The wind whistled, breaking the silence. The forest canopy rustled, and the already damaged branches of the trees creaked dangerously.

Willow stared at him, her eyes wide, and lips parted slightly.

He looked away, not wanting to see the betrayal that would appear in her eyes. He didn’t want to see the moment their friendship shattered.

She suddenly chuckled. “I don’t mean offense,” she looked at him with a smile. “But you really don’t act like a prince. Or look like one – I mean, you dress like a lower noble, not like a prince.” She rubbed her arm sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. I’m not making much sense.”

This wasn’t the reaction he expected. He shook his head, partially to shake off his surprise. “I should be the one apologising. It’s a rather big secret to keep.”

Willow folded her arms. “It is.” Her smile faded as she met his gaze. “Everybody knew there was a prince – younger than the crown princess, but not in good health. The Imperial family kept him away from the public eye.” She glanced over her shoulder with a sombre smile. “I think I understand.”

Midhir scowled for a split second before he realised what she was referring to.

“We should probably keep walking while we talk,” Willow suggested, pointing ahead. “Do the others know?” She asked after they started walking again. “I’d assume Alistair knew – he is an Orlein after all.”

Midhir shook his head. “He had his suspicions, but I never told him. Arwen doesn’t know – I don’t think she suspects a thing either.” That woman was too unbothered by politics to notice anything.

“I see.” Her lips formed a faint smile. “Then why tell me now?”

Midhir let out a sigh. “Considering what happened, I don’t think I have the luxury to act like a normal person anymore.” They had arrived at the top of the hill, where the tear had formed in the first place. “Alistair was standing here, right?” he asked, stepping on the muddy, bloody ground that had mixed with the remains of the flesh plants. He pointed at the spot where the tear had formed. “And that’s where the tear was.”

Willow nodded. “The explosion must have knocked him eastward then.” Her gaze turned behind Midhir. “We should hurry-“ She paused for a split second just as she was about to hurry. “To clarify – because this has become somewhat odd now – you don’t mind me calling you by your name, right?”

He flinched. “No, I’d rather nothing change, though I understand if that makes you uncomfortable.” Of course it made her uncomfortable – how could it not? There was a vast gap in power and authority between them. One too large to be ignored.

Willow shrugged as she walked past him, carefully avoiding stepping into the black goo oozing out of the remains of the flesh plants. “I admit it’s a bit weird,” she shook her head. “To be honest, you were a lot scarier when you created that barrier over Bareon or killed that serpent beneath the city.” She rubbed her palm with her finger as they started walking eastward, their gazes scouring their surroundings looking for Alistair. “But I don’t know if things can remain unchanged.”

Stolen novel; please report.

They couldn’t. “I don’t know either,” Midhir breathed out. If Ilya was right, then they couldn’t. And Ilya was very rarely wrong. “But-“

Willow gasped. “There!” She exclaimed, pointing ahead before breaking into a dash. They ran downhill, leaping over the broken branches and fallen trees.

Alistair was sitting up with his back against a tree. His clothes were tattered and covered in mud and blood. His head was falling to his chest as if he had just fallen asleep there. While at first glance it seemed like he was just sleeping, they noticed the blood on his stomach as they approached.

“Alistair!” Midhir shouted as they reached him. He knelt, quickly putting his fingers against the young Orlein’s neck. “There’s a pulse,” he breathed a sigh of relief. “But it’s weak.” He also couldn’t help but notice how wet the ground was. Not all of it was blood though – most of it just seemed to be water.

Willow pressed her lips together. “Midhir,” she whispered, pointing at the young noble’s stomach. She lifted his cloak, revealing a small knife. “I can’t believe it – Arwen was right.”

“What?”

“The stable boy,” Willow insisted. “Arwen didn’t trust the man from the start.” Her jaw tightened. “I’ll explain later, we can’t waste time with that now – help me, lay him down on his back.”

He vaguely remembered Alistair talking about Arwen not trusting the man. He had assumed it was about their horses’ care. He helped Willow lay Alistair on his back, then reached for his earring. A golden gem appeared between his fingers. “Use this. It’s stronger than pretty much anything Lord Aulorn would have given you.”

Willow’s eyes widened for a split second. Her lips parted, but she stopped herself. Now wasn’t the time for questions. She snatched the gem from his hands, closed her eyes and focused. While her power flowed into the gem, the spiritual power all around them followed. The gem lit up with a serene, warm light.

Alistair grunted. Lines appeared on his forehead, and his fists clenched.

Midhir stood up – Willow didn’t need his help to heal Alistair. She was more than skilled enough to use that gem without help now. Instead, he turned his attention to their surroundings – Alistair wasn’t the only one he was looking for after all.

That stable boy was standing behind Lord Aulorn when he pushed the enforcer and caused all of this to happen. Alistair was nowhere near Lord Aulorn though, so how had the boy come all the way here to stab the young noble?

He scowled. Something didn’t add up.

“Willow, give me your sword.” He quickly breathed out.

The young woman seemed surprised. She extended her hand, and her ring glimmered as the blade appeared mid-air. “Should we move?” She asked with a worried expression as she gave the sword to him.

Midhir shook his head. “Not before you’re done healing him.” Moving him was too dangerous. At the very least, the stab wound on his stomach needed to be healed before they could do so. With narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, he tightly held onto the rapier. There was something that simply didn’t add up.

The stable boy wouldn’t have ended up near Alistair at the very beginning. It was extremely unlikely that he somehow circled around the hill to find Alistair, stabbed him, then just walked off without making sure the wound had killed him.

Were there others? But then the same question arose – why didn’t they make sure to kill Alistair?

He glanced at where the young Orlein was sitting before they started healing him. His spear was on the ground there. He had somehow managed to hold onto it when the explosion blast them away. Glancing at the wet ground, he pressed his lips together. Had he fought them off?