CHAPTER 417: THE VISIONARY 2

Lara held his gaze a moment longer, the firelight leaping between them, painting his face in restless gold and shadow.

The man from his vision.

Alaric’s voice always carried that quiet certainty when he truly believed in someone. She had seen it before—when he roused weary soldiers who had no reason to follow him, when he strode into enemy territory with no blade in his hand and no armor on his back. But faith was a dangerous thing. Lara had learned long ago that loyalty could curdle overnight, becoming sharper than any dagger.

Her fingers grazed the rough rim of the woven tray, splinters biting at her skin. What if Angus turns? What if his loyalty is a weapon, hidden until the moment it can strike? She did not want to picture Alaric with a blade buried between his shoulders—but the image came to her anyway, vivid and certain, as if it had already happened. The world was never as generous as Alaric imagined.

"You are doubting him. I can see it in your eyes. But then, Angus is the real heir of the Estalis throne." Alaric shifted closer until their arms brushed, his presence warm and unyielding. "He has served me twice as long as he swore he would—over ten years instead of five."

She turned her head to study him. Their gazes locked for a handful of breaths, and in those breaths, she saw it—an unwavering clarity, the kind of conviction that could burn through any shadow. She looked away first. Perhaps he is right, she thought. Even she could not deny that Angus was a good man. She remembered the deep scar running down his back, a wound earned while shielding Alaric from a killing blow.

His true name is Prince Aragon, of House Monte," Alaric murmured near her ear.

He turned his eyes back to the fire, though his mind was far from the flames. He remembered the whip snapping in the air, the dull sound of it striking flesh, and Angus’s steady gaze afterward—calm, unshaken. Not a look of submission, but one of unspoken promise.

He will never betray me. Alaric believed that as surely as he believed the sun would rise. And if he was wrong, if Angus ever lifted his hand against him, then Alaric would have already failed, not as a ruler, but as the man Angus had chosen to stand beside.

Lara’s voice pulled him back. "You trust him enough to risk everything."

He looked at her, the smallest trace of a smile at the corner of his lips. "I trust him enough to risk myself. I owe him my life, not only once but a dozen times."

Lara’s eyes widened. "You! That many attempt to take your life?"

He chuckled, low. "More than that, my dear Lara. The current queen has made her attempts... far too many to count."

Something tightened in her chest as her gaze intensified. She rested her head against his shoulder, realizing how much of him was still hidden from her. She had learned to love this man, to accept him, but loving him and knowing him were not the same.

"You easily give your trust to someone," Lara murmured softly.

"Only to those who earn it," he replied, voice soft as the embers.

Like you, my love,

he thought but didn’t say. Trust was rare in his life, rarer still when it came to people he allowed close to him.

"I am different. I don’t easily trust." Her voice was soft, like it was fading. Her gaze shifted to the flames dancing before her eyes. She was mesmerized by it. She thought of her past, which seemed distant now, like the life she lived as Lara Starr was just a figment of her imagination.

Though some things from her memory seemed to be veiled in a heavy fog, she still remembered her father’s voice, from another lifetime, whispered through the crackle of flames: Trust no one but yourself. Trust is a blade that cuts both ways. It could be used to stab from your back. That lesson had shaped her—sharp edges, guarded heart.

She had cultivated a discerning sense of trust, carefully choosing whom to let into her heart. She placed her faith in her mentor, the unwavering bond with her family, and the embrace of her extended kin. Most importantly, there was the man sitting beside her, whose warmth radiated like a gentle sun, gradually melting away the layers of frost that had settled deep within her soul.

Alaric watched Lara from the corner of his eye. She was lost in her thoughts once again. He didn’t have to guard her from her own choices or force his opinions on her. Lara was sharper, quicker, deadlier than most. He would never impose on her.

Lara shifted from where she was sitting and she faced him, wondering if he realized how transparent he was when it came to those he’d chosen as his own. Probably not. The prince carried himself like a man who believed his thoughts were locked behind an iron wall. But she could read the flickers in his eyes, the way his jaw set. He feared loss more than he feared death—and that fear, she suspected, might someday be used against him.

The night pressed closer around them, the fire a small, flickering island in an ocean of dark. Beyond its reach, the forest murmured and shifted, as though eavesdropping on their thoughts. Silence settled between them, but it was not empty.

Then the sound of footsteps and rustles of dead leaves from behind caused both of them to turn their heads around.

Agilus emerged from the shadows, a narrow scroll in hand. "I received another message from Fereya. It’s from Angus." He handed it to Alaric.

Alaric took it, his fingers unhurried as he unrolled the strip of parchment.

The bird returns to its nest at sunset.

Coded words, but clear enough. The Estalis army would not strike against Fereya. They would withdraw—but only after the queen’s banquet. To leave sooner would draw suspicion.

Alaric’s lips curved into a smile, and Lara knew before he spoke that the news was good.

Out of nowhere, the deep, menacing growls of two wolves rolled through the underbrush, slicing the night open like an icy blade. The forest seemed to hold its breath, every tree leaning in, as their voices twined into a low, predatory chorus—warning that something, or someone, had been caught in their sights.