air had thickened, the silence stretched thin. A presence coiled in the shadows, heavy and unseen.
Two glowing red eyes blinked open in the darkness.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
It did not move. It only watched.
Unblinking. Studying. Waiting.
The rasp of its breath slithered through the air, deep and guttural.
Too big to be a wolf. Too silent to be a common beast.
A step forward. A shift of muscle beneath dark hide. Claws pressing into damp earth.
The glow of its gaze burned into her skin.
Her grip tightened on the bowstring.
It attacked.
Her arrow flew, aimed straight for its throat.
Before the creature could strike, something else did.
A shadow passed over the trees. A flicker of iron scales against the dark sky. Ariel barely had time to register the movement before the force struck.
A collision of power against flesh. A crack through the air. A screech, twisted and agonized.
A Golvon.
The massive beast rose from the darkness, its wings spreading wide, its form a force of raw destruction. It lifted the creature effortlessly off the ground, claws sinking deep into writhing flesh.
The smaller beast thrashed, shrieking, its limbs twisting against the inevitable.
The Golvon's maw opened.
Fire swelled in the depths of its throat, rising, crackling, consuming the air.
The flames erupted.
A searing inferno swallowed its prey, turning flesh to ash, twisting the wind with the stench of burning remains.
Ariel could not move.
Her pulse pounded against her skull.
The Golvon lowered its head.
Molten eyes locked onto hers.
A slow, deliberate step forward.
Its presence swallowed the space between them, a force so immense it pressed against her skin. The heat of its breath rolled over her, tinged with the scent of charred remains.
Ariel's fingers trembled. Her grip slipped against the smooth wood of the bow.
She willed herself to move, to run, to fight, but her legs refused to obey.
The Golvon watched her.
Waiting.
Its tail curled against the ground. Claws flexed, dragging slow lines into the dirt. It was not mindless. It was not wild.
It was something far worse.
It was deciding.
Ariel reached for an arrow, desperate to find control.
Her fingers would not cooperate.
The bowstring wavered beneath her hold.
Her hands were shaking too hard to aim.