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43

SEREN

T he carriage lurches to a stop, jolting me out of restless thoughts. The road had been smooth moments ago, the steady rocking enough to lull me into momentary peace, but the sudden halt sends a ripple of unease down my spine.

The murmuring voices of the merchants outside shift, transforming from idle chatter to hushed, sharp-edged whispers. I sit up, pulse hammering, and pull the curtain of the carriage window just enough to peer through the slit.

Dark elf soldiers.

Dread hits me like a falling stone.

Not just any dark elves.

Jalith's men.

They stand in a loose formation, their black armor absorbing the last slivers of moonlight, their features unreadable. Predators among prey.

One of them steps forward, gloved fingers curling around the merchant leader’s collar before yanking him down into the dirt.

The squat man with graying hair stammers out a greeting, his words shaky and placating, but Jalith’s soldiers say nothing. They are not here for negotiations.

A woman shrieks.

The soldiers move. Methodical. Unforgiving.

One by one, they begin dragging people out, shoving them onto their knees.

They’re searching for someone.

They’re searching for me.

I press myself against the wooden panels of the carriage, willing myself to disappear.

If I make myself small enough, if I stay still, perhaps?—

A slow, deliberate laugh slithers through the air, smooth as poisoned silk.

Jalith.

"My little runaway," he murmurs, his tone edged with satisfaction. "You’ve led me on quite the chase."

The sound of his voice is a dagger in my gut.

He found me.

The merchants tremble before him, heads bowed, shoulders curled inward. Jalith’s presence demands submission without a single spoken order.

I clench my jaw, pressing trembling fingers into the folds of my cloak.

He cannot find me.

A soldier strides toward the carriage.

The door creaks open.

The moment his fingers wrap around my arm, I strike.

My knee slams into his gut, his breath hitching as he stumbles back. His grip tightens, but I wrench free, fingers snatching the short blade from his belt.

Steel sings as I drive it deep into his side.

A strangled grunt escapes him before I rip the blade free, warmth spilling over my fingers as he collapses.

Chaos erupts.

Shouts, steel unsheathing, bodies lunging.

I run.

Boots thunder behind me, the sharp commands of soldiers splitting the night.

The world shrinks to the ground beneath my feet, the frantic race between me and the inevitable.

But I don’t get far.

Jalith’s voice slices through the noise, amused, indulgent.

"Let her run."

The soldiers slow.

I don’t.

Wind lashes against my face, the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves filling my senses.

The road vanishes behind me, the terrain shifting. The land slopes downward, uneven and treacherous.

Ahead, the trees break apart.

An ending.

A cliff looms, jagged rock giving way to nothingness. The sky stretches beyond it, black and endless, as if the world itself simply stops.

A predator’s trap.

Behind me, footsteps close in.

Jalith’s voice follows, calm, inevitable.

"You always were a fighter."

I whip around, blade raised, breath heaving but he’s already too close.

His smirk deepens, a king admiring his conquered prize.

"There’s no need for this," Jalith says smoothly. "Come to me willingly, and I will be merciful."

"Merciful?" My laugh is hollow. "You’re a liar."

He tilts his head, unbothered. "You wound me, little one. Have I not been patient?"

He steps closer.

I step back.

"You belong to me." His voice drops to something dark, possessive. "You always have."

I grip my dagger tighter. "I belong to no one."

Jalith chuckles. "Say that all you want. But we both know the truth, don’t we?"

My heart pounds.

"You feel it, don’t you?" he murmurs, his eyes gleaming. "The pull."

"Go to hell," I spit.

He exhales slowly, as if my defiance is an inconvenience rather than an obstacle.

"Enough of this," he says. "Come, and we will finish the ceremony. Once the bond is sealed, there will be no more running. No more pretending."

His hand extends.

Not in kindness, but in certainty.

"You have a choice," he tells me. "Come to me, or be dragged to me. Either way, the result is the same."

The wind roars around us, whipping my hair against my face.

My fingers tremble around the blade.

I will never be his.

Jalith watches me, already victorious.

But he doesn’t understand.

I will not be claimed.

I take a step back.

His gaze hardens.

"Seren," he warns.

The precipice of the cliff crumbles beneath my heel.

I exhale.

"Goodbye, Jalith."

I leap.