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“We had feared you lost to the winter’s fury,” she says, cupping my cheek with cool hands weighed down by heavy rings. Her gaze searches mine intently, likely finding the secrets etched there before I can utter them aloud. “Yet it seems fate spared you once again.”

I open my mouth, but words fail me. How can I explain my mysterious survival? That a strange witch risked all to save me, only to cast me abruptly out again? Another wave of sorrow crashes through my mind, stealing speech.

Mother’s brow creases, fine lines furrowing. “You are unwell. Come, we shall tend to your needs.” She deftly takes my arm, steering me away from the guards’ prying ears. Her voice drops to a murmur meant only for me, soft yet steely at once. “There are shadows in your eyes, my son… You have brought something back with you.”

It is not a question. Her ancient instincts never miss anything.

I shudder out a breath, the first step to unburdening my chaotic heart. “Yes, but I don’t yet understand it myself.”

Mother nods. “Then we shall unravel this mystery together. For now, you need rest.”

“My men, Lord Anthony, are they safe? Have they returned?”

“Yes, they were how we knew you were missing. They returned in hopes of gathering more men and supplies to find you, but they are all safe.”

Relief floods me. I need to find my childhood friend later.

Too spent to resist, I let her guide me through the twisting corridors to my chambers. Thorn’s spectral presence clings to me like mist, a living ghost I cannotexorcise. Not until I understand why she haunts me so.

Inside the sanctuary of my rooms, blessed stillness settles over my mind. Thorn’s sorrow retreats to a dull ache as my mother tends the fire. I sink into a chair, rubbing my throbbing temples.

“Now tell me everything, Draven.” Mother’s voice anchors me as she takes the seat opposite me. “Omit no detail. The truth shall set you free of these shadows.”

I meet her eyes, finding patience and wisdom etched there by centuries of wear. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I grasp for where to even begin explaining the tangled events that brought me here.

“I… was saved by a witch after I got lost in the storm and separated from everyone,” I start hesitantly. “She healed me in her forest cottage.”

Mother’s gaze remains studiously neutral. “Go on.”

“She tended me for several days there, until the storm passed. Then, she sent me back here.” I spread my hands. “That is all.”

“Somehow, I doubt the full truth is quite so simple.” Mother’s piercing eyes seem to peel back my evasions. “Son, if she harmed you…”

“No!” I cut in hastily. “She asked nothing in return, only for me to leave once recovered.”

I fall silent as echoes of Thorn’s weeping reach me. I press my palm harder against my chest, willing the sound away. Not now!

Mother scrutinizes me closely, missing nothing. “You did not wish to leave her.”

I open my mouth to deny it then slump back in my chair. What point is there in concealing the truth from one so perceptive?

“No,” I admit wearily. “I found myself… drawn to her… but I’m needed here.”

Mother nods thoughtfully. “You care for this witch, though you hardly know her. Curious.”

I stare at my hands, blistered now from the few days of honest labor. How much have I changed from the prince who left these gilded halls?

“She is an enigma, and now…” I trail off as sorrow stabs through me once more.

Mother reaches over, clasping my hand firmly until the fit passes. Her brow furrows. “My son, what magic has this witch worked upon you?”

I shake my head helplessly. “I wish I knew.”

My fingers brush against the bundle of bread and cloak in my grasp. How strange that Thorn pressed such humble gifts on me.

I take a thoughtful bite of the bread, savoring the rich flavors that hint at the complexity of its maker.

Mother watches me closely. “May I?”