Chapter 14: Setting Out on the Quest

(Penny’s POV)

Moonrise came too fast.

The valley had quieted under a blanket of twilight, fires banked low, wolves settling into their dens, the distant murmur of voices fading into cricket song and river rush. I stood by the window in Genesis’s chamber, watching shadows lengthen across the keep walls, my stomach knotted tighter than the silk cord Kael’s men had used.

I’d packed light, like he said.

The backpack, miraculously returned by one of his trusted guards, was slung over one shoulder. Inside: the med kit (still half-full), the half-empty water bottle, a spare tunic and leggings Genesis had given me, a small pouch of dried meat and hard bread from the kitchens, and the gray fur cloak folded neatly on top. No phone. No wallet. No proof I’d ever lived anywhere but here.

Genesis appeared in the doorway without a sound, dressed in dark leathers, a hooded cloak of his own, a short sword strapped to his back and a dagger at his hip. He carried a small satchel and a rolled blanket.

“Ready?”

I nodded. My mouth was too dry to speak.

He crossed the room in three strides, took the backpack from my shoulder, and slung it over his own. “I’ll carry this. You move faster without the weight.”

I wanted to argue, pride, maybe, but the truth was my legs still felt like jelly from everything that had happened. I let him take it.

He looked me over once, quick, assessing, then pulled the hood of my cloak up, tucking stray strands of hair beneath it.

“Keep your head down until we’re past the outer patrols. My scent will mask yours enough to get us through the gates. After that… we rely on speed and silence.”

I swallowed. “And if someone recognizes you?”

“They won’t. Not tonight.” A flicker of something, guilt, maybe, crossed his face. “I’ve already spread word that I’m in the eastern tower, recovering from the ambush. The guards on duty tonight are loyal. They’ll look the other way.”

I searched his eyes. “You’re really doing this. Risking everything.”

“I’m not risking the throne,” he said quietly. “I was already planning to leave it behind. This just… accelerates the timeline.”

“And me?”

He hesitated, just a heartbeat. “You’re the reason I’m not walking away alone.”

The words landed soft. Heavy.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

He turned toward the door. “Come.”

We slipped through the keep like ghosts.

Genesis moved with the kind of silence that came from years of hunting, and being hunted. I tried to copy him: soft steps, weight on the balls of my feet, breathing shallow. The corridors were empty; most of the hold was asleep or gathered around low fires in the great hall. We took a side stair, narrow and spiraling, that led to a servants’ passage behind the kitchens.

The smell of bread and stew lingered, warm and heartbreakingly normal.

We emerged near the stables. Genesis paused at the edge of the shadows, listening. Then he gestured, follow.

Two guards stood at the postern gate, small door set into the outer wall. They straightened when they saw him.

“My prince,” one murmured.

Genesis nodded once. “Open it. No questions.”

They exchanged a glance. Then the taller one slid back the bolt.

The door creaked open onto darkness and cold night air.

Genesis stepped through first. I followed.

The gate closed behind us with a soft thud.

No alarm. No shout.

Just the forest waiting.

We moved fast, Genesis leading, me close behind. The path was barely there, a deer trail, narrow and winding. Branches snagged at my cloak; roots reached for my ankles. I kept my eyes on his back, on the way he moved like he belonged to the night itself.

After an hour, maybe two, the trees thinned and the ground sloped upward. We climbed a low ridge, then dropped into a shallow ravine. Genesis slowed, finally stopped under a massive oak whose branches formed a natural canopy.

He crouched, ears straining.

“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “No pursuit. Yet.”

I leaned against the trunk, catching my breath. “How far to the marshes?”

“Three days if we push. Four if we’re careful.”

I nodded. “We push.”

He looked at me. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been less sure of anything in my life,” I admitted. “But staying isn’t an option.”

Something softened in his expression, gone in a blink.

He pulled a waterskin from his satchel, handed it to me. “Drink. We won’t stop long.”

I took a sip, cool, clean, and passed it back.

He drank, then capped it. “First patrol line is half a mile east. We skirt it, then cut north through the old burn scar. Rough ground, but no scent trails.”

“Okay.”

He studied me again. “If we run into trouble… stay behind me. Don’t argue.”

“I’m not helpless.”

“I know.” A faint, almost, smile. “But you’re not armed. And you’re not wolf.”

I huffed. “Yet.”

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

He froze.

I froze.

Then I laughed, quiet, nervous. “Bad joke.”

He didn’t laugh back. Just watched me with those storm-gray eyes.

“Not a joke,” he said softly. “Not entirely.”

I looked away. Heart thudding too loud.

He straightened. “We move.”

We slipped back into motion, faster now, the ridge giving way to open woodland. The moon rode high, cold and bright. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, long, mournful.

Genesis didn’t answer it.

He just kept going.

And I kept following.

Because for the first time since waking up in that forest, I felt something like hope.

Fragile. Dangerous.

But real.

And as the night deepened around us, I wondered, not for the first time, if going home would feel like leaving something behind that mattered more than I wanted to admit.