CHAPTER THREE
630 Words
Three Oaths and blood
The cave's entrance was illuminated in golden light as dawn broke over the horizon. Seraphina stirred awake, the scent of damp earth and ash filling her senses. Due to exhaustion, her body ached, but she had no time to rest. She was no longer a noblewoman sleeping in silk sheets—she was a fugitive, and the world outside the cave was hunting her.
Ronan was already awake, crouched near the fire, sharpening a dagger with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Get up," he said without looking at her. "We leave now."
Seraphina rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Where are we going?"
"To someone who can help us." Ronan slid the dagger into his belt and stood. "There’s a man who owes me a favor. We require information, supplies, and shelter." Seraphina frowned. And can we have faith in him? Ronan’s expression darkened. "Not in the slightest. However, we are unable to choose." They moved cautiously through the thick forest, avoiding the main roads where soldiers or worse might be lurking. Seraphina found herself watching Ronan, studying the way he moved—silent, controlled, like a predator that had spent years surviving on instinct alone.
She murmured, "You’re different from what I expected," as they walked. Ronan glanced at her. "Oh? And what did you expect?"
"A brute. A beast in human form." She smirked slightly. "The stories paint you as a savage."
He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "The stories paint everyone as something they’re not." His eyes lit up with amusement as he met her gaze. "Lord Seraphina, what do they say about you?" She hesitated, then sighed. "That I am delicate. A regal blossom intended for the throne." Ronan snorted. "A flower wouldn’t have made it through the night."
Before Seraphina could respond, a rustling sound made them both freeze. Ronan tensely grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind a tree. His eyes flicked to the shadows.
Three men in ragged leather and steel garb emerged from the trees shortly after. Their eyes glowed faintly in the morning light.
Ronan murmured under his breath, "Rogues." The tallest of the men, a scarred brute with a twisted grin, sniffed the air. "I smell royalty." His gaze landed on Seraphina, and his grin widened. "Well, well. What do we have here?"
Despite her beating heart, Seraphina raised her chin to show no fear. Ronan stepped between them and said calmly, "She’s not yours to take." The liar laughed. "That so? Blackwood, do you think you can stop us? We know what she is. What her blood is worth. You can’t keep her safe forever."
Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the small dagger at her waist.
Ronan exhaled slowly and cautiously. "Then let’s see if you can take her."
The rogues lunged.
The fight was swift and brutal. Ronan dodged blades and struck with deadly precision, moving like a shadow. Seraphina had never seen anyone fight like him—each movement was calculated, each blow devastating.
With his teeth bared, one rogue turned toward her. Instinct took over. Seraphina evaded his swing and stabbed him in the side with her dagger. The man howled, stumbling back. She was in shock as she heaved her chest. She had never spilled blood before.
Ronan finished off the last rogue and turned to her. His gaze flicked to the blood on her hands. "You did well."
Seraphina looked at the fallen man, then back at Ronan. "Is this what survival feels like?"
Ronan nodded. "This is just the beginning."
He wiped his blade clean and motioned for her to follow. "Come on. We need to move. There will be more."
Seraphina took a steadying breath, then stepped over the fallen bodies. She wasn’t just running anymore.
She was fighting back.
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