REJECTED BY THE ROGUE PRINCE

Road To Thornwood

We left Blackwater Manor under the cover of darkness.

Thomas had prepared everything. Two horses, saddlebags full of supplies, and a forged letter from my father. If anyone stopped us, that letter would be our protection.

"Are you sure about this?" Cecily whispered as she helped me into my traveling cloak. "The Northern Reaches are dangerous, my lady."

"I am sure," I said, though my hands trembled. "I cannot just sit here and accept that this is all my life will ever be."

She pressed a small pouch into my hands. "Herbs for healing, and some coins I have saved. Take it."

I hugged her tightly. "Thank you. For everything."

Thomas was already waiting in the stables with the horses. He had traded his fine clothes for simple traveling gear.

"Ready?" he asked.

I mounted my horse. "Ready."

We rode through the night, taking the old forest roads that merchants rarely used. Every sound made me jump. A branch snapping. An owl's call. The distant howl of wolves.

By dawn, we had put enough distance between ourselves and Blackwater Manor that Thomas finally let us slow down. We stopped near a stream to let the horses drink.

"We should reach Millbrook Village by afternoon," Thomas said, studying the map. "We can rest there for the night."

I splashed cold water on my face. My body ached from riding all night.

"Thomas," I said, "why are you really helping me?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Do you remember when we were children? Before Mother died?"

"Some of it."

"She used to tell us stories about the old days. Before the Great Pack Wars, when wolves and witches and humans all lived together peacefully." He smiled sadly. "Father hated those stories. He said they made us weak."

"I remember," I said softly. "She told us that true strength came from understanding all kinds of power, not just one."

"Exactly." Thomas looked at me. "When your wolf did not come, Father saw it as a curse. But what if Mother was right? What if there are other kinds of strength you are meant to find?"

"I hope you are right," I said. "Because if this does not work, I do not know what I will do."

We rode on through the day. The forest gradually changed as we traveled north. The trees grew taller, older. Moss covered everything. The air felt heavier.

Millbrook Village appeared just as the sun began to set. It was small, maybe fifty houses clustered around a central square. Smoke rose from chimneys, and I could smell bread baking.

The inn was called the Rusty Anchor. The innkeeper was friendly enough, a round woman with flour on her apron.

"Traveling north, are you?" she asked as she set fresh linens on the beds. "Do not see many nobles heading that way. Most folk avoid the Northern Reaches if they can."

"Why is that?" I asked.

She gave me a strange look. "The Northern Reaches is where the old magic lives. Witches, druids, creatures that do not follow the Moon Goddess. Good wolves stay away from such things."

"What if someone wanted to find those witches?" Thomas asked carefully.

The innkeeper's eyes widened. "Then I would say that someone has a death wish. The Thornwood Coven does not welcome visitors. And those who go looking for them often do not come back."

She left after that, closing the door firmly behind her.

Thomas and I looked at each other.

"Well," he said. "That is encouraging."

"We have come this far," I said. "We cannot turn back now."

That night, I could not sleep. I kept thinking about what the innkeeper had said. People who went looking for the coven did not come back.

But then I remembered standing in that church, waiting for a groom who never came. I remembered Helena's triumphant smile and my father's disappointment.

No. I would rather die trying than live the rest of my life as a cautionary tale.

The next morning, we left before dawn. The road north became rougher. Sometimes it disappeared entirely. Thomas had to check the map constantly.

On the third day of travel, we encountered our first real problem.

We had stopped to rest near a clearing when three men stepped out from the trees. They were rough-looking, with weapons at their belts and predatory smiles.

"Well, well," the largest one said. "What do we have here? Two little nobles, all alone in the woods."

Thomas immediately stepped in front of me, his hand moving to the sword at his hip. "We want no trouble."

"Passing through our territory," another man said. "You have to pay the toll."

"We have already paid the road tax in Millbrook," Thomas said firmly.

The large man laughed. "Not that kind of toll. We want your horses, your supplies, and whatever coin you are carrying."

"No," Thomas said.

I grabbed his arm. "Thomas, maybe we should..."

"I said no." He drew his sword.

The three men looked at each other and grinned. Then they began to shift.

Bones cracked and reformed. Skin sprouted fur. Within seconds, three wolves stood where the men had been. They were rogues.

Thomas shifted too. His wolf was strong and brown, but it was three against one.

The fight was brutal and quick.

Thomas fought well, but the rogues had experience and numbers. They circled him, snapping and tearing.

I stood frozen, helpless. I had no wolf to help him with. I could only watch.

One of the rogues broke away from the fight and came toward me. Its yellow eyes were fixed on my throat. I stumbled backward, tripping over a root and falling hard.

The wolf loomed over me. This was it. This was how I would die.

But then something strange happened.

The air around me grew cold. The wolf froze, its eyes widening. A low growl rumbled in its chest, but it sounded uncertain. Afraid.

I felt it then. Like something inside me was waking up, stretching after a long sleep. It was not a wolf.

This was different. It was ancient and colder.

The wolf backed away from me, whimpering. The other two rogues stopped fighting Thomas and turned to look at me. They all stared with the same expression: fear.

Then they shifted back to human form and ran. Just ran, crashing through the underbrush.

Thomas shifted back, bleeding from several wounds but alive. He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Rowena," he said slowly. "What just happened?"

I looked down at my hands. They looked normal. But I could still feel it, that cold power humming beneath my skin.

"I do not know," I whispered.

But that was a lie. Deep down, some part of me did know.

Thomas bandaged his wounds while I sat in shocked silence. The cold feeling had faded, but I could still sense it, lurking just out of reach.

"We need to reach the coven," Thomas said. "Whatever that was, they can help you understand it."

I nodded, unable to form words.

We rode harder after that. The forest grew darker, wilder. Strange sounds echoed through the trees at night.

On the seventh day of our journey, we reached a place where the trees grew so close together that barely any light penetrated. A wooden sign, old and weathered, pointed down a narrow path.

"Thornwood Coven. Enter at your own risk."

"This is it," Thomas said quietly.

I dismounted. The path ahead looked more like a tunnel than a road.

"I have to go alone from here," I said.

"What? No. Rowena..."

"The letter was addressed to me. This is my mother's legacy, not yours." I touched his arm gently. "Wait here. If I am not back by tomorrow night, return home and tell Father everything."

Thomas looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew I was right.

I walked down the path alone.

The deeper I went, the more the world seemed to change. The air grew thick. Colors looked brighter. I could hear whispers in languages I did not understand.

After what felt like hours, the path opened into a clearing.

And there, in the center, stood a circle of women.

They were all ages. Young and old, dressed in robes of deep green and midnight blue. They stood perfectly still, watching me.

One woman stepped forward. She was ancient, her face lined with wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and clear.

"Rowena Blackwater," she said, though I had not told her my name. "Elara's daughter. We have been waiting for you."