THE CROWNLESS STRANGER
1261 Words
Lilith left him there.
She picked up her bucket, turned her back on the wounded stranger, and walked away along the narrow path leading toward the village.
She did not look back.
At least, she tried not to.
But after several steps, curiosity pulled at her.
She glanced over her shoulder.
He was still sitting beside the river, watching her.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment.
Lilith quickly turned away.
She didn't know why her heart felt strangely unsettled.
She had met plenty of wolves before.
But there had been something different about him.
Something she couldn't explain.
She tightened her grip around the bucket.
Forget him.
He was a stranger.
Nothing more.
Yet even after the trees swallowed him from her sight, his face remained in her thoughts.
---
Rhaedon watched until Lilith disappeared beyond the trees.
He remained still for several moments.
Who was she?
He had never seen her before.
And yet there was something about her presence that had caught his attention.
Perhaps it was the way she had approached a complete stranger without knowing whether he was dangerous.
Or perhaps it was the fact that she had looked at him without the fear and reverence he was accustomed to seeing in the eyes of common wolves.
She had spoken to him as though he were simply another injured wolf.
Rhaedon almost found it insulting.
Almost.
He looked toward the sky.
The sun had risen considerably higher.
He could not remain beside the river.
If someone found him here, questions would follow.
And questions were the last thing he needed.
He pushed himself to his feet.
His body felt strangely different.
The pain that had consumed him earlier had begun to fade.
Rhaedon looked down at his wounds.
The deep cuts across his arms were closing.
The blood had dried.
The flesh beneath it was knitting itself together.
He stared.
His wolf healing was returning.
Then he remembered the strange weakness that had plagued him since escaping Valdyr.
Wolfsbane.
The traitors must have used it on him.
The poison had suppressed his wolf's natural healing and left him vulnerable.
But now—
It seemed the Wolfsbane had finally begun leaving his system.
Rhaedon touched one of the wounds.
The skin was almost completely closed.
He exhaled slowly.
"Finally."
His strength was returning.
But there was still one problem.
His clothes.
He looked down at himself.
His once-fine royal garments were torn, stained with mud and blood, and unmistakably marked by the battle.
Anyone who saw him would know he had been through something terrible.
And if someone recognized the quality of his clothing...
He was finished.
He needed ordinary clothes.
Something a village wolf would wear.
Something that would make him invisible.
Rhaedon had never imagined the day would come when he would have to hide his identity beneath the clothes of a commoner.
He had been raised in a palace.
Servants had dressed him.
Tailors had measured him.
Kings had bowed before his father.
And now he was standing barefoot in the wilderness, considering how to steal a pair of trousers.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
What a fall.
But there was no time for pride.
His stomach growled.
Rhaedon followed the scent of food until he reached a small patch of farmland near the edge of the forest.
Trees heavy with fruit stood nearby.
He approached cautiously.
There were red apples hanging from one of the branches.
Nearby, small bushes were covered with dark wild berries.
He plucked two apples and a handful of berries.
He ate quickly.
The sweetness spread through his mouth, and for the first time in what felt like days, the terrible emptiness in his stomach began to disappear.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth and looked at his body again.
His wounds had completely closed.
Only faint marks remained.
His wolf had recovered enough for him to move normally.
Now all he needed was clothing.
He continued through the bushes.
Then he heard something.
Voices.
Rhaedon froze.
He lowered himself slightly and listened.
The sound was coming from somewhere to his east.
A village.
He carefully pushed aside some branches.
Beyond the bushes was a narrow path.
And beyond the path were houses.
His heart quickened.
Civilization.
Rhaedon stepped back into the shadows.
He needed to be careful.
He followed the path from a distance until he noticed a small house near the edge of the village.
A clothesline stood outside.
Several pieces of clothing hung from it, swaying gently in the morning breeze.
Rhaedon stared.
Then he closed his eyes.
Surely the heir of Valdyr had not fallen so low.
He opened them again.
The clothes were still there.
He sighed.
"Forgive me."
He waited until no one was outside.
Then he moved.
Quickly.
Silently.
He slipped behind the house, reached for a plain shirt and a pair of dark trousers, and pulled them from the line.
He disappeared into the bushes before anyone could notice.
Rhaedon stared at the clothes in his hands.
They were simple.
Very simple.
Nothing like the garments he had worn his entire life.
He changed quickly.
The trousers were slightly loose around his waist, and the shirt was rough against his skin.
He looked down at himself.
For a moment, he barely recognized the man staring back.
No royal insignia.
No expensive fabric.
No sword.
No crown.
Nothing that announced who he was.
Just another wolf.
A common villager.
A stranger.
Perhaps that was exactly what he needed.
Rhaedon pulled the shirt into place.
"This is humiliating."
But he knew better than to complain.
His kingdom was gone.
His parents were dead.
His enemies were hunting him.
He had no choice.
For now, he was no longer Prince Rhaedon Valdyr.
He was simply a wolf trying to survive.
He turned away from the house and disappeared into the bushes.
A second path led toward the village.
Rhaedon followed it.
He kept his head lowered and his senses alert.
Every sound made him cautious.
Every passing wolf could be an enemy.
But as he entered the village, he realized something.
Nobody looked twice at him.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody stared.
Nobody knew who he was.
For the first time since the fall of Valdyr, Rhaedon could breathe.
---
Meanwhile, Lilith had already returned home.
She placed the empty bucket down and went about her usual chores.
Her mother was preparing food.
Lilith helped with the cooking, cleaned the small house, and sorted the remaining vegetables.
Not once did she mention the stranger by the river.
She didn't know why.
Perhaps she didn't want her father to worry.
Perhaps she didn't want questions.
Or perhaps she simply didn't understand the strange feeling she had experienced when she looked into the stranger's eyes.
Whatever the reason, she kept silent.
When the chores were finished, Lilith prepared the remaining produce for the market.
Her mother handed her a basket.
"Be careful today."
Lilith smiled.
"I always am."
Her mother gave her a doubtful look.
Lilith laughed.
"I promise."
She picked up the basket and stepped outside.
The village was already busy.
She walked toward the marketplace, unaware that another stranger had entered the village only moments earlier.
A stranger dressed like an ordinary villager.
A stranger carrying a secret that could change the fate of the entire Western Lands.
And neither Lilith nor Rhaedon knew that they were now walking beneath the same sun.
Closer than they had ever been.
But still unaware of just how close their paths were about to become.
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