Page 28 of Crownless Heirs

Callan didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. Then he stepped forward to embrace Sorcha and whispered “If he doesn’t make it back alive, this kingdom will fall apart. Queen or not, a few days in our court won’t buy their loyalty, nor will it mean they will follow you.”

Sorcha’s breath quickened as he held her a moment longer before releasing her. The weight of this responsibility fully enveloping her.

Maelan’s back was turned, speaking to his warriors. “We need supplies: food, medical necessities, anything we can take with us. We leave as soon as it’s ready.”

“Yes, my king.” They ran off, disappearing into the bustling courtyard. Warriors and attendants rushed to fulfill their orders.

Sorcha exhaled, twisting the red thread in her hair before letting it go.

Minutes passed that felt like hours before the Cait Sidhe appeared before them with a satchel. Maelan took it graciously and turned, walking away without looking back.

12

Forest of fate

It was early morning as dawn settled over the land when they slipped beyond the castle walls. Golden light from the sunrise began to stain the sky, bringing a bit of cold to the air. As the city disappeared from view, Sorcha let her limbs relax a bit. The weight of watching eyes had lifted. The scrutiny, the expectations, all of it had been suffocating. Now, with only the cobbled paths beneath their feet and the wind slipping through the trees, everything felt lighter. For the first time since they’d set out, Maelan hadn’t shifted. He remained in his fae form, tall and quiet, walking just ahead.

Kyron, a few steps behind, let out a scoff. “It’s weird seeing you like this,” he said. “An actual person, not a creature stuffed into a saddlebag.”

Sorcha let out a quiet laugh, and Maelan winked at her.

Kyron groaned as he watched the exchange. “So, do I call you Cat or Maelan now?”

Maelan barely hesitated. “Either, Cat’s grow on me, but Maelan works just the same.”

Kyron snorted. “Good, because Cat feels odd now. Maelan it is.” He said flatly, and Maelan smiled back.

Sorcha glanced between them, feeling a sense of relief. For all the tension and uncertainty of what lay ahead, they were still them.

The sun was now high in the sky when Kyron came to an abrupt halt and began speaking without turning around.

“We’re about to enter the Ó Choill Go Cinniúint, The Forest of Fate. In here, time does not flow as it should. The trees whisper in familiar voices, calling you deeper. But it’s a lie. Everything here is a lie.”

Maelan squeezed Sorcha’s hand, Kyrons eyes landed on their intertwined hands.

“Maelan.” A voice whispered next to Sorcha’s ear.

“Sorcha” another voice rang out, but Maelan cupped Sorcha’s jaw as she began turning her head, keeping her gaze forward.

His gaze ahead, he added. “Never. Look. Back. No matter what you hear.”

Sorcha nodded as a sickening wave of dread crashed over her, tightening in her chest. She could die here. They all could.

She wasn’t ready for this. Her hands curled into fists. Had she taken on too much? A warm hand wrapped around hers, Kyron’s.

She looked up, startled, and found him beside her. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

She exhaled, nodding again. Her gaze flicked to Maelan. He had been silent while watching them, his expression unreadable, eyes lost in thought. But when she met his gaze, he gave the smallest nod. Without another word, they stepped into the forest.

As they stepped into , the shift began gradually. The forest no longer welcomed them. Trees wove together to create an impenetrable wall around the forest like a dome; bark split open as brambles and thorns writhed against the forest floor. Where golden leaves once shimmered, only husks remained, drained of color, curled at the edges into brittle gray and black.

Sorcha kept moving, though tension clung to her limbs, but as wasn’t alone in the feeling. Maelan walked to her left, eyes never still, fingers grazing the hilt of his dagger. Kyron flanked her right, posture taut, every motion braced for what might emerge from the dark. The vines arrived without warning. Thick brambles surged up from the underbrush with unnatural speed, weaving through roots and stones. Their black-tipped thorns caught what little light remained and reflected it like shards of glass. Then a sound arrived, so faint that one might have imagined it. Her name, whispered on the air behind her. A second voice followed, closer to her ear, as though someone stood just behind her shoulder. Then laughter, which was disturbingly familiar. Not one voice now, but many, layered into a melody too chaotic to follow. Voices she knew, voices that couldn’t be here. Mason, Eirin and Rhosyn and Emry.

Her heart felt as though it was in a vice grip as Emery’s voice whispered in her ear. “Why didn’t you save me?”

Her steps faltered, tears streaming down her face as Emrys voice screamed her name, but Maelan’s hand closed firmly around her wrist, grounding her in the moment before she slipped.

His voice was quiet. “Keep moving. It isn’t real.”