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She gave Harta’s hand a quick squeeze and turned away, her mind racing. Forcing herself not to look back at the shadows where Egon waited, she moved away from the square with deliberate casualness. Her skin crawled with the weight of Dorn’s gaze following her, and each step required conscious effort not to run.

She took a circuitous path through the village, stopping to speak briefly with neighbors, feigning normalcy while her heart hammered against her ribs. When she finally ducked behind the baker’s shed, she broke into a sprint, keeping to the tree line that bordered the village.

“Egon?” she whispered urgently, scanning the deepening shadows.

A large hand emerged from the darkness, pulling her behind a massive oak. His eyes burned with barely contained rage, his massive body vibrating with tension.

“I nearly tore that soldier’s throat out,” he growled, voice rough as gravel. “The things he said to you?—”

“You would have gotten yourself killed along with half the village,” she cut in, though she squeezed his forearm in silent gratitude. “There are two guards staying overnight. We need to get back to my cottage without being seen.”

He nodded quickly. “Follow me. Stay low.”

They moved through the forest rather than the village paths, his woodland skills guiding them safely around the village’s perimeter. When they finally reached her cottage, she bolted the door behind them, her hands shaking.

“Forty percent,” she hissed, fury finally breaking through her careful composure. “They’ll starve this winter. And those men they want to take—” Her voice cracked. “They’re talking about farmers, not soldiers. They’ll die.”

The rage that had been simmering inside her since the square boiled over. “I won’t let them do this. I can’t.” She slammed her palm against the table. “This is my home now—my people. I’vespent my whole life feeling powerless, and I won’t—I can’t feel that way again.”

She gave him a fierce look. “Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do—I’m going to protect them.”

CHAPTER 11

Egon moved through the woods with practiced stealth, silent despite his size. Dawn had barely broken, casting long shadows across the village outskirts as he completed his third circuit since rising. Sleep had eluded him after yesterday’s confrontation, his mind churning with both rage and strategy.

He paused behind a thick oak, watching as one of the guards yawned at his post on one side of the village square. The man’s posture betrayed his boredom and contempt—clearly not expecting trouble from simple farmers.

His jaw tightened. These weren’t trained warriors keeping watch. They were bullies with swords, meant to intimidate rather than protect. His fingers flexed instinctively, remembering the smirk on the emissary’s face when he’d threatened Lyric.

A twig snapped nearby and he spun, dropping into a defensive crouch.

“It’s just me,” Samha whispered, appearing between two bushes. The boy’s hair stuck up wildly, dirt already smudged across one cheek despite the early hour.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he growled softly. “Those men are dangerous.”

Samha shrugged. “My sister says you’re watching over us. Said I should bring you this.” He thrust forward a small cloth bundle that released the aroma of fresh bread and cheese.

His chest tightened. The village knew he was here, patrolling. And instead of fear, they’d sent breakfast. Something powerful and protective surged through him. These were good people. And Lasseran’s men threatened everything they’d built.

“Lyric’s looking for you,” the boy added. “She’s worried.”

“Tell her I’m fine.” He unwrapped the bundle, breaking off a piece of cheese for the boy. “And that I’ll be back soon.”

After Samha nodded and scampered off, Egon continued his circuit, noting the positions of both guards, the village’s vulnerable points, and potential defensive positions. The village wasn’t built for protection—it was open, trusting, vulnerable.

Just like Lyric’s heart had been.

He spotted her at the edge of her garden, hands on hips, eyes scanning the tree line. Even from this distance, he could see the tension in her shoulders, the determined set of her jaw. She’d grown into her strength since he’d known her, no longer the frightened waif he’d left behind.

He knew she was looking for him but he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. He melted deeper into the forest, continuing his patrol. He would not let harm come to this village. To her.

He’d kept to the shadows outside the village, but something suddenly pulled him towards a street leading away from the village center—an instinct he’d learned never to ignore. The sound reached him first—a girl’s frightened protest, followed by cruel laughter. His muscles tensed in preparation as he rounded the corner of the village granary.

The two guards Lasseran’s emissaries had left behind loomed over a village girl—barely seventeen, with a basket of spilled apples at her feet. One guard had her wrist in his grip while the other blocked her escape route.

“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be all alone,” the taller guard said, his fingers tightening on her arm as he yanked her blouse down off her shoulder.

“Please, I need to get home,” she whispered, eyes wide with fear.