Hell bound with you

The Ones Who Hide

Amelia couldn’t shake the question of why Ivar had taken them to the ball while posing as their coachman. Could he be working for Mr. Haraldson? If so, perhaps Mr. Haraldson knew where he had come from—or where he lived now.

She had to find out what Ivar was up to.

More than anything, she needed to know where he lived.

That afternoon, as she returned from her father’s woodshop, she decided to take a detour to Mr. Haraldson’s house. The Haraldsons had been family friends for as long as she could remember. As a child, she had spent countless afternoons there, playing in their gardens and listening to Mrs. Haraldson’s stories. The couple loved her like their own daughter, always welcoming her with warmth and affection.

The path to their home wound up a snow-dusted hill, lined with tall pines that whispered in the cold breeze. When she finally reached the house, she spotted the familiar carriage outside, its wheels caked with frozen mud.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Could it be him?

Amelia didn’t have time to linger on the thought. The front door creaked open, and Mrs. Haraldson appeared on the porch, her warm smile breaking through the chill of the air.

“Amelia! What a lovely surprise!” Mrs. Haraldson exclaimed, her hands outstretched in welcome. “It feels like ages since you’ve visited. Come inside, child—you must be freezing!”

Amelia smiled, stepping into the warmth of the house. The comforting scent of baking bread and pinewood filled the air. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Haraldson. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know me,” Mrs. Haraldson said with a chuckle, closing the door behind her. “Always keeping busy. And you, my dear? How’s your father? Still working as hard as ever, I presume?”

“He is,” Amelia replied, brushing the snow off her cloak. “Sometimes I think he forgets to take a break. But he’s doing well.”

Mrs. Haraldson led her to the cozy sitting room, where a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. “Come, sit by the fire. I’ll fetch you some tea.”

Amelia sat down, letting the warmth seep into her cold fingers. As Mrs. Haraldson bustled about, she couldn’t help but glance toward the window, where the carriage was still visible.

Her curiosity was burning.

When Mrs. Haraldson returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, Amelia decided to approach the subject. “Mrs. Haraldson, I was wondering about something…”

“Yes, dear?” Mrs. Haraldson said, settling into the chair opposite her.

“The coachman who took us to the king’s ball the other night—do you know who he is?” Amelia said, her curiosity evident.

Mrs. Haraldson tilted her head, her brow furrowing in thought.

“The coachman? Oh, you mean that young man? No, I don’t know him. He wasn’t our usual coachman, you see. Our regular one couldn’t come that evening, so he sent that boy in his place. That’s all I know.”

Amelia leaned forward, her curiosity deepening. “Have you seen him since then?”

“No, not at all,” Mrs. Haraldson replied, looking at Amelia with mild suspicion. “Why do you ask? Did something happen?”

Amelia hesitated, unsure how much to reveal.

“Oh, it’s nothing. He just seemed… different. I thought he might be someone you knew.”

Mrs. Haraldson chuckled softly. “Well, he was certainly polite. But no, dear, I can’t say I’ve seen him before or since.”

Amelia forced a smile, though her mind was racing.

Different was an understatement. There was something undeniably enigmatic about the coachman, and her need for answers only grew stronger.

“Well, I should get going,” Amelia said after a while, standing to leave. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Haraldson. Please give my regards to Mr. Haraldson when he returns.”

“Of course, dear. And do visit more often—you’re always welcome here,” Mrs. Haraldson said, seeing her to the door.

As Amelia stepped outside, the cold air bit at her cheeks, but her thoughts were too preoccupied to notice. The path down the mountain stretched before her, lined with snow-laden trees and shrouded in a thin veil of fog. The world seemed eerily quiet, save for the crunch of her boots on the frozen ground.

Just as she rounded a bend, a figure appeared in the distance, walking toward her.

Her heart leapt as the figure grew closer, his silhouette becoming unmistakable.

It was him—Ivar.

He stopped a few steps away, his dark coat dusted lightly with snow.

His gaze lifted toward the darkening sky.

“My lady,” he said, “isn’t it rather late for you to be wandering this far from home? It will be dark soon.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “My lady? What has gotten into you?”

“I was merely being polite.” A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Amelia studied him, surprised by his words. “Then why have you never called me that before?”

“Because back then, you were more of a bully than a lady.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “You used to beat me with a stick. Remember?”

Amelia shot back, “I did not bully you. And that was years ago.”

“More or less, you deserved it.”

His eyebrow rose. “Did I?”

A low laugh escaped him.

Amelia crossed her arms, fighting back a grin. “You were supposed to be my husband.”

“Your husband?” Ivar let out a startled laugh.

“We were only pretending,” she said. “And you hardly knew how to play the part.”

Ivar’s laughter faded into a faint smile as he looked at her. “You wanted me to kiss you. remember?”

His gaze lingered on hers. “But back then, I had no idea how.”

The words were delivered so casually that it took Amelia a moment to understand what he had said.

Heat rushed to her cheeks.

“I—”, she looked away, suddenly fascinated by the snow-covered trees.

Ivar’s quiet amusement only made her blush harder.

Amelia cleared her throat.

“Do you work for Mr. Haraldson?”

The teasing vanished from Ivar’s face. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Amelia narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means I help him when he needs me,” he replied.

She studied him carefully. “Mrs. Haraldson doesn’t seem to know much about you.”

Ivar’s gaze sharpened. “And why were you asking her about me?”

Amelia’s cheeks warmed beneath his penetrating stare.

“I wasn’t asking about you. She mentioned you.”

Ivar narrowed his eyes. “Of course she did.” His mouth curved into a teasing smile. “Probably because she’s fascinated by me.”

There was something in his voice that told her he didn’t believe her explanation.

She quickly looked away.

“Well… where do you live now?”

Ivar’s gaze lingered on her. “You ask many questions, my lady.”

He took a small step closer.

“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing,” he said, though there was no malice in his voice.

“So you won’t tell me?” she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

He took another step toward her as he studied her.

“Why do you want to know?”

Amelia took a step back. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

She gave him a small, defiant smile.

“I won’t force you to tell me. It was good to see you again, Ivar.”

She glanced toward the path behind him.

“You must be heading to Mr. Haraldson’s house. I won’t keep you any longer.”

She turned to leave.

“Amelia.”

She stopped and looked back. “What?”

“I live at the edge of the woods,” Ivar said. "where the stream bends inside the forest."

“I live at the edge of the woods,” Ivar said. “Where the stream bends deeper into the forest.”

Amelia gave him a skeptical look. “Do you really expect me to believe that? No one lives there. People are too frightened to even go near that forest.”

Ivar sighed. “Believe it or not, I’m telling you the truth.”

“Why?” Amelia asked. “Couldn’t you find anywhere else to live? Monsters roam that forest. I’ve seen one with my own eyes.”

Ivar’s expression shifted with sudden curiosity. “Really? What kind of monster?”

“It had fiery red eyes and enormous black wings.” She hesitated before adding, “And I saw a forest fairy, too.”

The faint smile on Ivar’s face disappeared.

“Then you shouldn’t go there,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “Why do you keep wandering into that forest? Stay away from that place, Amelia.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Save those words for yourself. You’re the one living there.”

Before he could respond, Amelia turned and started walking away.

“Oh, and Lucy was asking for you,” she called over her shoulder. “Go see her when you have time.”

“Amelia, wait...” Whatever playfulness had been in Ivar’s expression was gone. “Let me take you home. You shouldn’t be alone on this path after dusk.”

For a brief moment, Amelia hesitated.

Then she nodded. “All right.”

They started toward the village.

The walk was quiet at first. Ivar moved easily through the snow, his footsteps barely making a sound, while Amelia followed a few paces behind.

She found herself stealing glances at him again and again.

Eventually, Ivar noticed. “If you want to say something, just say it.”

Amelia looked away. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Where have you been?”

“Home. With my people,” he said.

Amelia glanced at him. “How long are you going to stay here?”

“I don’t know.” His response was brief.

She waited for more.

Nothing came.

Amelia sighed. Clearly, Ivar had no intention of answering all her nosy questions.

So she changed the subject.

“I barely recognized you that day in the forest. You’ve changed, Ivar.”

Ivar glanced at her. A faint smile appeared on his lips. “People change with time.”

His gaze lingered on her. “Look at you. You’re a woman now.”

Amelia’s heart gave an unexpected flutter.

She quickly looked ahead. “I suppose we’ve both changed.”

They continued walking until the familiar rooftops of the village came into view.

When they reached the path leading toward Amelia’s house, she stopped. “This is far enough.”

She turned toward him. “I suppose I should go now. Thank you for walking me home.”

Ivar dipped his head, his eyes lingering on her.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Not again.”

She turned and hurried toward her house.

Behind her, Ivar remained where he was.

He watched until Amelia disappeared through the door.

Only then did he turn his gaze away from her home.

Without another word, he disappeared into the gathering shadows, swallowed by the falling dusk as though he had never been there at all.

⸻

The grand hall of the castle echoed with the king’s thunderous voice, shaking even the chandeliers suspended high above. His face was flushed with fury, and his fists clenched the golden arms of the throne.

Servants and courtiers stood in terrified silence, their heads bowed low.

“Where in the Seven Kingdoms has that boy disappeared to?” he roared, his voice cracking through the stillness like a whip. “I arranged this ball for his sake—to find a suitable match for him—and yet he’s nowhere to be found! Why did I even bother inviting the nobility if he won’t grace us with his presence? It’s his birthday, for heaven’s sake!”

The courtiers exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to answer.

“That irresponsible brat!”

The king shot to his feet and began pacing furiously.

“Two days!” he barked, his voice shaking the very stone walls. “Two days since that ungrateful brat abandoned the castle, leaving us all to deal with the chaos! He sneaked out like a thief in the night and left me—me!—to face the nobles who came here expecting a prince. Worthless! And none of you incompetent fools have the slightest clue where he’s gone. Can no one in this damned palace do their job? He fooled every single one of you! Useless. Every last one of you!”

The harsh words hung heavily in the air.

The king continued pacing before his throne, the deep crimson folds of his robe trailing behind him like a shadow. His fury fueled every step, his heavy boots echoing sharply across the polished marble floor.

“Does he think he can disgrace me and escape unscathed? Does he imagine the crown will wait for a boy who flees from his duties? When I find him, I will make certain he learns the cost of such rebellion! He cannot hide from me forever. No matter where he runs, no matter how far he goes, I will find him. And when I do…”

His words trailed off, swallowed by the ominous silence that settled over the room.