Whispers of the Forgotten Realm

The forest was not safe after dusk. Aeloria knew this better than anyone. Still, her feet carried her deeper into the mist-soaked glen, the hem of her cloak dragging through the damp leaves as the last light of day slipped behind the distant mountains. Shadows stretched long and thin between the trees, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Her basket of herbs swung lightly in one hand, but her other hand stayed close to the dagger strapped to her thigh. It was a crude thing, worn smooth from years of use, but in the dark, even a dull blade could be the difference between life and death. The night wind stirred the forest around her, and Aeloria paused, listening. It wasn’t the usual whisper of night creatures or the gentle rustle of leaves that made her heart pound harder—it was something else. Something out of place. A groan. Soft, low, but real. Aeloria turned toward the sound, her pulse quickening. She should go home. Every sensible part of her screamed to leave whatever poor soul was groaning in the woods to their fate. But the healer in her—the part she couldn’t silence—stepped forward. Branches whipped at her face and arms as she pushed her way toward the sound, deeper into the heart of the forest. Then she saw him. A man lay sprawled on the forest floor, half-hidden beneath a tangle of brambles. His dark cloak was soaked in blood, and the moonlight filtering through the canopy revealed a face pale as bone, marred with dirt and sweat. Black hair clung to his brow, matted and wild. For a moment, she simply stared, breath caught in her throat. Who was he? No one came this deep into the forest—no one sane, at least. And the way he was dressed, fine leather and silver embroidery torn and stained—he wasn't some wandering peasant. A noble? Or a soldier? She crept closer, her eyes scanning the clearing for signs of a trap. But there was no one else. Just him. His lips moved, barely a whisper, and she dropped to her knees beside him before she could stop herself. "You're hurt," she murmured, her fingers brushing the bloodied fabric at his side. His hand shot up, fast despite his weakness, and caught her wrist in a grip that made her gasp. "Don't," he rasped. His voice was rough, like gravel sliding against stone. "Don't touch me." Aeloria's healer instincts fought against her fear. She leaned closer, softening her voice. "If I don’t, you’ll die. Is that what you want?" His eyes opened then—startling, sharp silver in the moonlight—and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw something dark and ancient flicker in their depths. "Maybe," he whispered, releasing her wrist. She swallowed hard. "Well, I’m not in the habit of letting strangers bleed to death in my forest." Quickly, she set down her basket and tore open the cloak at his side to get a better look at the wound. Her stomach twisted. A deep gash ran from his ribs to his hip, too clean for an animal’s claw, too jagged for a blade. "What did this?" she asked, pressing a cloth to the wound to stem the bleeding. He chuckled, but it was a hollow sound. "A mistake." Aeloria frowned, focusing on her work. Whoever he was, he was burning with fever, and if she didn’t get him out of here soon, he wouldn’t last the night. "I need to take you to my cottage," she said, reaching for the vial of herbs she always carried for emergencies. His hand shot out again, weaker this time, catching her arm. "No... you don't know what I am." She hesitated, eyes meeting his. There was something haunted in his gaze, but also a depth of pain she couldn't ignore. "I don’t care what you are," she said quietly. "You need help." He stared at her like she was some strange creature he couldn’t understand, then finally let go. "I warned you," he muttered, eyes sliding closed. Aeloria set her jaw and worked quickly. She crushed a pinch of feverfew and yarrow, pressing the mixture into the wound as gently as she could. He hissed in pain but didn’t stop her. By the time she had bandaged him tightly, her arms were slick with his blood. "Alright," she murmured, glancing around. It would take all her strength to get him back, but she couldn’t leave him here—not with the night creatures prowling so near. She slipped her arms under his and hauled him upright. He groaned but didn’t resist. "I’m Aeloria," she said as she started dragging him slowly toward the narrow path home. He didn’t respond for a long time, leaning heavily against her, his breath ragged. Then, just as the cottage came into sight through the trees, he whispered, "Kaelen." She looked at him sharply. The name stirred something in her memory—an old name, whispered in frightened tones around fires. The name of the exiled prince. But that was impossible. Wasn't it? Aeloria’s heart pounded as they stumbled toward her cottage, his name echoing in her mind. Kaelen. The name that mothers still whispered to scare unruly children. The fallen prince. The man who had disappeared five years ago after the royal coup — assumed dead or worse. But here he was, half-conscious in her arms, bleeding all over her and the earth itself. “Stay with me,” she whispered as his legs buckled again. She shifted her grip, trying to prop him up. “We’re almost there.” His head lolled against her shoulder, breath shallow and fast. Aeloria hissed out a breath through her teeth as she reached her cottage door. With effort, she dragged him up the steps and kicked the door open. The room was small—just one large space with a hearth, table, and bed—but it was warm and safe, nestled deep enough in the woods to keep her secrets hidden. "You're heavier than you look," she muttered under her breath, easing him down onto her bed. He groaned as he sank into the mattress, his face pale as ash. She bolted the door behind them, then hurried to the fireplace, throwing more wood onto the embers to stir up the flames. Light flooded the room, chasing away the darkness—and illuminating Kaelen's wounds more clearly. Biting her lip, Aeloria gathered her supplies. Bowls of water, clean cloth, sharp shears to cut away his ruined shirt. Her hands shook slightly as she worked. When she peeled back the bloodied fabric, she froze. The wound at his side—though deep—was surrounded by strange, jagged black veins spidering out from the gash, as though something was poisoning his blood. And faintly, like a pulsing heartbeat, the blackness seemed to shift beneath his skin. Magic. Dark magic. Aeloria swallowed hard, her throat dry. What are you? "You're cursed," she whispered, more to herself than to him. His eyes flickered open, silver irises glowing faintly in the firelight. "Still want to save me, healer?" he rasped. She straightened her spine, lifting her chin. "Yes." His lips twitched into something like a smirk. "Foolish woman." Aeloria grabbed her mortar and pestle, grinding together herbs to draw out infection—if it was even possible with something like this. Her mind whirled as she worked. If anyone knew she was harboring him—him—she’d be executed. And if anyone found out she was using magic, she wouldn’t even make it to the executioner’s block. But as she glanced at him, his skin too pale, breath too weak, she knew she couldn't turn away. Once she had the paste ready, she carefully pressed it along the wound. Kaelen hissed, arching off the bed. "Stay still," she murmured, her voice steady even though her hands trembled. The paste sizzled as it met his flesh, releasing a bitter scent that filled the room. "That should help," she said softly. "If it doesn't..." she trailed off, her eyes on the strange darkness curling beneath his skin. "If it doesn't," Kaelen murmured, "you'll wish you'd left me in that forest." Aeloria ignored him, dipping a cloth into the water to wipe away some of the blood from his chest. He bore more scars than she could count—old ones, pale against his skin, and newer ones, angry and red. "Who did this to you?" she asked before she could stop herself. His eyes opened, and for a moment, something like grief flickered there. "My brother," he said, voice like shattered glass. Aeloria's breath caught. She knew the stories of the royal brothers—how the younger prince, Eryc, had seized the throne, and Kaelen had vanished. "Why?" she whispered. Kaelen's gaze was fixed on the ceiling, lost to memory. "Because I wouldn’t let him destroy the last of the magic in Eldrath. Because I carry something he wants." Aeloria's heart thudded. "What do you mean?" His head rolled toward her, those silver eyes burning into hers. "There are things you don’t want to know, healer." She lifted her chin. "Maybe. But you’re in my house now, and I need to know what I’ve brought through my door." A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. "A dead man." She shook her head firmly. "Not if I can help it." Kaelen stared at her for a long moment, as if seeing her for the first time, something softening in his sharp features. "You shouldn’t be this kind," he murmured. "Not to me." Aeloria rose, moving to her shelf to gather more herbs. She couldn’t meet his gaze just then. "Maybe not. But I don't choose who the forest sends me." Behind her, he let out a low laugh, though it quickly turned into a groan of pain. "I'll need to make something stronger for the fever," she said over her shoulder, her mind already sorting through her stores. "And something to ease the dark magic." "You know what this is?" he asked, surprised. Aeloria hesitated before turning to face him. "I’ve seen something like it... long ago. In my mother's books." Kaelen's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your mother was a healer?" She nodded. "And more than that." He studied her for a moment, like he was putting together a puzzle. "You’ve got magic, too." It wasn’t a question. Aeloria’s breath stilled in her chest. She had spent her entire life hiding that truth, and yet this stranger—this prince—saw right through her. "You're safe here," she said finally, sidestepping his observation. "For now," Kaelen murmured, closing his eyes again. "But it won’t last." Aeloria’s jaw tightened. "Then we’ll make it last." She turned back to her herbs, ignoring the way his words lingered in the air. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, and far in the distance, she thought she heard something else—something darker, moving through the forest. Something hunting. But for now, she had a prince to save.