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Why is this bloody woman always late?

The air is crisp this morning as I fill Danté’s saddlebags with the items needed to make the journey to the Abyss.

The wild creature whinnies and paws at the ground.

Though I typically call Danté forth once a week to allow him the chance to gallop through the fields outside the palace walls, he still acts like a colt that’s been cooped up for far too long—ready for the journey ahead.

“Hold on, boy,” I say, patting his side soothingly. “We have to wait for Maeva to arrive.”

If she arrives.

She’s already half an hour late—as are the rest of the Cadre.

To restrain myself from fetching her, I recheck the contents within the rucksacks: two thick cloaks, two warm blankets, two canteens, matches, a lantern, dried meats and fruits that won’t perish in the frost of the northern Malvorian woods or Galrosan mountains.

I make sure that Scrisis, my death blade, is tied securely within its sheath as it reclines in its holsters that run parallel to Danté’s long body.

When she still doesn’t appear, I examine my outfit.

I wear black leather boots and pants accompanied by a thick, black tunic with light armor across my torso that can easily be removed if need be.

The rest of the group will be dressed in similar garb, which will hopefully give us the opportunity to remain stealthy and not to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.

The light gray sky is hidden behind the thickest parts of the Drakhul swirling around the top of the palace as it expands over the rest of Malvoria and Zulgalros.

Being this close, it always feels like the Drakhul is watching over us, waiting to find something else to corrupt or darken.

What a price my father paid to create such evil…

and now he’s sending us into the belly of where such vileness survives.

I sigh, running a hand through my short hair. After another moment, my foot taps of its own accord, impatiently trying to wait.

However, the longer I stand here, the more anxious I become.

What is taking them so bloody long?

I only manage to wait another thirty seconds before my patience finally wears out.

“Stay here, Danté.” I say.

As I walk up the steps of the palace, the rest of the Cadre and Maeva finally descend the dark stairs.

Maeva’s ocean eyes drill into mine with a coldness I’ve become familiar with as of late.

She looks formidable, dressed in an outfit similar to what we’re wearing—the only difference is her armor is tailored to fit her feminine form perfectly.

Half of her hair is braided away from her face while the rest hangs free, blowing in the breeze.

Though the chain of the Dragon’s Flame is fastened around her neck, the actual pendant is tucked beneath her leather tunic.

I cross my arms over my chest. “About bloody time,” I growl. “Thought I was going to have to send a search party for you four. ”

Unphased by my sour attitude, she glides past me to pet Danté. “Hello, beautiful boy,” she coos. “Have you missed me?”

Yes, I want to reply, but decide to keep my mouth shut. My traitorous horse whinnies instead, nuzzling her with his nose. She giggles as she twirls his mane in her fingers.

“Are you ready, mate?” Laisren asks, clapping me on the shoulder.

“I’ve been ready,” I quip. “It’s your lollygagging that has kept us from disembarking.”

“Oh, come off it,” Riordan laughs, whistling for his horse to appear. He shoots a pointed look in Maeva’s direction. “It’s not our fault that we’re late.”

“It’s not my fault that these riding leathers were tailored to fit a nine-year-old child,” Maeva retorts. “Poor Tilly had quite a time helping me into them.”

“They’ll stretch out over time, Little Star,” Virgil replies, nudging her shoulder.

“Mount up,” I command, not desiring to see Virgil’s exchanges with Maeva. It’s already bad enough that I know he’s stayed in her room the past week following her incident.

It should’ve been me, but I’m not the one she crawled to when she needed someone.

Let it go. I chide myself before my mind plagues me with thoughts of what could happen between them in the dark.

Maeva offers a playful smirk, lifting her arms out to her sides.

What is she doing?

When I don’t move, she sighs. “Well,” she says, “aren’t you going to help me up onto Danté’s back?”

“I figured you’d ride with Virgil,” I say coldly.

Her brows furrow. “No, I prefer to ride with you,” she replies.

What is with this woman today?

One minute she’s colder than the Galrosan mountains, and the next she’s a ray of sunshine.

“Besides, Danté loves me,” she adds .

“You’re strong enough to mount him yourself, Rosey,” I say, crossing my arms.

Any playfulness that was there moments ago quickly fades away as her arms drop back down to her sides.

What’s wrong with you? I chastise myself.

Maeva studies me for a moment, then she lifts her chin and attempts to climb onto Danté’s back.

Though her training has helped her gain muscle, her height is still an obstacle that stops her from mounting my enormous horse.

Danté snorts, stomping his front hoof when she’s unsuccessful a second time.

“Virgil,” she calls sweetly. “Would you be so kind as to help me onto Danté’s back?”

Virgil swings off of his own mount. “My pleasure, Little Star,” he replies.

Apparently, that’s all the encouragement I need to move into action.

Before he lays a finger on her, my traitorous hands lift her up and gently place her onto the front of the saddle.

There’s a slight tick in Virgil’s jaw that’s so subtle, I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him the entire time.

“Is there a problem, High General?” he asks disdainfully.

“None at all, Fourth Commander,” I reply, swinging myself over onto Danté behind Maeva.

This is the closest I’ve been to her in weeks, with the exception of helping her heal Virgil’s arm in the courtyard.

The sweet scent of flowers drifts from her hair in the breeze, making me move closer to her.

I wrap one of my arms around her waist, pulling her close against me… for safety purposes, of course.

Virgil’s gaze swings between us once before returning to his own steed. Laisren and Riordan mount their horses, as well. Then we set off for the drawbridge leading to the woods—where our journey will begin.

As the horses trot down the path, Maeva suddenly jumps—looking back at the palace. I turn my head, scanning the exterior until I find Domhnall and the king watching us leave on one of the balconies. Tiernan waves a gloved hand, to which Maeva waves back, her face ashen .

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

Her throat bobs as she nods, then she turns back around.

We ride in silence until we reach the outskirts of the ominous woods.

The gnarled trees tower above us, their long, decaying limbs reaching toward the gray sky as if warning to stay away and not tarry longer than necessary.

The mist shrouds the woods like a dark cloak, hiding the atrocities within.

We hear all manners of unseen creatures screeching or howling.

As a boy, I made the trek from Zulgalros to Malvoria through these very woods with my parents.

However, the woods were vibrant back then, and the creatures weren’t cursed or wicked.

Since the Drakhul’s descent, I haven’t dared to enter.

Many have tried over the years, but none have returned.

There’s something to be said about avoiding cursed places, but what choice do we have?

This is the quickest route to Zulgalros and the Abyss.

Maeva’s quivering body rattles against me as she stares at the trees. Her hands move restlessly over the saddle horn in an attempt to calm her nerves. Instinctively, I pull her closer to my chest, which causes a gasp to escape from her lips. “Is this okay?” I ask softly.

She stiffly rests her head against my torso. “Yes,” she whispers.

“Good,” I say. “I wouldn’t want Danté to get spooked and accidentally throw you off.”

Her body goes rigid as she sits forward once more. “Indeed,” she replies coldly.

However, she doesn’t push my arm away. I take that as a sign that she desires my comfort even if I’ve angered her.

Turning my head to the side, I’m met with the not-so-shocked stares of Laisren and Riordan, while Virgil grimaces like he’d very much enjoy cutting off my air supply.

“We stay close,” I say. “If anyone detects trouble, give a low whistle. We need to remain undetected, as well as keep Maeva safe. These woods are full of tomfoolery and trickery, so be watchful. Understood?”

“Yes, High General,” they say in unison.

“Siorai, save us,” Maeva murmurs.

We nod solemnly, repeating the sentiment.

Then, one by one, we set off into the shroud of mist that coats the woodland floor—praying to the silent god that what lurks in the darkness doesn’t seek us out.