Chapter 3 – The Brothers

Irene

My eyes open slowly as I look at the sky. The light is dim, as though the sun has already passed its highest point. My whole body aches, heavy as stone, every breath dragging fire through my ribs. I push myself up slowly, damp moss clinging to my palms.

I turn my head and see the cliff towering above me. Somehow I survived the fall, but the river has dragged me far from where I plunged. I try to climb back, clawing at roots and stones, but the earth is too slick. My fingers bleed from the effort. Defeated, I slump down, gasping.

The trees here are different—closer, darker, their branches knitting together like bars of a cage. I never knew the lower forest was so thick, so impossible to navigate. Disoriented, I push forward anyway, searching for a way out. Roots scratch my ankles. I circle once, twice, three times; every path doubles back like the forest is toying with me.

Keep moving, Aria whispers, her voice thin with pain. Don’t stop here.

“I won’t,” I breathe, though my throat tastes of river and iron. “I can’t.”

I walk until the shadows thin and the tangled green loosens its grip. Voices—low, steady—cut through the silence. I part the branches with shaking hands and stumble into a clearing.

For a heartbeat I think I’ve wandered into a hidden military camp. At least two dozen men move with precision: sparring in pairs, lifting weights , sharpening blades that flash silver under the clouded sky. Their bodies are broad and scarred, their movements disciplined, their attention razor-sharp. Smoke threads upward from a banked fire, carrying the scent of pine and ash.

Not a single woman stands among them.

A head turns. Golden eyes catch on me. A growl rumbles from a chest built like a wall. “Who’s there?”

I step out of the trees, hands raised. “I— I mean no harm.”

Silence crushes the clearing. Every face swings toward me. For a breath, the world forgets how to breathe.

Then three men break from the others and come toward me. Brothers—anyone could see it. Same dark hair, same almond shaped eyes, same aura of command. But they are not copies; the differences are etched deep.

The breeze shifts, and their scents reach me—sharp, vivid, undeniable.

One is cold and commanding, like pine needles crushed beneath snow, edged with iron. It makes Aria lower her head in instinctive respect, though there is no fear.

Another burns hot and quick, a flash of pepper and citrus that sparks in my chest and makes my pulse stumble, hungry for something I don’t understand.

The last wraps around me with warmth—fresh bread, smoke, and rain-soaked earth. It feels like a hearth fire, steady and patient, waiting for me to step closer.

None of them smell like the triplets. None of them smell like home—yet the pull is there, humming under my skin, whispering of bonds too heavy for me to bear. Mates? Aria asks, uncertain, her voice aching. I don’t know. But my body leans toward them all the same, helpless against the lure.

The first reaches me in three strides. He is stone and winter in a man’s shape—tall, thick-shouldered, a stillness that presses on the air. His gaze takes me in, unblinking, and when he speaks, the words are shaped to be obeyed. “Who are you?”

My mouth is dry. “Irene.”

“Where did you come from?” His tone doesn’t soften.

Before I can answer, the second brother slides a half-step forward. He’s leaner, knife-quick, the kind of man who rarely smiles. His eyes flick over me: torn hem, mud, dried blood at my lip. “Better question—how did you get here? Because this…” His hand lifts, indicating me as if I’m a weapon someone dropped in the wrong place. “This shouldn’t happen.”

The third hangs back a pace, but the air around him warms. Taller than the others, hair brushing his shoulders, eyes gentled by something that looks too much like concern. His voice lands softly. “She’s hurt.”

Only then, I feel the tremble in my legs, the sting of cuts across my arms, the ache that crosses through my ribs when I inhale. River-water is drying cold in my hair; whip-wounds burn beneath the fabric at my back. I fold my arms to hide the shaking.

“I…” The truth rolls on my tongue. The cliff, the rejection, Clara’s whip—if I speak them aloud, I’ll drown in them. “I came from the forest.”

The stone one doesn’t blink. “No one comes from the forest like that.” A pause. “Not anymore.”

Aria stirs, wary. Careful.

“I’m telling the truth,” I manage. “I don’t want trouble. I just… needed a way out.”

The knife-quick brother—his mouth twists into a not-quite-smile. “Out of what?”

I hold his gaze and say nothing.

“Rowan,” the gentle one murmurs, a low warning.

Rowan. The name fits him—quick and sharp, a branch that snaps clean. He lifts both hands in mock surrender and angles a look at the first brother. “Fine. We’ll do this your way.”

The first brother doesn’t look away from me. “Cassian,” someone calls from behind me, the name clipped in respect. Cassian sets his jaw, the weight of command settling across his shoulders like a mantle.

“Back to your drills,” he orders without turning. The men return to their work , but their eyes keep snagging on me, pulled by a current none of us understands.

My knees wobble. The gentle one is there before I sway, steady hands hovering rather than grabbing. “Easy.” He shrugs out of his cloak and settles it around my shoulders, the fabric heavy and warm, smelling of pine smoke and clean leather.

I flinch anyway. His hands still. “You’re safe,” he says, softer now, like a promise he’s prepared to hold with his teeth.

Aria hums warily. He means it.

“Thank you,” I whisper, throat rough. I pull the cloak tight until the chill that’s been burrowed under my skin shivers loose.