Hell bound with you

When paths cross again

As Prince Caspian rode his steed through the dirt paths leading to Riverfield, his mind lingered on his recent argument with his father. The heaviness of duty and his father's stubbornness weighed him down, but he sought solace in the tranquility of the countryside.

Beside him, Felix guided his own horse with care, watching the prince out of the corner of his eye. After a stretch of silence, he spoke, his voice steady but considerate.

“My prince, we should stop and let the horses rest. They’ve been riding hard since morning. A meal and water will do them good before we head for the mountains.”

Caspian slowed his horse, casting a glance toward Felix. His hardened expression softened, and he gave a small nod.

“You’re right, Felix,” he admitted. “And truthfully, we could use the rest ourselves. I haven’t eaten since dawn… and my stomach doesn’t seem to care that I’m royalty.”

A faint smile touched Felix’s lips.

Caspian smirked. “Especially before climbing mountains.”

They strayed from the main path toward a shaded patch near a brook just outside Riverfield. When they approached the edge of the bustling village, they dismounted and guided their horses to the stable beside the local inn, making sure the animals were fed and given time to rest.

As Felix tended to the horses, the air grew rich with the scent of wild herbs and distant chimney smoke. For a fleeting moment—far from the burden of the crown and the icy gaze of King Magnus—there was peace. Delicate, temporary, but undeniably real.

Leaving his horse behind, Caspian walked the village road, his boots crunching softly on the dirt path. The sights and sounds of the market filled his senses—vendors haggling, children laughing, and the warm aroma of fresh bread wafting through the air. As he moved through the market, his eyes fell on a young woman standing at a vegetable vendor’s stall.

For a moment, his stride faltered. It was her. The girl he had met during the grand ball, the one whose beauty had captivated him then and did so now. But as he observed her in the simplicity of her surroundings, surprise flickered across his face. She’s not a noblewoman? A village girl? How could someone from such humble roots look so… ethereal?

Caspian’s curiosity got the better of him. He began to follow her, weaving through the crowd until he stood right next to her at the vendor's stall. Amelia, sensing someone beside her, turned her head. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. The same man who had cornered her during the ball, his sharp eyes and confident smirk unforgettable. A shadow fell over her face, and her chest tightened with unease.

She immediately looked away, her mind racing for an excuse. “Sir,” she said to the vendor, “I’ll return shortly. I need to check something.” She turned on her heel and took a few hurried steps away when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait, my lady.”

Amelia froze, reluctantly turning to face him. His piercing gaze met hers, amusement flickering in his expression.

“You remember me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice smooth and confident.

She clenched her fists, willing herself to remain calm. “No,” she lied, her tone steady despite her unease. “I don’t. Who are you exactly?”

Caspian chuckled, tilting his head. “Really? By the startled look on your face, I thought for sure you recognized me.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir,” she said, feigning indifference. “I don’t know you, and I’m certain I’ve never seen you before. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to.” She turned to leave again, hoping he would let her go.

But Caspian stepped in stride beside her, his presence unnervingly close. “At least tell me your name,” he said.

“Why should I?” Amelia snapped, her annoyance bubbling to the surface. “I’ve already told you, I don’t know you.”

“Well,” Caspian replied with a playful smirk, “if you tell me your name and I tell you mine, then we’ll know each other."

Amelia shot him a sharp look, her patience wearing thin. “Will you please stop this?”

“Stop what?” Caspian asked, though the glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Stop following me!” she said, her voice rising.

Caspian placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Following you? My lady, I assure you, I’m just walking my way. This just happens to be my way.”

Amelia’s cheeks flushed with anger. She stopped abruptly, her fiery gaze fixed on him. “You are insufferable,” she said through gritted teeth before storming off toward her father’s shop.

Caspian stood where she left him, watching her retreat with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She is something else, he thought to himself, amusement and intrigue sparking within him.

As Amelia disappeared into the distance, Caspian lingered for a moment longer, wondering what it was about her that made her so unforgettable. Then, turning back to the bustling market, he resolved to uncover the mystery of the village girl who had captured his attention so completely.

⸻

After Amelia left her father’s shop, a tall young man entered. The faint jingle of the doorbell echoed in the small wooden space, followed by the crisp shuffle of boots against the floor. Caspian glanced around briefly, his sharp features betraying a sense of purpose as he approached the counter where Amelia’s father was arranging some chopped firewood for another customer.

The man behind the counter, with silver-threaded hair and a face etched by years of hard work, looked up and greeted him with a polite smile. Before Caspian could speak, the older man finished assisting the customer, then turned his full attention to the newcomer.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I buy some firewood?” Caspian asked, his voice steady, though there was a certain unease in his eyes.

Amelia’s father nodded. “How much are you looking to buy?”

“Just enough for a few days,” Caspian replied. “We’re camped not too far from here, and the nights have been colder than expected.”

As the older man began gathering the requested firewood, Caspian hesitated for a moment, then added, “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking… who was the young woman who came to your shop just before me?”

The question hung in the air, and Amelia’s father froze for a fraction of a second before straightening up. His eyes narrowed as he turned to face Caspian, his expression shifting from warmth to wariness. “Why are you asking about her?”

Caspian quickly raised his hands, palms outward, in a gesture of reassurance. “I know her. We met before—at the Grand Ball. But I didn’t have the chance to learn her name.”

The man’s eyes darkened with suspicion as he leaned his weight against the counter. “Are you from a noble family, then?”

There was a moment of hesitation before Caspian answered. “Yes. My father is the Duke of Aldmoor.”

Amelia’s father’s gaze swept over him, scrutinizing every detail, from the finely tailored edges of his coat to the polished leather of his boots. Finally, he spoke, his tone guarded. “The girl you saw before was my daughter.” His voice carried an undercurrent of warning. “What business do you have with her?”

Caspian visibly stiffened, his confidence faltering. “I—I don’t have any business with her,” he stammered, then quickly added, “I was just curious. That’s all.”

The older man’s eyes bore into him, his intense stare unrelenting. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, deliberate tone, “over-curiosity can lead to trouble, my lord. It would be better for you to drop this… curiosity.”

Caspian forced a nervous chuckle, attempting to mask his unease. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for the firewood. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Amelia’s father stepped back, his expression unreadable. “No need to thank me. You paid for it, after all.”

Without another word, Caspian picked up the bundled firewood and exited the shop quickly, the jingle of the bell marking his departure. Outside, he paused for a moment, glancing back at the shop before shaking his head and walked away.

⸻

Amelia trudged along the snowy path, her boots crunching against the thick layer of frost. The air was crisp, her breath forming soft puffs that dissolved into the winter stillness. Around her, the forest stretched out in serene whiteness, yet her mind was too preoccupied, weighed down by uneasy thoughts.

Why are the soldiers here? she wondered, her eyes scanning the treetops that swayed gently in the winter breeze. Are they here to destroy the forest? Her heart clenched at the memory of what had happened a few years ago—the soldiers had invaded, cutting down trees and laying waste to the village. Families were left broken, livelihoods destroyed. If that happens again, we’ll all suffer.

But why? What reason could they have to invade the forest again? The question gnawed at her, clouding her thoughts with worry and fear.

Lost in thought, Amelia nearly missed the figure standing off to the side of the path. Her gaze caught movement, and her heart skipped a beat as her eyes focused. It was Ivar, leaning against the trunk of a tree, his form partially shrouded by the branches. His dark cloak blended with the shadows, but his piercing eyes were unmistakable.

As she approached, he stepped forward, his movements fluid and deliberate, as if he’d been waiting for her all along.

Amelia stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. “Why are you here?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Ivar’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I’m here for you.”

Her heart raced at his words, though she masked it with a frown. “For me? Why?”

Ivar held her gaze for a moment, the intensity of his eyes making her stomach twist. “You were angry with me that day in the forest,” he said finally, his tone soft but unwavering. “You didn’t get your answer.”

Amelia crossed her arms, the memory of their last encounter flooding back. “So, are you here to answer me now?”

Ivar’s expression shifted, a hint of sorrow flickering across his face. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” he said, his voice low.

His words only fueled her frustration. “Why wouldn’t I understand?” she snapped. “You owe me an explanation, Ivar. You were exceptionally disrespectful that day.”

He took a step closer, his presence commanding yet strangely gentle. “Because you weren't listening and the truth isn’t something you can simply hear. You have to see it, feel it. And even then, it’s not easy to accept.”

Amelia’s breath caught, her anger giving way to confusion. “What does that even mean?” she asked, her voice quieter now.