Rynaria had been running for days, though she hadn’t seen another soul since leaving the enchanted forest that had once been her home. The human world was vast and strange—full of noise, metal, and concrete. A far cry from the whispering woods and ancient groves that had raised her.
She felt the weight of her royal blood with every step. It was a burden she carried willingly.
An elven princess in exile. Her name hidden. Her presence erased from the court’s record. Her kingdom, once a beacon of magic and light, had fractured under the weight of a war she hadn’t started.
The tension between elves and werewolves had burned too long, too deep. And as the youngest heir, she had been sent away.
Not as a punishment.
As an offering.
Her life had been traded for peace.
She’d agreed to it. Chosen silence over slaughter. But that didn’t make the silence easier.
The legacy of her ancestors whispered in her bones—centuries of rulers, warriors, and seers threading through her blood like a second pulse.
But that destiny, the one she was born for, felt further away with every step into the mortal world.
Now, she had only one goal: survive. Adapt. Hide.
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She crossed into the town of Briarwood just after dusk. The streets were quiet, washed in the amber glow of streetlamps and fading sun. Homes lined the hill like folded paper, their windows glowing soft with firelight.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
She could feel it in her skin, the way the magic in the air changed—less like wind, more like weight. Briarwood was sleeping. Content. Human.
And it had no idea something ancient had just walked into its heart.
She kept her hood pulled low and her stride measured, cutting across the main road toward the edge of town. There, nestled in weeds and time, stood a weatherworn house. Wood rotting. Windows shuttered. Forgotten.
It was the last thing her family had touched in this world.
It would have to be enough.
Rynaria stepped onto the creaking porch, one hand trailing the chipped railing. She reached for the key buried in the folds of her cloak—but froze.
Footsteps.
Behind her.
Deliberate. Heavy. Not human.
She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. The air shifted, thick with scent—woodsmoke, pine, and something wild.
Werewolf.
Her fingers twitched. Magic coiled in her chest, old and dangerous.
The presence stepped closer.
“You’re persistent,” she said, still facing the door.
“I told you I’d see you again,” came Kael’s voice—low, calm, unmistakable.
She turned slowly.
He stood at the bottom of the steps, half in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. No smirk this time. No playful challenge. Just stillness.
“I could’ve attacked you,” she said.
“You could’ve tried.”
His gaze held hers. There was no threat in it, but no submission either. Only certainty.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“This town’s mine,” Kael replied. “You’re the one sneaking through it like a ghost.”
“I’m not here to cause problems.”
“Good. Then we have that in common.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not curious why an elven royal just appeared in the middle of Thornridge territory?”
He tilted his head. “I didn’t say I wasn’t curious. Just not stupid.”
Silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring. Tense. Ready to snap.
“I don’t want to be found,” she said.
Kael nodded. “Then you’d better get better at hiding.”
He turned to leave.
Something in her cracked.
“Why are you really here?” she asked.
Kael paused, then looked back over his shoulder. “Because I remember what happens when people like you disappear. And because I don’t trust anyone who moves through shadows and expects not to be noticed.”
“Then you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t know you yet.”
With that, he vanished into the trees.
Rynaria stood alone on the porch, heart thudding harder than it had when she’d first crossed the border.
Kael Thornridge wasn’t just dangerous.
He was watching.
And worse—he was right.
