Three

The Borderline looms before me, a stark expanse of white brick towering high enough to slice the sky in two. The late morning sun gleams off the pristine surface, making it hard to focus on anything but the imposing wall and the weight of what lies beyond it. The kingdom, the palace, the king himself—just a stone's throw away.

Hundreds of women gather in the clearing, their voices weaving together in a chaotic hum of excitement, nerves, and ambition. Each one of them is here for the same reason: the trials, the chance to become queen.

I glance down at my clothes and feel the weight of my difference. Unlike the others, I'm not draped in satin or lace. No layers of silk cling to me, no intricate embroidery graces my sleeves. Instead, I wear a plain long-sleeved tunic, a worn leather vest, and simple pants that end just above my scuffed boots. The outfit is practical, well-suited for the woods where I've spent most of my life—but here, surrounded by women in dazzling gowns and shimmering jewels, I might as well be invisible.

Or worse.

They notice me, of course. It's impossible not to stand out when you're the only one wearing pants. A few women cast sideways glances in my direction, their painted lips curling into faint smirks.

"Is she here to fight or to audition?" one of them murmurs, her voice carrying on the breeze.

Another laughs softly. "Maybe she got lost on her way to the barracks."

My hand tightens around the strap of my satchel. Their laughter stings, but I force myself to keep my head high. I have more important things to focus on than their opinions.

Still, I can't help but notice how different I look. My hair, braided and pulled into a ponytail, is neat but far from the elaborate updos adorned with jeweled pins and silk ribbons that many of the women wear. My dark brown braid hangs plainly down my back, unremarkable against the sea of gold and auburn curls that shine in the sunlight.

And then there's the way I move, the way I stand. I can feel it in the set of my shoulders, in the firm plant of my boots on the dirt. I look like I'm prepared for a battle instead.

It doesn't matter, I remind myself. Let them think what they want. I'm not here to charm a king or compete for a crown. I'm here for Fayne.

The chatter around me fades as the royal guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the sunlight. They form a rigid line in front of the massive iron gate embedded in the wall, their presence commanding silence. The tallest of them steps forward, raising a gauntleted hand for attention.

"Ladies," he begins, his deep voice echoing across the clearing, "you stand before The Borderline, the gateway to the trials. Beyond these gates lies your chance to claim the highest honor in the kingdom."

A ripple of murmurs spreads through the crowd, but the guard's sharp gaze quickly quells it.

"The trials are not for the faint of heart," he continues, his voice steady and cold. "You will face challenges that test your strength, intelligence, and resolve. Many have tried in the past and failed. If you cannot meet the challenges ahead, you will be eliminated."

Eliminated.

"This is your final chance to withdraw," the guard says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Once you step through these gates, there is no turning back."

The crowd shifts uneasily, but no one moves to leave. I stand firm, my resolve unshaken. Fayne's face fills my mind, her small hand reaching for me as she was torn away. I clench my fists, steadying myself. There's no turning back for me—not now, not ever.

The iron gates groan as they swing open, revealing a shadowy pathway beyond. A collective gasp rises from the crowd. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum.

One by one, the women begin to step forward, their skirts sweeping the dirt, their jewelry catching the light. I follow, the leather of my boots scuffing the cobblestones.

The moment I step through the gate, the air changes again. It's not just heavier—it's alive, charged with something I can't name. My breath catches as a new scent wraps around me, weaving through the damp, cool breeze that meets us on the other side of the wall.

I stop for a moment, closing my eyes. The smell is unlike anything I've ever known. Sweet, sharp, and refreshing all at once, it's a blend of lavender and wood, threaded with a cool touch of mint. It stings my nose, sharp like the bite of winter air, yet it's comforting. The kind of scent that fills your lungs and clears your mind, grounding you even as it threatens to pull you away.

It doesn't make sense—this place is far from the mountains, far from the forests where such smells linger after a fresh snowfall. And yet, here it is, swirling around me in the middle of this suffocating summer heat.

I press a hand to my chest as I take another deep breath. It's strange, almost intoxicating, like the scent was made to lure me closer. My head swims, and I steady myself, planting my boots firmly on the stone beneath me.

"Keep moving," a guard barks, and I force my eyes open, jolted back to reality.

The other women continue to walk forward, their gowns swishing softly against the cobblestones. I glance around, half-expecting someone else to pause, to notice the smell, but no one reacts. Their gazes are fixed ahead, their steps light and confident as though nothing about this moment is out of the ordinary.

Is it just me?

I swallow hard and follow the group, ignoring the way my body aches to stop, to turn back and inhale that scent again.

The path ahead twists and turns, narrowing as we descend deeper into the unknown. Shadows stretch across the uneven stones, cast by towering hedges on either side. They rise so high that the sky all but disappears, leaving only the faint glow of light filtering through the leaves.

The crowd slows, the women growing quieter with every step as the walls of the hedge maze come into view. The guards lead us to the entrance, where a massive arch of intertwined branches frames the darkened passageway beyond.

"This is your first trial," the lead guard announces, his voice booming over the murmurs. "The Maze of Valor."

A chill creeps down my spine. The Maze of Valor. I've heard whispers of this place, fragments of tales told by villagers who claimed to have watched past trials from the safety of the walls.

"Within the maze, you will face challenges," the guard continues. "Only the clever and the strong will find their way to the exit. Those who fail to complete this trial will be eliminated from the competition."

Eliminated. Does that mean they will kill anyone who will be eliminated? Kill. I throw a glance to one of my competitors. One of them will die. And it could be me. 

A guard steps forward, holding out a brass horn. "When you reach the exit, you will see this symbol—a mark of your success. Only those who carry the horn may proceed to the next trial."

I clench my fists. The air grows colder, the sweet scent from before lingering faintly as if it's drifting just out of reach.

"Step forward," the guard commands.

One by one, the women enter the maze, disappearing into its dark embrace. Some walk with confidence, others hesitate, but all of them vanish into the shadows without a word.

When it's my turn, I hesitate at the threshold. The scent sharpens for a moment, filling my lungs with that same strange mix of lavender, wood, and mint. My heart races, pounding in my chest.

I take a deep breath, hold onto the image of Fayne's face in my mind, and step forward.

Then, the maze swallows me whole.

The moment I step inside, the light dims, and the towering walls of the hedge rise on either side of me, stretching so high they seem to scrape the sky. Their jagged edges twist and weave together, forming a wall so thick that I can't see through to the other side. The path ahead is narrow, curving sharply, and when I glance back, the entrance is already gone, swallowed by the oppressive greenery.

I take a tentative step forward. The air is cool and damp. It clings to my skin, heavy and thick, carrying the faint scent of moss and earth. Above me, the hedges form a canopy, filtering the light into fragmented beams that barely reach the ground.

The quiet is deafening. No rustling leaves, no birdsong—just the sound of my boots crunching against the gravel path. I run my fingers along the hedge as I walk, the coarse leaves snagging against my skin.

I have no sense of direction. Each turn looks the same, the walls identical no matter where I go. A faint breeze brushes past me, and I pause, turning my head. Is it leading me somewhere? Or is it a trick?

My thoughts wander back to yesterday.

"Are you sure about this, Freya?" Revan's voice echoes in my mind, soft but insistent. His brown eyes were full of worry, his brow furrowed in that way he always does when he's about to lecture me. "You don't have to do this. You have nothing to prove."

I tighten my grip on the edge of the hedge, the leaves biting into my palm. If only he knew.

"Revan's right," Edith had chimed in, her flour-dusted hands resting on her hips. "The trials aren't what they seem. No one ever comes back the same—if they come back at all."

Her words stayed with me all night, haunting me like a warning I couldn't shake. But it wasn't enough to stop me. Nothing could.

I turn another corner in the maze, only to find another identical path stretching endlessly before me. My pulse quickens. How long have I been walking? It feels like hours, though it's likely been only minutes.

I remember Revan standing at the edge of the village as I left, his arms crossed and his jaw tight. "Just... come back," he'd said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't do anything reckless."

Reckless. It's what everyone thinks of me. The girl who doesn't know when to give up, the one who doesn't listen. The one who can't let go.

The image of Fayne flashes in my mind—her wide, tear-filled eyes as the carriage rose into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. My resolve hardens. Reckless or not, I have to see this through.

Another turn, another dead end. I grind my teeth, frustration building as the maze twists and turns with no logic or pattern. The walls seem to close in, the shadows growing deeper with every step.

"Keep moving," I mutter under my breath, forcing myself forward. My boots crunch against the gravel as I take another step, then another, the silence pressing in around me like a shroud.

This maze won't beat me. It can't.

After a few moments, all of a sudden the scent comes back, stronger this time.

That same mix of lavender, wood, and mint, sharp and refreshing, cuts through the stale air of the maze. It's as though it's calling me, pulling me forward, winding through my chest like a tether. I pause, closing my eyes for a moment to let the fragrance wash over me. It's comforting yet strange, filling me with a sense of urgency.

I wonder if it leads somewhere—if it could be a trick, some cruel design of the maze to lead me astray. But standing still isn't an option, and something deep in my gut tells me to follow it. So I do.

I take off down the path, the scent growing stronger with each step. My boots crunch against the gravel as I quicken my pace, turning corners at random. The hedges seem taller now, the walls pressing closer, and the fragmented light above dims further as if the maze is swallowing the day.

A sharp, distant cry pierces the air, freezing me in my tracks.

"Help! Someone help me!"

The voice is desperate, cracking with fear. My heart clenches as it echoes through the maze, bouncing off the walls and making it impossible to tell where it's coming from.

Then I hear another.

"No, no! Get me out of here!"

The panicked shout sends a shiver down my spine, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. I can't tell if they're getting closer or farther away, but it's enough to set my nerves on edge.

More voices join in—a cacophony of screams, sobs, and the frantic rustle of bodies crashing through the hedges. The maze is alive with chaos, the contestants succumbing to fear one by one.

My breathing quickens. Their panic is contagious, clawing at my resolve and threatening to unravel it. I grip the edge of the hedge for support, my nails digging into the leaves.

Focus, Freya. Just focus.

But it's impossible to ignore the sounds. The crying, the screaming, the hurried steps—it's all too much. My chest tightens, my heart racing as though it's trying to escape the maze on its own.

And then I catch the scent again.

It's sharper now, cutting through the noise like a blade. I close my eyes for a moment, letting it anchor me, reminding me of why I'm here. Fayne. Fayne needs me.

Without another thought, I push forward, rushing toward the scent. My legs move faster than I can think, my pulse pounding in my ears. The cries and screams grow fainter behind me, but I don't stop. I can't stop.

Whatever's at the end of this scent—whatever's pulling me forward—I have to find it.

After what feels like hours of weaving through endless paths and dead ends, I come to a sudden stop. At the base of the hedge, tucked into the corner where two walls meet, is a tiny hole. Barely noticeable, it's just big enough to catch the sunlight filtering through.

I kneel down cautiously. The hole is no bigger than my fist, surrounded by jagged edges of earth and roots. My pulse quickens as I lower my face toward it, peering through.

On the other side, I can see the faint outline of boots. Large, dark, and caked in dirt, they're planted firmly on the ground, unmoving. My stomach tightens. Someone is there.

I lean back for a moment, deliberating. It could be another contestant. Or worse, one of the guards. My mind races with possibilities, none of them comforting.

Swallowing hard, I call out, "Is... is someone out there?"

Silence greets me. The boots don't shift, and no voice responds.

I glance around the maze, its towering walls and endless paths providing no reassurance. Gathering what courage I have left, I try again, louder this time.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Still nothing. The stillness presses against me, heavy and foreboding, but I can't let it go.

"Please," I say, my voice cracking slightly. "Is someone there?"

This time, I get an answer.

A low, deep male voice resonates from the other side, smooth and calm, yet laced with something unplaceable. "What are you doing here?"

The sound sends a chill down my spine. It's a voice unlike any I've ever heard—steady, commanding, yet not unkind. My instincts tell me to back away, but my curiosity roots me in place.

"I... I'm trying to find the way out," I manage, forcing strength into my voice.

The boots shift slightly, the gravel crunching beneath them. "The way out," the voice repeats, as though testing the words. "And what makes you think you'll find it here?"

I narrow my eyes, leaning closer to the hole. "Who are you?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

A pause stretches between us, the silence thick with tension.

I press my hand against the edge of the tiny hole, my fingers brushing against the cool dirt. "Who are you?" I ask again, trying to keep my voice steady despite the unease creeping into my chest.

A soft, almost amused chuckle comes from the other side. "Why do you want to know?"

The way he says it—smooth, almost teasing—sends an irritating spark through me. "Because," I reply sharply, "if you're just going to stand there, maybe you could at least tell me who I'm talking to."

There's a pause, and then the voice speaks again, dripping with mock seriousness. "Let's say I'm... a guide."

"A guide?" I echo, narrowing my eyes at the boots on the other side of the hole. "If you're a guide, then you can help me get out of here."

Another chuckle, this one deeper and more amused. "Help you?" he says, as if the idea is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "And what do I get in return for my oh-so-generous assistance?"

I blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You heard me," he says smoothly. "If I help you, I'll need something in return. That's how bargains work, isn't it?"

I scowl, frustration bubbling under my skin. "I don't have anything to give you."

"Everyone has something to give," he counters easily. "The question is, what's it worth to you to get out of this maze? Your name, perhaps? A secret? Or maybe..." He lets the thought hang, the silence that follows heavier than his words.

I grit my teeth. "Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't." His answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, and it catches me off guard. "But what other choice do you have? You could wander here forever, or..." His voice dips lower, and I swear I can feel it in my chest. "You could take a chance."

I glance back at the endless maze behind me. The sounds of others crying, screaming, and running echo faintly in the distance. But none of them are here, standing in front of this tiny opening with a strange man on the other side.

I turn back to the hole, forcing myself to stay calm. "Fine," I say. "What do you want?"

"Now we're getting somewhere," he says, his voice smooth and almost smug. "What do I want? Hmm..."

I wait, my patience thinning. "Well?"

He hums thoughtfully, dragging the silence just long enough to irritate me. "How about this: I'll help you find the exit. In return, you owe me a favor. Doesn't have to be now. Doesn't have to be soon. Just... when I ask."

I frown, the idea sitting uneasily in my chest. "A favor? That's too vague."

"Then don't take the deal," he replies easily, his tone light, as though he doesn't care either way. "Your choice."

I clench my fists, staring at the boots on the other side. A favor... vague or not, it's a gamble. But wandering aimlessly through this maze is a bigger one.

"Fine," I say finally, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'll owe you a favor. Now, how do I get out of here?"

The boots shift slightly, and I hear him exhale, almost like a sigh of relief. "Good," he says. "Now listen carefully... take five steps back."

I hesitate, narrowing my eyes at the tiny hole in the bushes. "Why?"

"Because if you stay there, you'll end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or do you want to risk that?"

His tone is annoyingly self-assured, but I can't argue with the faint twinge of logic behind his words. Grumbling under my breath, I take five deliberate steps backward, my boots crunching against the dirt.

"Good. Now stay there," he says, and then silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

For a moment, I wonder if I've been duped. But before I can second-guess myself, a new sound fills the air—a low rustling, followed by the unmistakable shhhk of something slicing through the thick bushes.

I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat as the sound grows louder, closer. A flash of silver glints through the dense greenery, and suddenly, the hedge begins to part.

A sword—a massive, gleaming blade—slices clean through the dense foliage, the leaves trembling as they fall away. My heart hammers as the final branches give way, and a figure steps through the opening he's carved.

I blink, momentarily stunned.

He's tall—very tall—with broad shoulders and an athletic build that somehow fills the space around him without trying. His dark hair, slightly tousled, falls just enough to shadow his forehead, and his deep blue eyes, vivid and intense, lock onto mine.

I find myself rooted to the spot, staring up at him. And up.

"Done gawking yet?" 

Heat flushes my cheeks, and I snap my mouth shut, realizing I must look like a complete fool. I glance away, trying to recover my composure, but the image of him remains burned in my mind.

I've spent so much time alone in the forest, living in a quiet, sheltered world of trees and shadows, that I'm not sure I've ever truly noticed what beauty looks like. And now? Now I can conclude, with mortifying certainty, that this man—this stranger standing before me with a blade in hand and a faint smirk on his lips—is the most handsome creature I've ever laid eyes on.

"Well?" he says, tilting his head slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Are you going to say thank you, or do you prefer to stay in stunned silence?"

I snap back to the present, glaring at him. "I didn't ask you to cut the bushes down for me."

"No," he agrees, stepping closer, his deep blue eyes glinting with something unreadable. "You asked me to help you. And I did. Now, are we going to stand here all day, or are you going to follow me?"

Follow him? My instincts scream at me to argue, to refuse. But there's something about the way he looks at me—steady, unyielding, as though he already knows my answer—that leaves me no room to protest.

"Fine," I mutter, trying to ignore the strange pull in my chest. "Lead the way."

He smirks, turning on his heel, and I follow reluctantly, trying—and failing—not to notice the way the sunlight catches the edge of his sword or the confidence in his stride.