The afternoon sun hung low over the forest, casting long shadows across the narrow paths that wound between the trees. Away from the noise of the royal tournament, the woods had offered Veyrith and Lyara a rare stretch of peace. For a little while, there had been no courtiers watching them, no endless ceremonies to endure, and no expectations to fulfil. There had been only the steady rhythm of their horse's hooves, the rustling leaves above them, and Veyrith's relentless teasing.
“So,” Veyrith began, guiding the horse around a bend in the path, “should I congratulate Dynor on his good fortune, or prepare my condolences?” Lyara, seated in front of him, turned her head slightly. “For what?”
“For receiving the honour of your attention, of course. The poor man gave you a handful of rubies, and you rewarded him with a smile. I imagine he is already planning your wedding.”
“He may plan whatever he likes.” Veyrith laughed. “That sounds encouraging.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
“Then perhaps I should warn him before he embarrasses himself further. Shall I tell him you have already rejected him?” Veyrith smiled. “I haven't rejected him" the girl replied. He raised his eyebrows. “You haven't?”
“No.” Lyara adjusted the edge of her cloak, her expression perfectly composed. “I said I would consider him if he could defeat Dravaryn.” For a moment, Veyrith said nothing. Then he burst into laughter so abruptly that the horse flicked its ears in irritation. “Dravaryn?” he repeated. “Our Dravaryn? The man who has not been defeated by anyone in this era?”
“Is there another?”
“You do realise that you have effectively condemned Dynor to a lifetime of waiting?”
“Then he should have thought of that before giving me rubies.”
Veyrith laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are a unbelievable, Lyara.”
“I sure am.”
She turned forward, but not before he caught the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was the sort of smile few people at court ever saw. To most of the royal family, Lyara was a quiet presence who rarely offered more than a glance or a nod. Even among her own brothers, she remained distant, keeping herself apart from conversations and gatherings whenever she could. Veyrith, however, had never needed to coax words from her. He knew when she was amused, when she was irritated, and when her silence meant she wanted him to stop talking. More often than not, he ignored that last distinction simply because he enjoyed annoying her.
With Dravaryn, she was much the same. The two brothers occupied a place in her life that no one else had managed to reach, and Veyrith had long ago accepted that he and Dravaryn shared a privilege the rest of the world could only wonder about. For the moment, he was content to enjoy the rare sight of his sister smiling.“Tell me something,” he said after a while. “If Dynor actually managed to defeat Dravaryn, would you consider him?” Lyara glanced back at him. “I said I would consider him. I never promised to accept him.” Veyrith groaned. “The poor prince has no chance.”
“Then we agree.”
They continued along the woodland path, their laughter fading into the quiet of the afternoon. Neither of them noticed how far they had travelled from the palace grounds, nor how much time had passed since they had left the tournament. The trees grew thicker around them, and the sounds of the distant celebration disappeared altogether. It was Veyrith who first noticed the silence. The birds had stopped singing. His smile faded. He drew the reins slightly, slowing the horse as his gaze travelled over the trees on either side of the path. Something felt wrong. The forest was not unfamiliar to him, but this stretch of woodland was secluded, and the absence of ordinary sounds made every movement in the undergrowth seem deliberate.
“Stay close.”
He had barely spoken when a man stepped out from behind a tree ahead of them. Another emerged from the undergrowth to their left, followed by two more from the opposite side. Within moments, armed men appeared between the trees behind them as well, cutting off the path in both directions.
Veyrith counted them quickly. Eight. Perhaps ten. They wore rough travelling clothes, their faces unshaven and their weapons worn from use. They did not look like men who had stumbled upon a pair of lost riders by accident. They had spread themselves around the path with enough coordination to make escape difficult, and their attention had settled immediately on the horse, the fine clothing, and the jewellery visible beneath Lyara's cloak. “Well,” one of them said, stepping forward, “this is a fortunate afternoon.” Veyrith shifted in the saddle, placing himself between Lyara and the men approaching from the front. “If you're looking for money, you've chosen a poor way of asking for it.” The man grinned. “We aren't asking.” “Then you've chosen an even poorer way of getting it.” The robber's expression hardened. He raised his weapon and gestured toward the ground. “Get down. Both of you. Leave the horse and everything you carry, and perhaps we'll let you walk away.”
Veyrith's fingers tightened around the reins. “Take the horse if you want it. Take whatever is in my pockets. But you will leave her alone.” Lyara turned toward him, alarm flashing across her face. She knew Veyrith well enough to recognize the danger in his voice. He was not negotiating because he feared for himself. He was trying to keep their attention on him. The robber looked past him at Lyara. “She must be worth something.” Veyrith dismounted before the man could take another step. He landed between the robbers and his sister, drawing his sword in one swift motion. “Try it,” he said. The first man attacked.
Veyrith met him with a hard strike that sent their blades ringing through the forest. He turned the blow aside, drove his opponent backwards, and struck again before the man could recover. A second robber rushed at him from the side. Veyrith twisted away, narrowly avoiding the blade, and retaliated with a force that sent the man crashing to the ground. The others closed in. Veyrith fought with the skill of a prince raised among warriors, his movements sharp and deliberate despite the cramped space between the trees. He parried one strike, ducked beneath another, and drove his sword against a third opponent. But there were too many of them. Every time he pushed one man back, another advanced to take his place. He had no room to manoeuvre, no clear path to escape, and no opportunity to retreat without exposing Lyara.
She stood several paces behind him, unable to do anything but watch. Her hands had curled tightly into the fabric of her cloak. She could not fight them, tears ran down her eyes, she prayed these robbers will go away and Veyrith is left alright and doesn't get hurt. One robber slipped around Veyrith's right side. Veyrith saw him at the last moment and turned to block the attack, but the movement left him exposed. A blade struck his side. He staggered, gritting his teeth against the sudden pain, and swung back hard enough to force his attacker away.
“Veyrith!” Lyara cried.
“Stay where you are!”
His shout was sharper than he intended, but he could not afford to look back. Another man charged him. Veyrith blocked the strike, pushed forward, and brought his opponent down. A third robber rushed in before he could regain his balance. Their weapons collided, and Veyrith felt the impact travel through his injured arm. His grip faltered.
The man struck him across the face with the hilt of his weapon.
Veyrith stumbled to one knee. Blood ran from a cut above his brow, blurring the edge of his vision. He forced himself upright, refusing to let his sword fall, but his breathing had grown ragged and every movement sent fresh pain through his ribs. Three men lay motionless on the forest floor, their weapons scattered among the leaves. He had brought down three of them, yet the remaining robbers were still standing.
Eight to ten men had surrounded them. He had lost count of how many remained.
“Persistent little prince, aren't you?” one of the men sneered.
Veyrith spat blood onto the ground. “You should see me on a good day.”
The robber lunged. Veyrith raised his sword, but his injured arm faltered beneath the force of the blow. He stumbled backwards, his boot catching on a root, and fell hard against the ground. His sword slipped from his hand and landed just beyond his reach.
For the first time since the attack began, Lyara moved towards him.
“Don't!” Veyrith shouted, stretching out an arm to stop her. “Stay back!”
She froze. Her gaze moved from her injured brother to the men surrounding him, and she could do nothing to hide the fear in her face.
One of the robbers noticed.
He turned away from Veyrith and approached her with a grin. “Enough of this. The girl comes with us.”
Lyara backed away until her shoulders struck the trunk of a tree. She tried to move around it, but another man appeared at her side, cutting off the only path she could see. Her eyes searched the clearing for an escape, but there was none. She had no weapon, no means of defending herself, and no one else to turn to. Veyrith tried to rise. His hand found his sword, but his injured arm could barely support his weight. “Touch her,” he growled, forcing himself onto one knee, “and I swear you will regret it.” The man laughed and reached for Lyara's wrist. Then the sound of a horse thundered through the trees. The robbers turned at the noise. A dark horse burst onto the narrow path, its rider leaning low over its neck as he drove the animal through the undergrowth. He pulled the reins sharply, bringing the horse to a halt at the edge of the clearing.
Dravaryn had arrived.
He dismounted before the horse had fully settled, his boots striking the earth with a heavy thud. His eyes found Lyara first. She stood trapped against the tree, a robber's hand reaching towards her. Then he saw Veyrith, bloodied and struggling to stand, with his sword lying beside him. Finally, his gaze moved to the men surrounding them and the three bodies on the ground.
For a moment, he did not speak.
He had left the palace because two hours had passed without his siblings returning. They had told him they would be back within one. At first, he had assumed they had lost track of time, as Veyrith often did when he was determined to annoy Lyara into a conversation. But when neither appeared and no one at court could tell him where they had gone, unease had settled in his chest. He had taken his horse and ridden towards the woods, following the path they had said they would take.Now he understood why they had not returned.
Dravaryn's expression changed as he looked at Veyrith's injuries. His jaw tightened, and the hand resting at his side curled into a fist. When he turned towards the man reaching for Lyara, the warmth that might once have existed in his face had vanished completely.
“Move away from her.”
His voice was quiet, but every person in the clearing heard him.
The robber glanced at him and laughed. “And who might you be?”
Dravaryn took one step forward. “Crown Prince Dravaryn”
The man looked at the bodies on the ground, then back at Dravaryn. He seemed to decide that the newcomer was bluffing. “There are more of us than there are of you.”
Dravaryn drew his sword.
“Then you have had every advantage.”
The robber released Lyara and turned towards him, raising his weapon. Dravaryn moved before the man had properly settled into his stance. His blade flashed through the afternoon light, striking the weapon from the robber's hand. Before the man could recover, Dravaryn drove him back and brought him down.
The remaining men reacted at once. Two charged him from opposite sides, hoping to overwhelm him before he could establish his footing. Dravaryn turned to meet the first, deflecting the attack with a sharp movement of his wrist. He stepped inside the man's reach and struck him down, then pivoted to face the second. Their swords clashed once, twice, and a third time before Dravaryn forced his opponent backwards.
He fought without hesitation. There was no wild anger in his movements, no wasted effort, and no uncertainty about what he intended to do. Each strike was calculated, each movement precise. The robbers had numbers on their side, but they had mistaken numbers for an advantage against a man whose reputation had been built upon never losing a duel.
One of them tried to circle behind him. Dravaryn heard the movement and turned just in time to intercept the attack. Another rushed towards Lyara, apparently hoping to seize her while Dravaryn was occupied. Dravaryn changed direction immediately, placing himself between them before the robber could reach her.
“Stay behind me,” he told Lyara. The fight continued across the clearing. The men who had been so confident only moments earlier began to retreat as Dravaryn drove them back one after another. Their attacks grew less coordinated. They no longer advanced together, and the sight of their companions falling had begun to erode whatever courage they had possessed. One robber threw down his sword and turned to flee.
Dravaryn did not let him escape. The man had seen their faces, knew what they looked like, and had taken part in an attack that had nearly killed Veyrith and carried Lyara away. Dravaryn pursued him through the clearing and brought him down before he could disappear among the trees. When the final robber fell, the forest grew quiet again. Dravaryn stood in the middle of the clearing, his chest rising and falling with the effort of the fight. His sword remained in his hand for several moments as he surveyed the ground, ensuring that none of the men would rise to attack them again. Only when he was certain the danger had passed did he lower the weapon.
Then he turned towards his siblings.
Lyara ran to Veyrith and crouched near him. She hugged him a bit, she was so scared that he would die.She crossed the distance between them and caught his sleeve, her composure finally breaking now that there was no longer anyone to watch her. Dravaryn immediately sheathed his sword and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking her over for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“Lyara. Look at me.”
She lifted her eyes to his.
“Are you hurt?” he repeated, more gently this time.
“No,” she whispered. Her gaze shifted towards Veyrith. “But he is.”
Dravaryn followed her line of sight.
Veyrith was still attempting to stand on his own. He had managed to retrieve his sword, though he now held it more for support than defence. Blood stained his clothing, and the effort of remaining upright was visible in the tightness of his jaw. “Of course,” Dravaryn muttered, crossing the clearing. “You couldn't simply spend an afternoon riding through the woods. You had to make a spectacle of yourself.” Veyrith managed a weak, crooked smile. “I was beginning to wonder when you'd arrive.” Dravaryn caught him by the arm before his knees could give way. “And I was beginning to wonder whether you had any sense at all.”
“Never had much.”
“That much is obvious.”
The exchange might have sounded ordinary to anyone who did not know them, but Dravaryn's grip tightened when he felt how heavily Veyrith leaned against him. His brother was badly injured, and the knowledge that he had arrived only moments before one of the robbers could seize Lyara left him with little patience for Veyrith's jokes.
“Can you ride?” he asked.
Veyrith looked towards the horse. “I can.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
“I can manage.”
Dravaryn gave him a hard look, then turned towards Lyara. “Help me get him onto the horse.”
Together, they guided Veyrith towards the animal. He protested when Dravaryn took most of his weight, insisting that he was perfectly capable of walking, but neither sibling paid him much attention. Lyara stayed beside him, her hand gripping his sleeve as if she feared he might collapse the moment she let go.
Once Veyrith was settled in the saddle, Dravaryn mounted behind him to support him during the journey. Lyara climbed up in front, close enough to keep a hand against Veyrith's arm. She said nothing, but every few moments she turned to look at him, checking that he was still conscious.
The ride back to the palace was far quieter than the journey out had been.
Dravaryn kept the horse moving at a steady pace, choosing the clearest path through the trees rather than risking another injury on the narrow trails. Veyrith's head occasionally dipped as exhaustion overtook him, and each time it happened, Dravaryn tightened his hold to keep him upright.
“You should have returned when you realised how late it was,” Dravaryn said eventually.
Veyrith let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh. “And miss the opportunity to kill three robbers? That would have been a terrible waste of an afternoon.”
“You killed three men and nearly lost your life.”
“Nearly,” Veyrith repeated. “An important distinction.”
Dravaryn looked at him in disbelief. “If you speak another word, I may leave you in the stables.”
“Then Lyara would have to come and rescue me.”
At that, Lyara turned around and gave him a look so sharp that Veyrith, despite his injuries, actually smiled.
“Both of you are insufferable,” Dravaryn said.
For the first time since the attack, Lyara almost laughed. It was a small giggle, barely more than a breath, but Dravaryn heard it. He glanced at her, and the tension in his expression softened for a moment. She was frightened, exhausted, and still holding tightly to her brother's arm, but she was safe. That was enough for now.
By the time they reached the palace, the afternoon celebration had continued into the early evening. Music drifted from the great hall, where nobles still gathered beneath the chandeliers, discussing the tournament and the day's events. Servants moved through the corridors carrying trays, and the guards stood at their posts, unaware of what had happened beyond the palace grounds.
The sight of the three siblings returning in such a state brought everything to a halt.
Dravaryn's clothes were marked from the fight, Lyara looked pale and shaken, and Veyrith could barely remain upright without assistance. A servant hurried forward, then stopped at the sight of the blood on Veyrith's clothing.
“Fetch the royal physician,” Dravaryn ordered. “Immediately.”
The servant ran.
Their arrival drew the attention of everyone in the corridor. Conversations faltered, and several courtiers stepped aside as Dravaryn helped Veyrith down from the horse. Lyara remained close to her injured brother, refusing to move away even when a servant offered to escort her inside.
King Ysold and Queen Morwenna were informed within minutes. Their arrival was followed by a flurry of anxious questions, but Dravaryn answered only what was necessary while the physician examined Veyrith. There had been an attack in the woods. The robbers were dead. Lyara was unharmed. Veyrith needed treatment.
The rest could wait.
Veyrith was taken to his chambers, where the physician began cleaning his wounds and assessing the damage. Dravaryn remained until he was certain his brother was receiving proper care. Lyara sat beside the bed, quiet as ever, her eyes fixed on Veyrith while the physician worked.
When the physician finally assured them that Veyrith's injuries could be treated, Dravaryn stepped back from the bedside. Only then did he allow himself to acknowledge how close they had come to disaster.