Chapter Text
The road had gone too quiet.
Callum noticed before the guards did.
The forest had been pressing closer for the last hour, branches knotting over the road until the sunlight came through in thin, broken strips. The carriage wheels sank into the damp earth. The horses moved slower, their ears twitching, their breaths clouding faintly in the cold shade.
Ezran sat beside him with Bait heavy in his lap, one hand resting on the glow toad’s back. He had been talking all morning about jelly tarts, horse feelings, whether Bait would be offended if an ugly castle gargoyle was named after him.
Now Ezran was silent.
That was what made Callum look up.
Ezran stared out the window.
“Callum,” he whispered.
Callum followed his gaze.
The trees did not move.
No birds. No insects. No rustling in the brush. Only the creak of the carriage, the faint clink of guard armor outside, and the thick, waiting hush of the forest.
Callum’s fingers tightened on the seat.
“What is it?” Ezran asked.
Callum forced his hand to relax.
“Probably nothing.”
Ezran looked at him.
Callum hated that look. Ezran always heard the lie before Callum finished saying it.
Then the first arrow hit.
It slammed into the carriage frame beside the window with a crack that split the air open.
Ezran gasped.
Bait flared bright in his lap.
Outside, someone shouted.
The horses screamed.
The carriage lurched violently. Callum was thrown sideways, his shoulder striking the wall hard enough to send pain flashing down his arm, but he caught Ezran before his brother hit the floor.
“Get down!” Callum shouted.
Another arrow struck.
Then another.
The carriage became noise and splintering wood. Guards yelled outside. Steel rang. Horses fought their harnesses. A wheel struck something and the whole carriage tilted, throwing Ezran against Callum’s chest.
“What’s happening?” Ezran cried.
Callum didn’t know.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t know who was attacking them, how many there were, where the guards were, if anyone had already escaped to warn Harrow. He only knew the windows were exposed and Ezran was too small beside him, too small for any of this.
Callum dragged him between the benches and shoved him down, covering him with his own body.
“Stay low.”
“But—”
“Ezran, stay low!”
Ezran froze.
Callum heard the fear in his own voice and hated it.
The carriage door was torn open.
Cold air rushed in.
A masked man climbed onto the step, one hand gripping a short blade. He reached inside.
Callum kicked him as hard as he could.
His boot struck the man’s wrist. The blade clattered to the carriage floor. Callum grabbed it, fingers closing badly around the hilt, and slashed upward.
The man jerked back with a curse.
Callum slammed the door shut with his shoulder.
For one breath, he thought he had done it.
Then something heavy struck from the outside.
Once.
Twice.
The latch cracked.
Callum backed up, blade shaking in his hand.
Ezran stared at him from the floor, pale and shaking, Bait clutched to his chest.
“Callum,” he whispered.
“It’s okay.”
The lie tasted like dust.
The door burst inward.
Two men came through.
Callum swung.
The first caught his wrist like it was nothing and twisted.
Pain shot up his arm so sharply his fingers opened. The blade fell. Callum tried to wrench free, but the man shoved him into the wall. His head struck wood. The world jolted sideways.
Ezran screamed his name.
The second attacker reached under the bench.
For Ezran.
Callum moved without thinking.
He threw himself forward and crashed into the man’s side. They hit the opposite bench together. Callum clawed at him, kicked, grabbed at his cloak, his arm, anything that kept him away from Ezran.
The man snarled and struck him across the face.
Callum’s head snapped sideways.
Heat burst across his cheek. His mouth filled with the taste of blood.
“Callum!” Ezran sobbed.
Callum forced himself upright.
The man reached for Ezran again.
Callum lunged.
Someone caught him from behind and locked an arm around his chest. Callum thrashed, his injured wrist screaming as it was wrenched behind him.
“Let him go!” he shouted. “Don’t touch him!”
Ezran was dragged from under the bench.
Bait flashed so bright the carriage filled with green light. One attacker cursed and stumbled back, but another grabbed Ezran by the collar and pulled him upright.
Outside, the fight was dying.
Callum could hear it.
Fewer guards.
More strangers.
Steel hitting mud.
One horse still shrieking.
They had lost.
A woman stepped into the carriage doorway.
She was tall, wrapped in dark traveling leathers, with a scarf pulled over the lower half of her face. Her eyes moved over the broken carriage, the blood on Callum’s mouth, Ezran trembling in a stranger’s grip, Bait glowing wildly against his chest.
She looked at Ezran.
Then she smiled.
“There you are.”
Callum’s blood went cold.
She knew.
They had come for Ezran.
The heir.
The future king.
His little brother.
The woman crouched in front of Ezran. She reached toward his face slowly, gloved fingers hovering near his cheek, waiting for him to flinch.
Ezran did.
Her smile deepened.
Callum snapped.
“Don’t touch him.”
The woman paused.
Her eyes slid to Callum.
“You are very loud for something I did not ask for.”
Callum swallowed.
His cheek throbbed. His wrist burned. His ribs ached from where the man’s arm crushed him back against his chest.
Ezran’s eyes were fixed on him.
What do we do?
Callum did not know.
He was not Soren. He was not a soldier. He was not his mother, blade bright in her hand, fearless enough to make danger look foolish.
He was Callum.
Hurt.
Held.
Terrified.
But they wanted Ezran.
So Callum had to become harder to ignore.
He forced a laugh.
It sounded cracked and awful.
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
Callum lifted his chin.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Ezran stared at him.
The woman rose.
“What did you say?”
Callum’s heart slammed against his ribs.
If he looked at Ezran, he might stop.
If he stopped, they would remember who mattered.
“You think he’s the one you need,” Callum said.
The carriage went silent.
The men holding them shifted.
Callum dragged in a breath.
“That’s why you attacked the carriage. You heard the younger prince was traveling and thought you were clever.”
“Callum,” Ezran whispered.
Callum did not look at him.
The woman stepped closer.
“Who are you?”
Callum smiled the way he had seen nobles smile at court, smooth and meaningless and full of hidden knives.
“You don’t even know that?”
The fist hit his stomach.
Callum folded forward against the man’s hold. The breath tore out of him. Pain rolled through his middle, hot and sickening.
Ezran cried out.
The woman did not even glance at him.
Good.
Callum coughed, blinking through the sudden sting in his eyes.
The woman leaned in.
“Again,” she said. “Less dramatic this time.”
Callum sucked in air.
“I’m Callum,” he said, voice rough. “Prince Callum.”
Her eyes stayed cold.
“Stepson.”
The word cut exactly where she aimed.
Callum felt it.
He smiled anyway, though blood slid over his lip.
“Is that what you heard?”
The woman’s expression sharpened.
There.
Doubt.
Small, but alive.
“I’m the one King Harrow keeps hidden when it matters,” Callum said. “Ask yourself why.”
Ezran’s face had gone white.
Callum wanted to tell him to be quiet. To trust him. To understand the lie and not break it.
He could not risk looking away from the woman.
She circled him slowly.
“The king has two sons,” she said.
“Yes.”
“One heir.”
Callum let the silence stretch until it became its own answer.
Then he said, “Officially.”
The word changed the air.
Ezran inhaled sharply.
The woman noticed.
Her gaze flicked to him, then back to Callum.
“Careful,” she murmured. “If you build a lie out of blood, it bleeds when I cut it.”
Callum’s heart pounded so hard he thought she must hear it.
“You wanted leverage,” he said. “You have it.”
“Do we?”
“If you hurt him, you have a child hostage.” Callum forced himself to meet her eyes. “If you hurt me, you have Harrow’s secret.”
The lie shook beneath him, thin as ice over deep water.
It was stupid. Desperate.
But people believed ugly things more easily than kind ones. They believed in hidden heirs, royal shame, secret bloodlines, locked rooms, whispered scandals. They believed kings lied before they believed kings loved.
The woman looked at Ezran again.
Ezran trembled, but he stayed silent.
Brave boy.
Too brave.
Callum hated himself for dragging him into the lie.
The woman turned to her men.
“Take them both.”
Callum’s stomach dropped.
“No.”
She looked back at him, amused.
“No?”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
The woman laughed.
“There was no deal. You were speaking. I allowed it.”
One of the men grabbed Ezran by the arm.
Callum surged forward.
“Don’t!”
The man holding him slammed him back. His head struck the carriage wall again, and for a second the forest became a blur of gray and green.
The woman’s amusement vanished.
“Bind them.”
Callum fought.
He fought until they twisted his injured wrist behind him and pain burned so brightly his knees nearly gave. Rope closed around his hands. He tried to shout again, and a strip of cloth was shoved between his teeth, pulled tight enough to make his jaw ache.
Ezran was bound too.
Not gagged.
Callum fixed on that with desperate relief.
Ezran could breathe. Ezran could speak. Ezran was not the one they wanted silent.
They dragged them out of the broken carriage.
The road outside looked ruined.
Two guards knelt in the mud, hands bound. Another lay too still near the ditch. Callum looked away before the sight could become real. The horses had been cut loose. The trees crowded the wreckage like witnesses refusing to speak.
Ezran stumbled.
Callum jerked against the hands holding him, trying to get closer.
The woman noticed.
“Let them walk together,” she said. “If the older one remembers he is replaceable.”
Callum froze.
Ezran’s eyes snapped to him.
The woman smiled.
“Oh. That one landed.”
Callum forced himself to move.
The guards shoved him toward Ezran.
Ezran pressed immediately into his side.
Callum bent his head close. He could not speak, so he bumped his shoulder gently against Ezran’s.
I’m here.
Ezran’s bound fingers curled into Callum’s sleeve and held on.
They were marched into the forest.
The road disappeared behind them.
No rescue came.
The trees swallowed the carriage, the mud, the guards, the last proof that anyone had known where they were.
Callum counted steps at first.
Then turns.
Then landmarks.
A split oak. A mossy rock. A fallen branch shaped like a hook.
He repeated them in his head until pain started chewing holes through the pattern. His cheek throbbed with every heartbeat. His wrist had gone from sharp pain to a deep, ugly pulse. His ribs hurt where the guard had crushed him. The gag made breathing loud and humiliating.
Soon, all he could count was Ezran’s grip on his sleeve.
Still there.
Still there.
Still there.
By the time they reached the camp, dusk had gathered beneath the trees.
It was a ring of tents hidden in a hollow, smoke buried under wet leaves, horses tied deep among the trunks. Men and women moved through shadow, some masked, some bare-faced, all of them turning to stare at the boys.
Hungry curiosity.
That was what it looked like.
As if Callum and Ezran were not children, but coins poured onto a table.
Callum lifted his chin because Ezran was watching.
The woman noticed and stepped close enough that only Callum could hear.
“Keep doing that,” she said softly. “It will make it sweeter when you stop.”
A guard shoved him forward.
They were taken to a small storage hut made of rough wood and old canvas. It smelled of rope, damp grain, rusted metal, and old fear. A lantern hung from a nail, throwing weak light across the dirt floor.
Their hands were untied only long enough to be rebound around the post in the center of the room.
Callum’s gag was pulled down.
He gasped in air and immediately turned to Ezran.
“Are you hurt?”
Ezran shook his head too quickly.
“Ez.”
“I’m okay,” Ezran whispered.
His eyes darted to Callum’s cheek, his wrist, the way he held himself too carefully.
“You’re not.”
“I’m fine.”
Ezran’s face crumpled.
“Don’t say that.”
Callum closed his eyes.
He deserved that.
The woman entered before he could answer.
Two guards followed and stopped near the door.
She crouched in front of them, elbows on her knees, gaze moving between their faces with cruel patience.
“Now,” she said. “Let’s discuss what you are worth.”
Callum shifted as much as the ropes allowed, putting himself between her and Ezran.
She watched the movement.
“You are protective for a secret prince.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Sweet,” she said, and the word came out rotten.
Callum said nothing.
She leaned closer.
“What is the secret, then?”
Callum’s mind raced.
The lie had bought them time. Now it wanted payment.
He needed something bigger. Something dangerous enough to keep her looking at him. Something she could not disprove quickly.
He thought of court whispers.
Of tutors stopping when he entered rooms.
Of nobles smiling at Ezran and measuring Callum in the same glance.
He thought of Harrow’s hand on his shoulder.
You are my son.
He thought of Ezran beside him, small and shaking and born for a crown Callum would never touch.
If the woman believed Ezran was the prize, she would keep pressing on him. If she believed Callum was a key, maybe she would turn the blade.
Maybe Harrow would find them before the lie collapsed.
Callum looked her in the eye.
“There’s a seal,” he said.
The woman’s expression did not change.
“What seal?”
“A hidden royal seal. It proves succession.”
Ezran stared at him.
Callum prayed he would stay quiet.
“A document?” the woman asked.
Callum almost nodded, then stopped.
A document could be demanded. Checked. Forged. Destroyed.
“No,” he said. “A spell.”
The word slipped out before he fully understood why.
The woman’s eyes sharpened.
“A spell.”
He remembered Viren’s chambers. Locked books. Candles burning low. Strange objects under cloth. The feeling of being somewhere he was not supposed to be.
People feared magic.
They feared royal secrets more.
“It’s tied to blood,” Callum said, lowering his voice. “Harrow knows. Viren knows. A few others. That’s why taking Ezran won’t be enough.”
The woman studied him.
“And taking you will?”
Callum swallowed.
“Yes.”
A guard near the door muttered something.
The woman raised one hand.
Silence fell instantly.
“What does the spell do?”
Callum’s mind screamed.
He knew almost nothing. Bits of theory. Shapes. Words he had heard adults use. The smell of magic from the other side of a closed door.
But he knew how stories worked.
“It reveals the true heir,” he said.
The woman’s eyes moved between him and Ezran.
“And you claim that is you?”
Callum hesitated.
Too much would snap the lie. Too little would bore her.
“No,” he said carefully. “I’m saying Harrow needs me alive if he wants the throne secure.”
The woman smiled slowly.
“You speak like someone taught you how to lie.”
Callum’s heart stopped.
Then he shrugged.
“Castle education.”
The woman laughed.
Quiet. Cold. Real.
Callum breathed.
Then she reached out and touched the swelling on his cheek.
Callum flinched before he could stop himself.
Her smile widened.
“There you are,” she whispered. “Under all that pretending.”
Ezran jerked against the ropes.
“Don’t.”
The woman’s gaze snapped to him.
Callum’s chest tightened.
Ezran went pale, realizing too late that he had spoken.
The woman stood.
“Separate them.”
Ezran froze.
“No,” Callum said.
The woman looked down at him.
“You wanted my attention. You have it.”
She nodded to the guards.
One grabbed Ezran.
Callum lunged against the ropes.
“Wait! No, don’t—”
Ezran cried out as he was pulled backward.
Bait flared in panic.
“Callum!”
Callum fought so hard the rope burned into his wrists.
“Leave him alone! He doesn’t know anything!”
The woman tilted her head.
“Then he is useless.”
Ezran’s face collapsed.
The word hit him like a slap.
Callum saw it and something inside him tore.
“No,” he snapped. “Don’t talk to him like that.”
The woman smiled.
“There. I was wondering how deep to cut.”
The guards dragged Ezran toward the door.
“Callum!” Ezran cried.
“Ezran, listen to me!”
Ezran twisted, trying to get back.
“Callum!”
“Listen!” Callum shouted. “Don’t tell them anything!”
Ezran sobbed.
“I don’t know anything!”
“I know!” Callum’s voice broke. “That’s why you’re safe!”
The lie came out thin and desperate.
All he had.
The woman watched him with terrible focus.
The guards pulled Ezran outside.
The door shut.
His voice vanished behind wood.
Callum stared at the closed door.
For one stunned second, he could not breathe.
He had failed.
He had drawn the blade and it had still cut Ezran. He had lied, fought, bled, begged, and his little brother had still been taken from the room.
A hand grabbed his chin and turned his face back.
The woman’s eyes were inches from his.
“Look at me when I ruin your plan.”
Callum breathed once.
Twice.
Terror sharpened into something hard.
Ezran was gone from the room.
But alive.
The lie had not ended.
It had only become more expensive.
Callum lifted his eyes.
His cheek hurt. His wrist throbbed. His ribs ached. His hands trembled behind the post.
His voice came out steady anyway.
“You want the truth?”
The woman waited.
Callum smiled with blood on his lip.
“If you hurt him, I become worthless.”
Her gaze narrowed.
He leaned forward as far as the ropes allowed.
“And if I’m worthless, Harrow gives you nothing.”
Silence.
Callum stared at her and let the lie breathe.
He did not know if Harrow would give them anything.
He did not know if Harrow even knew where they were.
He did not know if Ezran was being taken to the next tent or deeper into the forest.
But he knew how to sound certain.
That was all he had learned at court.
Pretend the room belongs to you until someone hesitates.
The woman rose slowly.
“Keep him alive,” she told the guards.
Then she looked back at Callum.
“And keep the little prince untouched. For now.”
Relief hit him so hard he nearly sagged.
For now.
A terrible mercy.
A thread thin enough to cut skin.
Ezran was alive.
Untouched.
For now.