Two

The heart of the village is alive with movement. Merchants call out to passersby, selling everything from bread to bolts of dyed fabric. Children dart between carts, laughing and chasing each other while their mothers scold them. It's a far cry from the stillness of the woods. For a moment, I stand at the edge of the chaos, letting the sights and sounds wash over me.

I've been here countless times before, but the village always feels like another world—one that I've never quite belonged to. My fingers tighten around the strap of my satchel as I step forward, weaving through the crowd.

Then I see it.

A massive banner hangs across the square, its crimson fabric rippling in the wind. The gold lettering glints in the sunlight, impossible to miss:

"In Search of a Bride: Trials to Begin Next Moon"

I stop in my tracks, staring at the words. Below the announcement, the royal seal of the West glimmers like a taunt.

The crowd around me is abuzz, whispers and murmurs spreading like wildfire. I catch fragments of conversations as people pass.

"The Queen has only just passed..."

"Another one, gone at seventy-five."

"They say the trials will be harsher this time. The King is desperate."

The King.

Even the word sends a shiver down my spine.

The immortal King of the West has ruled this land for as long as anyone can remember. A being who never ages, never dies. He's more a myth than a man, shrouded in secrecy and fear.

There are stories, of course. Stories of his power, his cruelty. Some say he's a monster in human form, cursed to walk the earth forever. Others claim he's a shadow, a ghost haunting the palace.

No one knows the truth.

No one has ever seen him.

There are no paintings, no statues. Not even the guards at the gates of the palace have laid eyes on him. The palace itself is sealed off from the world, its gates towering and impenetrable.

The only thing the people know is this: the King always chooses a Queen. And every Queen grows old, withers, and dies, while he remains untouched by time.

I've always imagined him as a creature of nightmares—a brutal, heartless being who watches his people from behind those walls, untouched by their suffering. How could he be anything else? To rule for centuries, to live while everyone else dies, you'd have to be.

And now, he seeks another bride.

My stomach churns as I look at the banner again, the words burning themselves into my mind.

"Another trial," someone mutters nearby. "It'll be the same as always. They'll gather the women, test them, and the King will choose one. Then she'll disappear into the palace, and we'll never hear from her again."

I force myself to keep walking, though my legs feel heavy. The trials are nothing new. Every generation has them, every woman of age dreads them. But this time, it's different. This time, I'm not just another villager watching from the sidelines.

This time, I have a reason to enter.

The thought sends a spike of fear through me, but I push it down. I can't afford to feel fear—not when Fayne's life might depend on it.

I glance at the banner one last time before turning away, my heart pounding in my chest.

The King may be a monster. He may be as cruel and heartless as the stories say.

But if stepping into his world is the only way to save Fayne, then I'll do it.

Even if it means facing the creature who hides behind the palace gates.

The smell of freshly baked bread draws me toward a familiar stall near the edge of the square. Edith's bakery is nestled between two larger shops, but it's always the busiest. The shelves are stacked with loaves still steaming from the oven, their golden crusts catching the light.

"Freya!" Edith's voice calls out warmly the moment she spots me. Her face is round and kind, dusted with flour as usual. She's tying up a parcel of bread for a customer but waves me over with her free hand.

I weave through the line of villagers waiting to buy her wares. As I reach the counter, she beams at me, the lines around her eyes deepening.

"Out of the woods, are we?" she teases. "Come, let me fix you something."

"I'm fine, really," I say, but she's already wrapping up a loaf of her famous honeyed bread.

"Nonsense. You're far too thin, child." She slides the package toward me, lowering her voice so the other customers can't hear. "How are you holding up out there on your own? Is there anything you need?"

I shake my head. "I'm managing. The woods have been kind to me this season."

Her eyes soften, but before she can press further, a young man emerges from the back of the stall, carrying a tray of pastries. Revan.

His dark blond hair falls into his eyes as he sets the tray down, and he brushes it back absentmindedly before noticing me.

"Freya." His tone is quieter, more serious than his mother's.

"Revan," I reply, giving him a small nod.

We've known each other for years. He's only a year older than me, but he's always acted as if it's his responsibility to look out for me.

"I'll be fine," I say preemptively, catching the concerned look in his eyes.

His jaw tightens. "You say that every time, but you're out there all alone. It's not right."

Edith clears her throat, sensing the tension. "Revan, fetch the small rolls for Mrs. Halloway, would you?"

He hesitates, his gaze flicking between us, but eventually sighs and heads to the back. Edith leans closer to me, her expression more serious now.

"Freya," she says softly, "you know I worry about you. And with everything happening now..." Her eyes dart toward the banner hanging in the square.

"I'm joining the trial," I say before she can finish.

Her hand freezes mid-motion. "What?"

"I'm going to enter," I repeat, my voice steady.

"Freya, no." Edith's hand flies to her chest, her brow creasing in alarm. "You can't. You've heard the stories. The trials are dangerous enough, but to live in the palace, to be his bride..."

"I don't have a choice," I cut in, trying to keep my voice even. "It's the only way to—"

"To what?" Revan's voice interrupts, sharper than I've ever heard it. He's back, standing with his arms crossed, his expression stormy.

"To save Fayne," I say, meeting his eyes.

He stares at me for a long moment, his face hardening. "You think this will bring her back? That stepping into that monster's trap will fix anything?"

"I have to try," I snap. "You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe not, but I do know this—people who go into that palace don't come out. Not the brides, not the servants, no one."

"I'm not afraid of him," I lie.

Revan takes a step closer, his voice dropping. "You should be."

"Enough," Edith says firmly, placing herself between us. "Revan, leave her be."

Revan looks like he wants to argue, but instead, he lets out a frustrated sigh and turns away, muttering something under his breath. Edith shakes her head, her expression pained.

"Freya," she says, her voice gentle again, "I know you want to save Fayne. But there has to be another way."

"There isn't." My voice is firm, but inside, doubt claws at me.

Edith reaches across the counter and takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're like a daughter to me, you know that? I've already lost too many people I care about. Please... think this through."

I nod, but we both know I've already made my decision.

The bell over the shop door jingles as another customer walks in, breaking the moment. Edith releases my hand with a sigh and forces a smile, turning back to her work.

Revan spots me as I make my way out of the bakery, his sharp gaze catching mine through the bustle of the square. His dark eyes narrow as he strides toward me, weaving through the crowd with ease.

"Freya," he says, his tone more accusing than warm. "You've been gone all morning. What were you up to this time?"

"Hunting," I reply evenly, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block my path.

"Hunting for trouble, more like," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

I sigh. "Not today, Revan. I'm not in the mood for your lectures."

"It's not a lecture," he says, his voice lowering as his eyes flick to the banner hanging above the square. "Tell me you're not seriously thinking about entering."

I don't answer, my gaze locked on the crimson letters fluttering in the breeze.

He lets out a frustrated breath, stepping closer. "Freya, don't do this. You don't know what you're walking into. No one does. The trials—they're not just some game. People don't come back from them the same, if they come back at all."

"That's the point," I say quietly, turning to face him fully. "I don't plan on coming back the same. I plan on coming back with Fayne."

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck visibly straining. "You're risking your life for a shadow of hope, for a story no one knows the end of. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Don't," I snap, my temper flaring. "Don't stand there and tell me what I should or shouldn't risk. You don't understand what it's like to lose someone and be powerless to stop it."

"That's not fair," he says, his voice low but firm.

I turn away, pretending to inspect a nearby cart of vegetables, but he steps closer, his voice softening. "Freya... I get it. I do. You loved her. You still do. But this—this won't bring her back. What if you go in there and lose yourself? What then?"

"I don't have the luxury of thinking that way," I say, meeting his gaze. "I can't sit back and do nothing, not when there's even the slightest chance I can save her."

Revan's expression shifts, a flicker of something raw crossing his face. "And what about me?"

The question catches me off guard.

"What about you?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

His brows draw together, frustration and something softer blending in his eyes. "What do you think happens to the people you leave behind, Freya? To me? Do you think I'll just stand here, baking bread and pretending you didn't walk into something that could kill you?"

I swallow hard. "Revan, I—"

"I care about you," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "More than you realize. And if something happens to you, I don't—" He stops, shaking his head as if he's said too much. "Just... don't do this."

For a moment, the noise of the square fades, the two of us standing there in the middle of it all.

"I have to," I say finally, my voice steady but soft. "For Fayne. For me. I can't let her down."

Revan stares at me, his jaw tightening again as he exhales sharply. "You're impossible, you know that?"

A faint, sad smile tugs at my lips. "I've heard that before."

He shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "If you're going to be this stubborn, at least promise me you'll be careful. And that you'll come back."

"I'll do my best," I say, and it's the closest to a promise I can give.

Revan doesn't look convinced, but he nods, stepping aside to let me pass. "You're still reckless," he mutters as I walk away.

"And you're still overprotective," I call back.