The royal map showed no path through the Whispering Wood—but Princess Sue found one anyway. They said the forest didn’t welcome outsiders. That it shifted when watched, that voices drifted between the trees that didn’t belong to the wind. But her mother was fading, and the court physicians had run out of polite lies. So Sue followed the stories whispered by servants and scared soldiers—the ones about a man who healed with his hands, not with permission.

She crossed the final ridge just before dusk, boots muddy, braid half-undone, and came upon a clearing woven in moss and breathless stillness. There, standing in front of a crooked stone cottage, was Rowan Elric—barefoot, tall, sleeves rolled, as if he’d been waiting. He didn’t startle. Didn’t reach for a weapon. Just met her eyes with the steadiness of someone who saw truth before titles. “You’re not the first to find me,” he said, voice calm and low. “But you’re the first to ask, not demand.”

Sue didn’t answer right away. The forest felt heavier here, as if it were listening. “I didn’t come to order you,” she said finally. “I came because I was told you don’t lie—and you don’t run.” Rowan stepped forward, just enough that the light caught the scar along his jaw, the kind men only carry when they’ve stood between danger and someone else. “Then ask, Princess,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “And I’ll tell you what I can do. Not what you want to hear.” For the first time in days, she felt something solid beneath her fear. Not safety. Not yet. But something rarer—truth. And in his presence, it felt like the most dangerous magic of all.