The Stolen Heir’s Bond

Elaria's pulse thundered in her ears.

Varos's men. Here.

She had heard the stories—what they did to those who harbored fugitives. The burned villages. The bodies strung up as warnings. If they found her with him, there would be no trial, no mercy. Only fire and blood.

She turned to flee.

A hand shot out, gripping her wrist.

"Wait," the man hissed. He was still pale from blood loss, but his grip was strong—unyielding. "They'll kill you if they see you."

Her lips parted, breath fogging in the frigid air. "Then you should have stayed dead."

His mouth twitched—an almost-smile, gone in an instant. "Not an option."

The hoofbeats grew louder. Elaria didn't need to see the riders to know they were close. Too close.

Panic clawed at her ribs. She had two choices: run and hope they didn't see her, or stay and die with this man she had foolishly saved.

Neither option ended well.

"I can hide us," she whispered before she could stop herself.

His golden eyes sharpened. "How?"

Magic. The word hovered on her tongue, but she bit it back. Instead, she yanked her hand free and pressed both palms to the frozen earth.

She had only done this once before, years ago, when Lord Varos's soldiers had raided the village searching for her mother.

It had worked then. She prayed it would work now.

Magic burned through her veins, surging from her hands into the earth. The trees around them shuddered, their branches stretching, twisting. Shadows deepened, swallowing the clearing whole. The world flickered—one breath, two—and then they were gone.

Not truly gone. Just… unseen.

The illusion settled like a heavy cloak over them, bending the light, warping the air. To any onlookers, the clearing would appear empty. A trick of the senses.

Elaria's hands trembled as she pulled back, breath ragged. The magic drained her, as it always did. She could already feel the ache seeping into her bones.

The man beside her went still. His gaze flickered over their surroundings. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

Then the riders appeared.

Five of them, clad in black armor, their faces obscured by visored helms. Their horses pawed at the snow, snorting clouds of mist into the air. One rider—a captain, by the look of his crimson-trimmed cloak—dismounted.

Elaria held her breath.

"Spread out," the captain ordered. His voice was clipped, impatient. "He's here. Find him."

The soldiers obeyed, fanning out through the trees. One passed so close that Elaria could see the frost clinging to the edges of his gauntlets.

A prayer formed on her lips.

Please. Don't see us.

Seconds stretched into eternity.

Then—

"Nothing," one of the soldiers muttered.

Another cursed. "He's a dead man anyway. Probably bled out in the woods."

The captain hesitated. His visor tilted, scanning the clearing one last time. Elaria's muscles locked.

And then, with a grunt, he swung back onto his horse. "We return to the outpost. If he's still alive, he won't last the night."

A sharp whistle. A pull of reins.

And then they were gone.

The moment the last hoofbeat faded, Elaria let out a shuddering breath. The magic collapsed, unraveling in a rush.

She slumped forward. Would have fallen if not for the hands catching her arms.

She flinched.

The man steadied her, his grip firm but careful. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Elaria tore herself free, stumbling back. "That never happened. You never saw me."

She turned, ready to disappear into the trees.

But his voice stopped her cold.

"Wait. You saved my life—twice now. That means I owe you."

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I don't want a debt from a dead man."

"I'm not dead," he said simply. "And I don't plan to be."

His eyes burned gold in the moonlight.

"My name is Kael." A pause. Then— "Prince Kael of Ravaryn."

Elaria stilled.

A prince. The rightful heir to the throne. The one who should have been crowned ten years ago, before Lord Varos's coup.

Before the purge.

Before everything.

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold swept through her.

"If you help me," he said, "I'll make sure you never have to run again."

The wind howled through the trees. Elaria's heart pounded against her ribs.

A deal with a prince.

A deal with the damned.

And yet…

She met his gaze. "You swear it?"

His jaw tightened. "On my life."

The words sealed something between them, unseen yet unbreakable.

Elaria exhaled slowly.

And against every ounce of reason, she extended her hand.

"Then we have a bargain."