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“You should rest. We have another hour before we break camp for the day.” His voice was gravelly with sleep.

“I can’t rest anymore,” Remy whispered. “I’m surprised I slept at all.”

Memories of those witch hunters flashed in her mind. She still felt their phantom grip on her. It was only through sheer exhaustion after hiking into the night that sleep had claimed her.

Hale grumbled something under his breath and handed his skin of water to Remy.

Gingerly moving to avoid aggravating her injuries, she sat next to him.

“Where are we headed today?” Remy whispered, taking a cool sip of water.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Hale muttered.

“What do you think I could possibly do with that information?”

“There are many things you could do. You could try to go after the ring yourself. Or warn your other witch friends of your location so they could ambush us, for example,” Hale said. He kept rubbing his pointer finger as he stared at the wall. Something was still bothering him.

“Firstly, I have no other friends apart from Heather and Fenrin. They are the only other witches I know.” Hale’s cheek twitched. “And secondly,” Remy whispered, “you think highly of our abilities to evade you when we are only three witches against four trained fae warriors. Look what happened the last time four fae ganged up on me.”

She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. She didn’t miss Hale’s jaw clenching as the words came out.

Gods, you almost died!

She was sure she had heard his voice crack. That moment when his mask fell, genuine fear peeked through. What happened on the road to Newpond had shaken him, but it wasn’t until she was shouting at him that he revealed it. He felt responsible for her attack, Remy realized. That was why he slept at the threshold of the cabin.

“You were frightened,” Hale said with a shrug. “You forgot to use your powers. With a little more training you could be a warrior.”

“I know how to use a bow.” Remy frowned. She looked over to the new beautiful carved bow sitting against the wall. Bri had picked the finest maplewood bow Remy had ever seen but in the aftermath of the witch hunter attack she could not test it yet. “But I don’t think a bow or more training would have turned the tides of that fight if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Is that a thank you?” Hale looked to her. Even through the darkness, Remy sensed when his eyes were trained on her.

“No,” Remy ground out. Hale let out a low chuckle. His breath skittered across the hairs of Remy’s arm. She pressed her lips together. “I do not want a prince to save me. I want to save myself.”

“Then you should train,” Hale said. “Bri could teach you. She’s more patient with beginners than me.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Remy smirked.

Hale’s face hid in shadow, but she saw his lips tilting up at the sides.

“Ruttmore,” he said.

“What?” Remy asked.

“We’re headed south to Ruttmore, it’s near Saxbridge.”

“Oh.” Remy nodded. “I’ve always wondered what the Southern Court looked like.”

Of all the courts, the Southern Court was the one she had heard the most outlandish tales about. Stories had reached her of wild jungles, brightly-colored birds, and revels that lasted until sunrise.

A long silence passed between them before Hale spoke.

“Listen, what happened yesterday, I—”

“I think I am tired after all,” Remy cut him off.

There was nothing good that could come of what he was about to say. She went back to her bedroll wedged between her two protectors and lay there, unsleeping, thinking about what would have come out if she had allowed him to finish his sentence.