Bound By Deals

Sylvana Forest

"Did you expect anything else?" I snapped, my voice cutting through the casual conversation like a knife. I watched with satisfaction as Marcus's hand darted to his sword, the soldiers around us sneering with barely concealed hostility.

Lifting my fork, I gestured defiantly towards the dense, looming forest that surrounded us. "This isn't just any forest. It's Sylvana's forest." My tone dared anyone to challenge my knowledge.

One of the soldiers spoke up, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "My father used to tell me stories about it being full of werewolves," he said, chewing on his words like they were distant memories.

The rest of the soldiers snickered and scoffed. One bit into an apple with a careless smirk. "They're all gone now," he said, dismissing the thought of werewolves like a forgotten legend.

Irritation bubbled up inside me. "King Sylvana was a lycanthrope, and Oakwald is still his," I warned, my eyes flashing. "I wouldn't be surprised if some of the trees remember the howls of his pack."

The soldiers burst into laughter, their disbelief tangible in the air. "Werewolves? In these parts? They'd have to be two thousand years old!" one chortled, shaking his head.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to retaliate more sharply. Instead, I shook my head and took another forkful of food, trying to ignore the anger simmering just beneath my skin.

Marcus, who had been watching me closely, asked quietly, "What do you know about this forest?" His eyes held a glimmer of genuine curiosity.

I spoke softly but firmly, choosing my words carefully. "Before Adarlan began its conquest, this forest was a sanctuary for the lycanthrope packs." The weight of my words seemed to still the air around us momentarily.

But I held back. I knew far more than I was letting on. This forest had once teemed with werewolves, their packs ruling over vast territories within Oakwald. But I couldn't – wouldn't – reveal that.

"And?" Marcus prodded gently, his goldenbrown eyes watching me intently.

I met his gaze coolly. "And that's all I know." My tone made it clear the conversation was over, but I could tell Marcus wasn't fooled. He knew I was hiding something.

As I picked at my food, my mind wandered to the truth about Oakwald Forest. I remembered the ancient packs that once thrived here before the King of Adarlan's conquest. The King had outlawed all lycanthropes and hunted them to near extinction. But I still remembered the days before their disappearance.

The memory of silver-tipped arrows and burning wolfsbane filled my senses, the acrid scent of fear and ancient blood feuds seeping into my mind. I could almost hear the howls of pain as werewolves were hunted down, their packs scattered to the winds. The smoke of burning dens, the cries of lycanthrope children, the scent of silver and wolfsbane – it all haunted me still.

Though the werewolves had vanished after the King's decree, I reflected that I, too, had once known their secrets. Now, that knowledge lay dormant inside me, a shadow of the power I had long lost, but its memory still lingered, a constant reminder of what I'd become.

As I ate, I couldn't help but look out at the swaying trees of Oakwald. Their branches moved as if they were alive, wrapping around each other like protective guardians of the ancient forest. I suppressed a shiver. The trees swayed with their long, bony arms, and I felt an unnerving stillness beneath the surface, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Lunch ended quickly after that, the soldiers returning to their meals, their earlier mockery now a distant memory. My chains were transferred back to my wrists, and the horses were reloaded. My legs were stiff from the morning's journey, and I found it painful to mount my horse. Marcus had to help me into the saddle, his touch a stark reminder of the chain that still bound me.

As we began to ride again, the stench of horse sweat and excrement assaulted my senses. The smell was unbearable as we pushed forward through the forest. The farther we traveled from the shimmering glen of Oakwald, the more the tightness in my chest eased. My mind felt lighter, though my body ached from the long day's ride.

By the time we stopped for the night, I was too tired to speak. I barely acknowledged the small tent erected for me, or the guards stationed outside. Exhaustion consumed me, and I fell asleep still shackled to one of the guards.

When I awoke the next morning, a shock awaited me. Large, canine-like paw prints surrounded my tent, far too big to belong to any normal wolf. My heart raced as I swept my foot across the tracks, erasing the evidence. Without a word, I stuffed a tuft of coarse, silvery fur I found nearby into my pocket, my mind racing as I wondered what had left it there.

As we continued our journey, I remained on edge. My eyes constantly scanned the faces of the soldiers, searching for any indication that they'd noticed something strange, but no one mentioned the werewolves or the paw prints. My palms grew sweaty, my heartbeat quickening as I kept one eye on the woods, watching for signs of anything out of the ordinary.

Over the next two weeks, the weather grew colder, the days shorter. Icy rain drenched us for four days, and I was so cold that I contemplated throwing myself into a ravine just to escape the misery. Every part of me was soaked through—my clothes, my hair, my boots. I wrapped my toes in any dry cloth I could find, but it was never enough. I felt like I was decaying from the cold, my skin burning with every gust of wind.

I was half-asleep in the saddle when the Crown Prince came trotting toward us, his red cape a bright contrast against the gloomy landscape. He pulled alongside Marcus, asking him to join him to see the view from the hill.

"Come," Callum said, his tone playful, "Bring that one, I suppose." I bristled at being referred to as "that one," my irritation rising once again.

Marcus tugged at my chain, and we rode toward the hill. The smell of horsehair and sweat was thick in the air as we galloped uphill. As we crested the hill, my breath caught in my throat. The glass castle of Rifthold rose before us, a towering, shimmering city of crystalline turrets and bridges. It was a vertical city of glass, the spires reflecting the setting sun in a dazzling display.

The sight stirred old memories—eight years ago, I had seen it for the first time. I remembered the cold, still day, the fat pony beneath me, and the weight of my freshly curled hair. The castle had seemed gaudy to me even then, a waste of wealth and talent.

Callum broke the silence with a wry observation. "It's beautiful, isn't it? But so fragile. One well-aimed stone is all it would take."

His words hung in the air, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. As we descended the hill towards the glass castle, a sense of foreboding settled over me. What awaited me in that shimmering fortress? What trials and dangers lurked behind those crystalline walls?

The closer we got, the more my anxiety grew. The weight of my chains seemed to increase with each step, a constant reminder of my captivity and the precarious nature of my situation. I was heading into the very heart of the kingdom that had destroyed everything I once held dear.

As we approached the main gates, I caught sight of something that made my blood run cold. There, adorning the entrance, were symbols I recognized from my childhood – ancient runes of lycanthrope power, supposedly long forgotten. But here they were, hidden in plain sight, woven into the intricate designs of the gate.

My mind raced. Did the King know what these symbols meant? Was there more to this glass castle than met the eye? And most importantly, what did it mean for me?

Before I could ponder these questions further, the gates began to open with a groaning sound that echoed through the air. As they swung wide, revealing the glittering interior of the castle grounds, I felt a sudden surge of primal energy – faint, but unmistakable.

My eyes widened in shock. It couldn't be. The werewolves were gone, weren't they?

But as we passed through those gates, I knew with absolute certainty that something had changed. The world I thought I understood was shifting beneath my feet.

And as the gates closed behind us with a resounding clang, I realized that my real trial was only just beginning. In the distance, barely audible, I could have sworn I heard the faint echo of a wolf's howl.