Hours later, you glance up at the night sky. The moons are already out—hanging low, big and luminous. 

The three sisters. 

Their pale, cold light spills over camp. 

Over you. 

You flinch, glancing down into your lap at your shackled wrists. 

They’ve grown cold against your skin as evening falls. 

The biting night air swirls around you, and a chill rushes across your skin. You brush your arms, attempting to warm yourself.  

After your failed escape, you’ve refused to even look or speak to him. He hasn’t tried either. 

Him. 

You sigh. 

You stare at his back while he attends to the horses.

Still…

Why hasn’t he–

No. 

You focus on the warmth of the fire. 

Even earlier, when he handed you the bundle of red cloth full of your evening meal, you could feel his gaze tracing the lines and planes of your face, searching for injury. 

Or perhaps for something else.

You settled onto your log, still in heavy shackles, eating the last of your salted pork, bread and cheese. You licked your lips for the last bits of salt.

But even now, as you warm your body near the comforting fire he started, you still can’t believe what happened. 

And you don’t know what’s worse. 

That you failed… 

Or that he witnessed it. 

Your mind wanders. Back in time, to his fort you invaded. 

To the moment he first captured you.

And then there was the subsequent attack on his fort, his men.

His friend. 

Did the kind-eyed captain make it? 

Perhaps his mind has been there all along, and you’re only realizing it now. 

Dare you even ask? 

He strides over, his long legs swallowing the distance between you.

You don’t move, and drag in a breath as he draws near. 

And hold it.  

Gently, he drapes a warm blanket around your shoulders. 

Then he kneels before you. 

One knee in the dirt. 

Reaching down, he circles his fingers around your irons.

You can almost feel the heat from his hand seeping in. Or perhaps you’re just imagining it.

Even so, he doesn’t touch your skin. 

His eyes snap to yours. 

You let out a tiny gasp as your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

What is he–?

He rises, moving away just as silent as when he approached. 

You release your breath, and your shoulders relax.  

You try not to linger on the way his messy raven hair sometimes hides the pointy tips of his ears, or how that wayward lock falls over his forehead. 

You clench your fingers in response and you stretch your neck from side to side. 

He settles against another log opposite you.

He’s watching the fire, elbow draped over his knee, his other long, heavily muscled leg stretches out before him. The embers whirl up, dancing in the space between you, rising through the darkness until they’re gone.    

His intent gaze follows them until they vanish, then his eyes flick to yours.

Suddenly aware of you. 

You swallow once.

Twice. 

Heat flutters through your chest. 

Why is he like this?

You adjust your hands in your lap and raise your chin. They clang in response. 

“Did they make it, Commander?” you ask softly. 

His ever-observing gaze holds yours, the firelight reflecting in them.

But he doesn’t answer. 

The fire crackles, a log shifts, sending more glowing embers floating upward.

An animal howls in the distance.

He’s silent. 

You shift your gaze.

“The Capital will surely throw a grand parade in your honor for bringing in a live prisoner,” you say, finally breaking the silent showdown between you. 

You adjust and your shackles bite into your wrists. 

Somewhere deep in the forest, an owl hoots.

He looks away. “My arrival… has rarely been cause for celebration at the Capital.” 

He doesn’t add anything else. 

Odd, but perhaps not. 

“We have an early day tomorrow.” He rises, cutting off further conversation. “Get some rest.”  He moves toward the forest. 

You grit your teeth. 

“The keeper of irons has spoken,” you yell to his back.

He pauses. The firelight outlines his profile. He doesn’t comment and moves forward. 

You lie down, wrapping your blanket around you.

When he’s out of sight and out of earshot, you pull your fork free.

You tug at the outer tine, careful not to bend it too far. 

Can’t break it.

A branch snaps in the distance. You jerk toward the sound.

The breath freezes in your lungs. You gaze into the darkness, squinting just beyond the treeline.

Searching for anything out of place. For movement. For him.

Is that…?

No. 

You ease back to the ground.

The Commander is many things. Noisy isn’t one of them.

You release your breath. 

Then you scan the perimeter once more, continuing your work.  

Once the tine is pulled away from the others, you ease it into the lock.

**** 

The next morning, after a quick meal, you’re off again. 

“How are you feeling?” the Commander asks what feels like many hours later. “You had a bad fall yesterday.”

“I know what I had.” Your grip on the reins tightens, your shoulders stiffening. “Not to worry, Commander. I’m not as weak as you want to believe I am.” 

Your empty stomach grumbles louder with each passing moment, and you can’t stand it any longer. 

You stayed up as late as you could, taking advantage of his absence to free the lock. The willful thing refused to break.

And the exertion from your failed escape yesterday is also at the front of your mind. 

Your mare trots at a slowed pace over a large, gnarled tree root, jolting you from your thoughts.

You nearly topple from your saddle and grumble harshly under your breath. The bruise on your hip pulses. You’ve had to slow down significantly due to the twisting forest path.

Just when you’ve cleared a bend, another appears, thick and winding. 

You stretch your neck to the side and groan.  

It seems never-ending.

Hunger is making your body more feral, much more alert as you make your way through the path of wilderness. 

It’s been too long since you left the campsite this morning, and you’ve lost all track of time because you cannot even see the sun through the soaring canopy of trees. 

They’re all ancient and tall, stretching far and wide above you as if watching you pass, greedily gobbling up the sun and leaving the forest floor and you in endless shade.  

Morning doves and song sparrows nestling high above the canopy chirp too happily. 

All of them with full bellies, no doubt. 

The rays of sun peek through in lonely patches of light where dust motes dance and float in the air. After many hours, you’ve counted only two thus far. 

Right by the path, a fallen stone marker lies. 

The Commander glances at it, his gaze fixed for a moment. But he doesn’t comment and keeps going. 

You squint at the old, crumbling thing as you pass it. The engravings are illegible, taken by time. A tangle of ivy, old roots and moss are at war with each other to reclaim it. 

From what you remember of Sherinden maps in your world studies back home, the Listening Wood—the Vesperwealde, you roll your eyes at his correction, is monstrous in size. Much larger than the Forbidden Forest back home. 

Later, your stomach growls again—even louder this time. You’re sure he must have heard it. Well, you’ve waited long enough, now. 

You may be his prisoner, but you refuse to go hungry a moment longer.

“I’m hungry,” you grouse to the Commander’s back as he walks ahead of you. He’d given up riding his stallion several hours ago. His long legs keep a measured stride. 

He surveys the forest with great caution. His watchful eyes scan carefully the deeper and further you go. 

But he has a strange familiarity with this place. That, you can’t deny. 

“We’ve already eaten,” he says simply. 

“This morning. I’m unaccustomed to eating so sparsely, Commander.” 

His gaze lands on your shackles, then he looks past you, considering it and his jaw ticks tightly. 

“We must ration for the journey ahead,” he says without care. “We have nearly a fortnight of travel and must make the food last.”

“But I’m hungry,” you say again. Are elves above hunger? 

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says, filling you with frustration and annoyance with his haughty tone that’s grating on you now more than ever. 

You purse your lips together, holding your tongue.

Later?! 

How can he disregard your hunger like this? How much more of this hell must you endure? A prisoner of the Sherinden Guard and soon to be slave, soon to face unspeakable atrocities. 

“Elvish fiend,” you grumble at his back, all the annoyance pouring out of you in waves. 

But the forceful sounds of rapidly rushing water draw your attention to a small clearing up ahead. 

Finally! 

Something other than this forest full of green and damp and shadows. 

It’s a small clearing where rocks and boulders open to a wide and almost serene-looking river.  

And on the other side.

More forest awaits you. 

Your heart drops. 

Oh no. 

The Commander halts, his face turned up to the cloudless blue sky.

You follow his gaze, wondering what the issue is. 

“It will rain soon. We must cross today, before the river swells,” he says. 

You snort. “There isn’t a cloud in sight,” you say.

He obviously doesn’t care at all about your stomach grumbling. 

But you suppose there are worse things that could happen apart from hunger, especially when you reach the Capital. 

You shudder and rub your arms instinctively at the unwanted thought of your bleak future. 

The Commander unfastens the long shackle that’s tethered to his horse. He moves it over to yours so you’re now untethered but remain in shackles. 

You roll your eyes at this. 

“What’s this? Letting me go so soon?” you taunt him, unable to help yourself through the shock that he’d actually let go of the tether from his horse to yours. 

“Tethered horses are a danger while crossing rivers. She’ll swim better on her own. Hold onto her. She’s strong.” 

You hold up your shackled wrists. The chains grate each other as they meet. “And what of these?” you say, hoping he’ll release you from your shackles. “This isn’t right,” you say. 

He doesn’t look at you. His eyes drop to your shackles, his hands flex at his sides…and then still. “I know what this is.” He sighs. “But you’ll live,” he says, turning away, his back straight. He’s already onto other schemes, no doubt.

You scoff at him. 

You’re starving, chilled and about to be even colder with this new obstacle. 

It doesn’t seem that deep. 

It looks rather calm and serene, welcoming even. The golden light of day reflects off the shimmering water.  

Even so, you’re not looking forward to being wet. You grumble to his back. 

“Typical of an elf. Why should you even care? You never die!” you say, blowing out a breath. 

He’s still watching the river, but his gaze finds yours. “I’m not immune to death, only time,” he says quietly. 

You snort. “They are one and the same, Commander.” 

“It is not the same.” He thinks it over. “But even so, yes, one day you’ll die from time. And perhaps I’ll remain here.” 

He says it without emotion.

You bark out a laugh. “Commander, you’re a well of comfort,” you say with hard sarcasm, but it doesn’t land as it should in your chest. You grit your teeth. 

“And when I die, I will come back to haunt you. You’ll never have rest from me as long as you live. I’ll haunt you, Commander. I swear it.”

All the birds in the canopy cut off mid-song. 

The wind dies to a whisper. 

The forest goes quiet.

Even your mare shifts uneasily underneath you. She feels it too. 

And the silence is so loud now that you can barely breathe. 

His head whips toward you. 

Too fast.

Heat blooms up your throat—hot and sudden, overpowering, but then releases.

His gaze shoots past you, scanning the treeline with sharpened eyes, jaw tight, then pinning you in place.

And the words hang between you, but you can’t take them back now. 

You can’t take them back. 

For several heartbeats, he’s as unmoving as stone. He assesses you in that way he does. 

You squirm underneath his stare but raise your chin. 

You know you shouldn’t have said such a silly thing. You grit your teeth together and look away.  

“That would be an eternal endeavor,” he admits quietly and gets back to his preparations for the river crossing. “Don’t make vows in the Vesperwealde.” The way he says it makes your eyes snap to his. 

You laugh bitterly. 

“Oh? Are you afraid, Commander?” you ask. 

To your disappointment, he ignores you. 

You hold your tongue. For a moment, you wonder what awaits you in Sherinde. Perhaps, you can use your charms to make the best out of whatever situation you end up in?

If you are forced to live among them, maybe you can find a way to blend in. 

“Commander?” You bite your lip. “Do…do you find me… tolerable?” you ask to his retreating back.

He stares at you as if the question is absurd.

You sigh, feeling sheepish. “I am asking for your truth,” you say.

“I find you as tolerable as dragonfire.” 

A tiny gasp escapes you.

You stare at him. His honesty is startling. But still…

Out of all the things he could insult you with, you never expected that one. 

You snort at him, offended. Although you did ask him. “Well, the feeling is mutual. You’re no prize yourself,” you snap.

He’s already focusing on the river. 

“Can you swim?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Of course I can swim,” you say, completely affronted by him. You rub at your shackled wrists, the cool metal that binds you. 

“Good. Stay close. The Elderrun is not too deep here, but can quickly change strength if you stray from the path.” 

Not even dragonfire could reach him.

You glance away.

An old twisted root nearly covers the path ahead like an ancient vein. The further you go, the more there are, reaching out, as if waiting to snare you.

“Y/n.” 

Your eyes flick to his.

“Do you understand?” 

“Fine,” you mutter, dreading the cold water.

The path. You roll your eyes at his back. 

The Commander crosses first, easily staying on top of his horse while he traverses the wide glittering river. 

Beneath the shimmering, almost calm-looking water, pale white crumbled stones form parallel lines. They run all the way to the other side, perhaps the remnants of an old bridge, long destroyed.  

That is the path. 

It looks easy enough to ford, almost peaceful and gentle, although narrow.

Perhaps, it was an ancient crossing, now long gone. Yet another relic swallowed by time. 

But you notice how the Commander stays exactly within those bounds. Never straying outside of the lines.  

When your mare follows, the sting of the cold water has you internally squealing, but you acclimate once the frigid water is past your belly. 

As the water sloshes against you, the satchel behind you bumps against your lower back. 

You turn.

Oh. 

A corner of a little red cloth pokes out. The food!

You’re desperate enough to eat soggy bread at this point, as long as he’s not looking. 

It’s the perfect opportunity. 

Biting your lip, you think it through. 

This is a bad idea. You know it. 

Just one mouthful.

A tiny nibble.

Enough to silence your screaming belly.

And the Commander will be none the wiser. 

He’ll never have to know. 

Your little secret. 

Besides, once you reach the Capital and become a slave, your life will no longer be your own.

Don’t you deserve this tiny comfort? 

Yes. 

Yes, you do. 

Live for now.

You glance quickly at the Commander’s back as he’s midway through the river. 

Turning in your seat, you unbuckle the leather satchel in a rush. The leather strap holding it tight slips free.

Oh no. 

Wrong end.

For a single heartbeat, it sits between your fingers. 

You have it. 

And then the river yanks it out of your grasp.

The satchel lifts like it’s alive, caught by the current, skimming away over the rush of sparkling water. 

Panic claws up your throat.

Before you can think, you swing down from your mare and step outside the marker stones. 

Beyond the boundary. 

The river switches instantly and pulls you forward.

This is your biggest mistake. 

Stay on the path.

But you just need to grab the satchel.

And put it back. 

All will be right. 

You’ve almost got it, but the river is like a tempest and much stronger than you gave her credit for. 

He’d warned you earlier to stay on the path. But you refused to listen. 

And you’ve misjudged how much heavier the damned chains around your wrists are in water as you struggle.

The river has revealed her true nature to you.

The pack of food is gone, swept downstream and you right along with it. The current has you, yanking you under. 

You hold your breath.

And you’re tumbling around and around. Your body is at the water’s icy, bubbling mercy.

The surface glitters with light and you try to kick your way toward it. But it also illuminates shimmering white rocks, almost confusing your direction. 

Water gushes against your ears, whooshing and spinning you endlessly. 

No one will hear your muffled cries here. 

Maybe this is how you finally meet your end. 

The current grabs you and sweeps you sideways and up. Finally, you gasp for air. 

You’re thrown against a boulder and try grabbing on. Your fingers dig in, but there’s nothing to grip but a stray weed.

And you’re swept away again.

You’re forced under.

Kick hard. 

Kick. 

And finally you break the surface. 

You don’t know how long you can keep your head above water anymore. The current is much too powerful. 

Just when you’re about to give in and let the water take you, strong arms wrap around you, hauling you up against him. 

The Commander.

For a shocking moment, you don’t understand how he’s even here. 

He had already crossed the river.

He dove in after you. 

And now he’s submerged and carried downstream with you, grasping for a foothold or a stray branch to cling to. Just like you. 

He immediately moves you sideways, toward the riverbank.

Yes. That way. 

But the rapids are overpowering here. 

You’re so tired, and your fingers slip free from him. They drag you both forward—and tear you apart. 

You both will drown. 

He surges ahead by several paces.

He vanishes underneath the violent surface of the deceptive white water.

For several horrifying heartbeats, you’re carried forward by the water and search for him. 

Behind you.

To the side of you. 

In front of you. 

Where?

A tree branch skims past you, gliding along the surface. 

You glance around wildly, wondering when he’ll break free from its clutches.

Where is he?

He must surface. 

He has to.

And then he does. 

The relief of it floods you fast, confusing you. But it’s short lived as the river shoves you down again. You kick hard and keep kicking for the surface, your legs burning. You break the surface with a choking breath. 

You flail your arms, desperate for something to grasp.

Because you’re still in danger of being swallowed whole.

Both of you are.

But he’s latched onto something. 

Yes. 

Perhaps it’s a tree root. 

You don’t know.

But he reaches out for you. This is your only chance. 

You stretch your arms to him as water carries you to him.

Finally, his hand slams around your wrist with brutal force.

His grip tightens and binds.

The rest of your body is being sucked with horrific strength by the unforgiving, violent river. 

But his arm does not move. 

And you can feel it—the power of cruel nature—beckoning you to give in. 

To surrender and end the terror. 

The current is too strong. The icy water has numbed your fingers, and your grip is slipping away.

Everything is too overwhelming, and you can’t hold on anymore.

You’ll both die like this. 

“Let me go!” you scream to him over the sound of rushing water, ready for this to be over. 

Ready for the river to take you. 

You’ve accepted your fate, perhaps long ago. 

You’ll never make it—either of you. 

He could.

If he’d let you go. 

He must realize this. 

He’s struggling against the current himself, barely clinging to whatever he’s latched onto. It could give way at any moment. 

Never get caught alive. It’s what your superiors ingrained in you.

And you were never meant to survive this long anyway. 

“Let me go, Commander! Let me go!” 

You’re going to let go of his wrist. 

Your numbed, cold fingers are giving way. You can’t hold on any longer.

It hurts too much to go on.

As if he knows what you’re about to do, senses it somehow. 

You don’t know. 

His eyes flare as they connect with yours. 

“Hold on!” he commands you, and the sound of it overwhelms you, consuming. 

In that moment, he grips you tighter, finally dragging you toward him as you sputter and gasp for air. 

He hooks his elbow underneath your chin, so your head stays above water. He hauls you up against him, fighting the current.

It’s as if your extra weight and the force of the river is nothing of consequence to him now. 

He pulls you along to the river’s edge, where you fall onto firm ground. 

Finally, your feet are touching the gritty sand of the other side of the sloping river bank. 

His hand hovers close to you, pausing, almost ensuring that the Elderrun won’t snatch you again. 

The traitorous thing. 

Falling to your knees, you throw up water violently, gasping for air. 

You flop onto your belly, your fingers clenching the wet sand, proof that you’re safe and alive. 

Your hand presses against your chest—it’s there. Hidden.

And you’re alive.

For one fractured heartbeat, you hate the relief that floods you. 

Instantly, you realize something else.

If he had let go…

You would be gone.

And the Commander would have dove into the river for nothing.

Your chest is heaving as you finally recover. You’re kneeling in the wet ground, your forehead pressed into the soft, sun-warmed sand.  

Your eyes snap to his, hoping he catches your glare. 

He leans against a tree, recovering from the ordeal, glistening with droplets of water running down his face and raven hair. A wet lock of hair is plastered to his forehead.

His chest rises once, twice.

Too fast and too hard. 

He’s also soaked to the bone and perhaps just as spent as you are. 

And one thing you notice sends panic rising in your blood. He refuses to even look at you. 

You march over to him. “You had no right.” Blood rushes past your ears, almost as loud as the river. “You should have let me go,” you cry out, angered by him.

That does it.

His green eyes snap to yours. His jaw sets—hard. 

The air between you is utterly calm. Too quiet. 

Ensnared by him, by you. 

Waiting and listening.

He’s about to unleash something cruel.

Something brutal. 

Perhaps he’ll tell you that yes, he should have let you drown.

Then he’d be rid of you entirely.

You prepare for his cold, ruthless, venom-filled words.

His voice drops, low and rough.

“Never,” he says. 

The word lands between you like a scalding hot iron. 

His eyes are suddenly unguarded. Something raw and fierce breaks loose. 

You stumble back.

He blinks. 

Then it’s gone.

He turns, storming off silently and disappearing into the Vesperwealde as if the forest itself is the only thing that can dare contain him.