Amriel froze, her gaze locked onto the man before her, unblinking, as if the force of her stare alone could sear him where he stood. Every muscle in her body was taut as the primal urges to either lash out or flee fought within her, leaving her paralyzed with uncertainty.
At her sides, her hands moved restlessly, clenching and unclenching in an attempt to find something solid to hold onto in a world that had just been ripped apart. She could feel the weight of every thought in her head—every question, every fear. The silence stretched out heavily between them.
The warrior moved then, slow and deliberate, as though he knew that any sudden action could shatter the fragile calm between them. He rose to his feet with the cautious grace of someone dealing with a skittish animal, mindful of every motion, careful not to provoke her.
Dark, tousled hair fell just past his ears, framing a chiseled jawline and cheekbones that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. His piercing eyes, like shards of emeralds, never left her face, watching her closely, though his expression was unreadable. It wasn’t just wariness she sensed in him—there was something deeper.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Amriel could hear the pulse of her heartbeat in her ears, the sound of it deafening in the stillness. Then, finally, the man broke the silence. His voice was low and deliberate, carrying a hint of dry humor that felt almost out of place given the charged atmosphere.
"It’s good you’re finally awake," he said, the words slipping out with a wry amusement that was almost disarming. "I was beginning to think I’d have to eat this all by myself."
Amriel’s sharp eyes flicked toward the fire, where a rabbit slowly rotated on a spit, its skin sizzling and crackling in the heat. The smell—rich and savory, with a smoky edge—wafted toward her, an irresistible scent that made her stomach clench with hunger. Her body betrayed her then, the growl of her empty stomach audible in the quiet of the forest, a reminder of how long it had been since she’d had a proper meal but she remained frozen in place.
The man’s gaze softened his attempt at humor clearly failing to land as he saw the tension still gripping her. He glanced back at the fire, then at her again, his expression now more serious, less playful. "You must be hungry," he said quietly, the words gentler, almost tentative. "I know I’d be if I’d been stuck in that place as long as you were." The crackling fire breaking the silence with a soothing, rhythmic hiss.
Amriel’s stomach gave another insistent growl, louder now, and her resolve cracked. The hunger was too much, too raw to ignore. She could feel her body giving in, her mind protesting but powerless against the ache in her gut. Still, she made no move to approach the fire, standing there, unmoving, staring at the man with a mixture of suspicion and raw need.
After a moment, the man sighed, his shoulders slumping just slightly. He shifted his weight and sat back down on the moss-covered stump he had been using as a seat. The firelight danced across his face as he reached forward and carefully rotated the rabbit once more, making sure it cooked evenly. He seemed to be thinking carefully, choosing his next words with care.
"Very well," he said with a shrug, his voice steady and firm. "I promise you, Amriel, that no one will force you to do anything ever again. Not ever." He glanced at the rabbit once more before his gaze returned to her, steady and unwavering. "So, if I must eat this rabbit by myself, then so be it. But you can explain to Meeko why you refused to eat the lunch he so thoughtfully provided."
Amriel’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her cat. "Meeko?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion as her eyes darted around the clearing, searching for the familiar face of her feline companion.
The man nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Mhm," he said, producing a blade from his belt and cutting a hunk of meat from the rabbit’s roasted flank. "Save for when he went off looking for lunch, that cat never left your side. And now, of course, he's somewhere around here. From the way he darted off earlier, I'd guess he’s using nature’s litter box. Curious name though, for a savage killer."
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“He’s not a savage killer,” Amriel retorted, “He’s my friend.
The mention of friends stirred something deep within Amriel—a flicker of cold that sent a jolt of fear and sickening dread through her chest. "My friends," she gasped, her voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "My friends are still in danger! I have to find them! They—they’ll be coming for them once they know I’ve escaped."
Without another word, Amriel turned and bolted into the depths of the forest, her legs carrying her through the underbrush, heart pounding in her chest. She knew the Vhengal well enough. It wouldn’t take long for her to regain her bearings. All that mattered now was reaching Simon, Maeve, and the girls before the Dreadfort could close in on them.
"Dammit, Amriel, wait!" the man’s voice rang out behind her, sharp with frustration but edged with something softer—concern, perhaps. "Stop!"
But Amriel didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her friends needed her, and the looming shadow of the Dreadfort promised no mercy. She pushed herself harder, her boots pounding against the frozen ground, her breath tearing from her chest in ragged gasps. The biting wind lashed at her face, but she barely noticed it.
Behind her, the man was gaining ground. His strides were powerful, and determined, though he seemed reluctant to overtake her by force. "Amriel, stop! Please!" His tone shifted, more pleading than commanding.
When he was only a few paces away, Amriel skidded to a halt, spinning to face him. Her wide eyes shimmered with desperation, and her hands trembled as they clenched into fists. "My friends!" she said, her voice raw with panic, cracking under the weight of her fear. "The Dreadfort won’t spare them—I can’t let it happen again!”
Her words hung in the air, raw and broken. The man's expression softened as he caught the anguish written across her face. “Of course not," he said, his voice steady with authority. "But I assure you, they are safe, Amriel. I made sure of that before I came for you. Before I even thought of coming for you."
Her eyes went wide with disbelief. "They’re safe?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
The man nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes," he said, his emerald eyes locking with hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her heart race. "I swear, they are safe. Now, would you please stop running away?" His voice was quiet but firm, carrying an edge of exhaustion but also an undeniable resolve. "I know you have your reasons for not trusting me, but I promise you, I will protect them."
Amriel’s heart thundered in her chest. The urge to run was still there, a gnawing fear deep within her, but something in his voice, in the certainty of his words, made her hesitate. She stood there, her chest heaving with heavy breaths, uncertainty swirling in her mind.
"But how do I know you’re not lying?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.
The man paused, his gaze softening just slightly as he reached into his belt and drew something out. "Here," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Maeve gave me this. She said you would want it." With deliberate care, he extended his hand, offering the blade she had once given to Maeve—the very one her father had gifted her.
Amriel’s breath caught in her throat. For a long moment, she stood frozen, staring at the weapon in his hand. The hilt was worn smooth with age and use, the metal slightly dulled, but there was no mistaking it—it was hers. The same blade she had entrusted to Maeve before the guards had come to drag her away. The sight of it now, after all she’d endured, pulled something deep inside her—a bitter cocktail of relief, longing, and disbelief.
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she took the blade, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the familiar hilt. The weight of it, the simple comfort of holding it again, was enough to quiet the storm of doubt inside her, if only for a moment. But her mind was still racing, the question lingering on the tip of her tongue.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she whispered, the doubt still there, but the warmth of his promise—coupled with the tangible proof in her hand—was beginning to seep into her heart.
The man offered a half-smile as he shook his head, "Unfortunately, no words right now will suit. I can only show you that you can trust me. Now please," He said as he turned to gestured back toward their small camp, "Can we eat some of that rabbit? I really don't want to have to answer to that cat as to why you haven't eaten yet."