Chapter 57

Smoke still hung in the air from Cyrion’s explosive defiance. The ancient keep groaned under its own weight, stones splitting as if the kingdom’s very bones had given way. Serenya staggered through the haze, Kaelen’s arm braced firmly around her waist as they stumbled out into the ruined courtyard.

But Kaelen was limping. Blood streaked the fabric of his tunic, dark against his side. Serenya hadn’t seen the blade pierce him in the chaos of the battle, but now the sight made her heart lurch.

“Kaelen—”

“Keep moving,” he gritted out, teeth clenched. “We don’t stop here.”

Cyrion’s voice still echoed in her ears. Chains bind us all… choose crown or heart. The weight of it pressed down like invisible shackles. But right now, none of that mattered more than the crimson trail Kaelen was leaving behind.

They stumbled beneath a fallen archway, its stone cracked and moss-eaten. Beyond it, the forest pressed close, branches reaching like claws into the ruins. Serenya forced him to lean against a tree, her hands trembling as she peeled back the torn fabric of his tunic.

The wound was deep, jagged, and dangerously close to his ribs.

“You’ll bleed out if we don’t close this,” she whispered, panic rising in her chest.

Kaelen’s lips curved in the faintest, bitter smile. “You sound like you care.”

“Don’t you dare mock me,” she snapped, though her voice cracked. “You’ve stood in my shadow, protected me when I didn’t deserve it—don’t you dare leave me now.”

He tried to answer, but his breath shuddered, words breaking apart before they reached her. His head slumped back against the tree.

Serenya pressed her hands over the wound, the blood warm and sticky against her palms. But she wasn’t a healer—she had no gift for this. Panic swirled, clawing at her chest.

Then, through the trees, a lantern’s glow appeared.

“Isolde!” Serenya called out, desperation tearing from her throat.

Moments later, Isolde Mirean, the healer with eyes like storm clouds, pushed through the undergrowth. She dropped her satchel the instant she saw Kaelen slumped against the tree.

“Move,” Isolde commanded. Serenya shifted aside without hesitation.

The healer’s hands worked quickly, steady and sure as she uncorked vials and spread salves with practiced precision. Her voice stayed low, calm, as if tethering Kaelen to consciousness. “Stay with me, shadow-walker. You’re not finished yet.”

Serenya knelt beside them, her breath coming hard. “Will he live?”

Isolde didn’t look up. “If he keeps fighting. The wound is poisoned.”

Serenya’s stomach twisted. “Poisoned?”

Isolde nodded grimly, drawing out a vial of crushed herbs that smelled sharp and bitter. “A blade coated in blackthorn venom. It seeps into the blood, clogs the heart. I can slow it, but without the full cure…”

Her words trailed off, unfinished.

Serenya felt her world tilt. Kaelen’s face was pale, his breathing shallow. Not him. Not now. Not when I need him most.

“What cure?” she pressed, desperate.

Isolde finally looked at her. “The venom can only be purged with a root found in the Whispering Forest. A dangerous place. Few who enter return.”

Serenya’s pulse thundered in her ears. “Then I’ll go.”

Kaelen’s hand suddenly grasped her wrist, weak but insistent. His eyes cracked open, shadowed with pain but still sharp enough to pierce her. “No… you can’t risk it. Serenya, if Thalric’s men find you—”

“I don’t care about Thalric right now!” she snapped, tears burning in her eyes. “I care about you.”

Silence fell, thick with the truth of her words. For once, she didn’t hide behind duty or crowns.

Kaelen’s grip loosened, his gaze softening. “You’ll lose everything if you chase after me.”

Serenya shook her head fiercely. “If I lose you, Kaelen, I’ve already lost everything.”

Isolde glanced between them, her expression unreadable. “If you go, you must leave now. The venom spreads quickly. By dawn, it will reach his heart.”

Dawn. A single night to brave a cursed forest.

Serenya rose, determination burning away her fear. “Then guide me, Isolde. Tell me where to go.”

The healer handed her a small vial filled with glowing powder. “Follow the whispers in the trees. When they grow louder, scatter this on the ground. The root will reveal itself. But beware—the forest is alive, and it does not give without taking.”

Serenya tucked the vial into her cloak, her jaw set. “Then it will have to take what it dares.”

She turned back to Kaelen, kneeling once more, pressing her forehead to his. His skin was fever-warm, his breath shallow. “Hold on. I’ll come back.”

For the first time since she had known him, Kaelen let the mask drop completely. His hand rose weakly to touch her cheek, rough fingers trembling. “Serenya… don’t let the past break you.”

Her heart cracked with the weight of it, but she forced herself to stand, to turn toward the forest where shadows whispered.

Isolde stayed behind, working to keep Kaelen alive as long as she could. Serenya plunged into the trees, every step swallowed by darkness.

The Whispering Forest lived up to its name. Voices slithered through the branches, echoing in her mind. Some were kind, others cruel.

Why do you fight, little heiress? one hissed.

You cannot save him, another cooed. You will only join the dead.

Serenya pressed on, her grip tight around her sword. Each step forward felt heavier, the ground pulling at her boots as if the earth itself wanted to claim her.

At last, she heard it—the low hum of voices rising into a chorus. The whispers surrounded her, clinging to her skin, tugging at her thoughts.

She pulled out the vial of glowing powder and scattered it across the mossy ground. The whispers shrieked, then fell silent.

From the soil, pale roots began to emerge, twisting and writhing like serpents. At their center, one root glowed faintly blue—the cure.

Serenya reached for it, but the forest was not finished.

The roots lashed upward, wrapping around her wrists, her ankles, pulling her down. She struggled, her blade flashing, cutting one tendril, then another. But for every root she severed, more coiled around her.

A voice thundered through the trees. Blood must be given for blood to be saved.

Serenya froze, heart pounding. “What do you want?”

The roots tightened, biting into her skin. Yours… or his.

The meaning struck like lightning. The forest demanded a sacrifice—her blood, or Kaelen’s.

Her sword clattered to the ground as she cried out, fighting the chains of root and shadow. “Take mine!” she shouted. “Take whatever you want, just let him live!”

The forest stilled. Then, with a hiss, the roots plunged shallowly into her arms, drawing crimson into the soil. Pain seared through her, but she didn’t falter. She clenched her jaw, tears streaking her cheeks.

The glowing root broke free from the earth, falling into her palm.

The roots released her, retreating back into the shadows. The whispers faded, leaving only the sound of her ragged breathing.

Serenya staggered to her feet, clutching the cure, blood dripping down her arms. She didn’t waste a moment. With every ounce of strength left in her, she ran back toward the ruins where Kaelen lay.

By the time she burst into the clearing, dawn was painting the sky with streaks of gold. Isolde looked up, eyes wide, as Serenya collapsed to her knees beside Kaelen, thrusting the root into the healer’s hands.

“Save him,” Serenya gasped. “Please.”

Isolde wasted no time, grinding the root into a paste and pressing it to the wound. Kaelen’s body convulsed, his breath caught, and then slowly—his color began to return.

Serenya slumped forward, exhausted, bloodied, but alive. She clutched Kaelen’s hand, whispering fiercely. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then his fingers twitched, curling weakly around hers. His voice was hoarse, broken, but real.

“You came back.”

Her tears fell freely as she pressed her forehead to his hand. “Always.”

Above them, the sun broke fully over the horizon. But in the distance, the sound of marching boots echoed faintly—the dawn carried not only life, but betrayal.