The Lost Heiress of Rohan: A Lethal Warrior's Revenge

The Freedom Route

(Cassiel’s POV)

“Hey! Stop him! The Prince is on the move again!” The palace guards didn't hesitate when they saw me approaching the gates.

I dug my heels into the flanks of my chestnut gelding, charging down the paved avenue. The iron-reinforced gates of the Vashiti royal court were just fifty yards ahead, but a squad of five sentries was already sprinting to cut me off.

“Sorry, boys! Not today!” I shouted over my shoulder, ducking low over the horse's neck as we zipped past the manicured hedges.

I needed to get out. If I spent one more hour listening to the royal advisors go on and on about grain taxes and marriage alliances, my skull was going to c***k. I wanted an afternoon where I wasn’t Prince Cassiel. I wanted to be an ordinary man, breathing ordinary air.

Just as I rounded the final corner toward the western service gate, a woman carrying a massive basket of freshly washed linens stepped right into the middle of the path.

Martha. She was my favorite member of the palace staff, and she was my late mother’s closest confidante. She practically raised me, which meant she knew every single one of my bad habits.

I pulled hard on the reins, the gelding skidding to a halt just inches from her willow basket. “Martha! Out of the way, please! I’m making a run for it!”

Martha didn’t panic. She didn’t drop her load. Instead, she looked at my casual leather vest, glanced at the shouting guards running toward us, and a knowing smile spread across her face.

“Let me guess,” Martha said, putting her hands on her hips. “Lord Boris is trying to make you sign the trade treaties again?”

“Worse. He wants me to spend the afternoon choosing silk colors for the autumn ballroom,” I pleaded, giving her my best grin. “Please, Martha. Just give me two hours.”

Martha chuckled, shaking her head. “You are just like your mother, Cassiel. Always running toward the woods.”

Suddenly, she tipped her basket, scattering white sheets across the dirt path, completely blocking the narrow stone walkway. “Go on then! Shoo!”

“You’re the best!” I called out, guiding the horse through the small gap by the wall.

Behind me, I heard Martha let out a loud, theatrical gasp as the sentries arrived. “Oh! Oh dear! My sheets! Watch your heavy boots, you clumsy brutes! Look what you’ve done to the royal laundry!”

The guards stumbled over the wet linens, completely tangled in Martha’s trap. I burst through the outer service gate, leaving the limestone palace walls behind.

The moment the high stone walls of the city faded into the distance, I slid down from the saddle and let out a long breath of relief. The forest air was crisp, smelling of pine needles and damp earth.

Woof!

A scruffy, brown-and-white dog exploded out of the thick brush, his tail wagging so fast his entire hindquarters shook. He skidded across the dirt, jumping up to plant his muddy paws directly against my leather vest.

“Hey there, Pompi!” I laughed, kneeling to scratch him behind his torn ears. “Missed me?”

I had rescued Pompi three months ago from a jagged iron bear trap deep in these woods. His leg had been bloody and broken, but I carried him back, nursed him in secret, and ever since that day, he had been my shadow. Every time I slipped outside the capital gates, Pompi was waiting for me right here at the edge of the tree line.

“You have no idea how lucky you are, boy,” I said, walking down the dirt trail with Pompi trotting at my heels. “You don’t have to wear stiff collars. You don’t have to smile at corrupt noblemen. You just get to chase rabbits and sleep in the sun.”

Pompi barked loudly, as if he completely agreed, before rolling over onto his back to demand a belly rub.

“Seriously, it’s suffocating in there,” I complained, leaning against a large oak tree while Pompi chewed on a thick stick. “They talk to me like I’m a piece of glass that’s going to break. ‘Don’t go there, Your Highness. Don’t speak to the commoners, Your Highness.’ It’s maddening.”

Pompi suddenly dropped his stick. His ears shot straight up, and his nose twitched. He turned his head toward the deeper, thicker part of the woods and let out a soft whine.

“What is it, boy?” I asked, straightening up.

Then, I heard it.

Floating through the thick canopy of trees came a sound so pure, so sweet, that it made my breath catch in my throat. It was a voice. Someone was singing; the melody was light and joyful, rippling through the quiet forest like cool running water. The moment the notes hit my ears, the lingering stress from the palace melted away, replaced by a strange calm.

“Who is that?” I whispered.

Pompi trotted forward, looking back at me as if inviting me to follow. Driven by a sudden curiosity, I stepped off the main trail, tracking the voice deeper into the hidden heart of the woods.

“Quiet, Pompi,” I whispered, lifting a heavy branch out of our path. “We don’t want to frighten whoever is making that sound.”

The dog let out a tiny huff, stepping softly over the mossy roots. As we drew closer, the voice grew clearer, bouncing off the ancient stone formations hidden within the trees. It wasn’t a somber tune; it felt alive, carrying a raw energy that made me feel completely detached from my royal duties.

“I’ve never heard a melody like this in the city,” I muttered to myself, my eyes scanning the green thicket ahead. “None of the court musicians can sing with this much freedom.”

Pompi gave a low whine, his nose guiding the way through the thick brush. The smell of wild mint and wet stones grew stronger, telling me we were approaching water. The voice seemed to hover over the stream, dropping and rising in perfect harmony with the rustling leaves.

“Just a little further, boy,” I murmured, my pulse quickening with an unusual excitement.

I parted a thick cluster of weeping willow branches, creating a small window through the leaves. The green gave way to a sudden opening, exposing a bright, sunlit clearing where the trees bent low over a rushing brook. My eyes rushed across the rocky banks, searching for the source of the song, until I finally spotted a shape moving right in the center of the hidden stream.

Standing on a flat stone in the middle of the current was a young woman, her back to me as she wrung out a white linen garment. But as she struck a high, lingering note, the wind caught her damp dark hair, shifting it just enough to reveal her beautiful face.

“That’s the most beautiful face I have ever seen.” My hand froze