“Not here,” another added quickly. “Nor anywhere.”
“But you’ve heard nothing of it?” Elara asked.
The women exchanged looks.
“Nay,” Vanessa said. “And if such talk spreads, it will bring nothing but trouble. Best let old stories sleep.”
Elara inclined her head, understanding more than they said. “Then I’ll keep it to myself.”
A moment later, she rose. “I should stretch my legs before I leave. It’s been good to see you all.”
“And you,” Vanessa replied. “May your travels be safe, Elara.”
She walked on through the village, letting the hum of life surround her. She passed gardens she remembered tending, doorways she’d once paused beneath, places that felt unchanged and yet something beneath it all felt… unsettled.
Then it happened.
A soft flutter brushed her cheek, light as a moth’s wing.
Her breath caught.
Leave now.
The whisper threaded through her mind, urgent and unmistakable.
Hurry.
Elara did not hesitate.
She gathered her skirt and turned at once, heart pounding as she moved quickly toward the road. She could already feel it, the tightening air, the forest’s warning reaching out to her.
She was nearly there when hoofbeats sounded.
A mounted figure entered the village square, followed by six men. They rode with authority, armor catching the light, eyes sharp and searching.
The man at their head reined in abruptly.
His gaze locked on her. Not with recognition but with interest.
Elara felt it instantly, the way his dark eyes lingered too long, the way his attention sharpened as though he had found something unexpected and worth claiming. His mount slowed beneath him, then stopped altogether.
“Well,” he said, dismounting with an ease born of command. “You are a sight I did not expect to find, yet pleased that I did.”
His men spread out behind him without a word, their presence threatening. Elara’s skin prickled. This was not curiosity alone, it was assessment. Ownership weighed in his stare.
She had been seen. Not as someone known… but as someone noticed. And that, she knew, could be far worse.
He approached at an unhurried pace, his eyes never leaving her face, tracing her as if committing her to memory. He was of good size with a sharp chin and even sharper nose and long dark hair braided at the sides.
Elara held her ground, though every instinct urged her to move, to flee, to vanish back into the trees.
Hurry, Amelia had warned.
She understood now why.
The man stopped a few paces away, his gaze flicking briefly over her garments, her posture, the confidence with which she stood alone. A faint smile touched his mouth, not kind, not cruel, but aggressive.
“You walk this village as though it is known to you,” he said. “Yet I do not recall seeing you here.”