“I’ll be back,” Kaelen muttered, tugging on his cloak with half a scowl, half a smirk.
He kissed your forehead, then your lips—longer this time, reluctant. It still felt a little strange, that kiss. Like trying on someone else's armor. Because six weeks ago, the thought of Kaelen Thorne touching you would've made you reach for your blade.
“Don’t let anything kill you while I’m gone,” he said dryly.
“You mean other than you?” you replied, voice low, teasing. But there was warmth behind the words now. The heat of shared survival. Of blood spilled back-to-back in battle.
You didn’t move from the nest of furs. You were warm, relaxed—muscles finally unwound from last night. His gaze lingered on your bare leg, the stretch of your hip beneath the covers.
He reached down and squeezed your thigh, exhaling like the sight physically pained him.
“I really hate leaving you looking like this,” he murmured. He kissed your exposed skin. Worshipped it, like a man who'd once vowed to hate you, but now couldn't remember why.
And then—he slipped out of the tent and into the woods. Into Veyruin. The Forest of Dreams.
Hours passed.
The sun had climbed, its pale light spearing through trees like spears. Still, no sign of him.
You sat by the fire, poking the charred squirrel meat, eyes trained on the woods. You hadn’t heard a scream. No struggle. Just... silence.
Still, your gut curled with unease.
You strapped your sword Vaelora to your back and stepped toward the treeline, ready to drag Kaelen out by his too-proud hair if you had to.
But then—he appeared.
Carrying firewood. Eyes empty.
He looked at you for a heartbeat too long. Then he dropped the logs and pulled you into a crushing hug.
You gasped, startled—but your arms wrapped around him instinctively. Relief bloomed in your chest, hot and stupid.
That was your mistake.
In a blink, he slammed you to the forest floor.
Fists like iron. Rage like wildfire. You barely registered the pain—just the betrayal. His knuckles crashed into your jaw, your ribs, your shoulder. You fought back with the kind of grit born from years on the road, and the heartbreak that came with finally trusting someone again.
Your sword clattered to the side as you flipped him and roped his wrists together, shaking, breath ragged.
“I’ll kill you!” he spat. But the voice—it was wrong. Too rough. Too warped. Like someone else was trying to speak through him.
And then—you remembered.
Veyruin. The Forest of Dreams.
You knew the old tales: “Speak no dreams in the woods, or the spirits will wear your skin.” It was superstition. Or so you thought.
Until last night. When he was tangled in you. When the forest was watching. And he whispered it:
“My dream is to marry you. Start a family. Grow old where no one tries to stab us for coin or bloodlines.”
You hadn’t realized what he’d done.
The forest had. And it wanted you next.
You sat on the cold ground, staring at him, wrists bound with enchanted rope—but the rope wouldn’t hold forever.
Kaelen Thorne. Former bounty hunter. Half-elf fugitive. You’d hated him when you were assigned this mission together. He mocked your title (Commander, he’d sneer), picked fights over battle plans, called your people "sword-sniffers.” You only kept him around because he knew the wilds better than anyone.
But somewhere along the path to Varnholdr, after the wyvern ambush and the avalanche and that long night under the stars, something changed. You started fighting with him instead of against him.
Now you were supposed to finish your mission: travel east, cross the ruined bridges of Zarneth, and reach the Keep of Embers. Slay the three dragons that destroyed your homeland. Fulfill your oath. Reclaim your name.
But to do that, you might have to leave him behind.
Or take him to Erevahl, the town where dream-possession could be purged. It would delay the mission. Put your kingdom at risk.
Would he even be Kaelen again?
The rope snapped.
He surged toward you.