The walls of Oakenford came into view as the sun reached its peak overhead. Emil's weight against my back had grown heavier as exhaustion overtook him.

  "We should enter separately," Mikel said, his scarred hand resting on his sword hilt. "Three armed strangers arriving with the boy will raise questions."

  "Agreed," Roslyn added. "Vera, you take Emil through the main gate. We'll circle around and meet you at the clinic after dark."

  I nodded, gently shifting Emil's sleeping form.

  The guards at the gate barely glanced up as we approached. One of them recognized me from my previous comings and goings.

  "Back from another job?" he asked, his tone bored.

  "Just returning from a walk," I said.

  He waved us through without further questions.

  The midday streets bustled with activity. I guided Nox toward the clinic, my heart hammering against my ribs. How would I explain this to Jorik? That Emil is royalty, that in three days we'd be saying goodbye?

  At least the town's size worked in our favor. Oakenford was large enough that not everyone knew everyone else's business. Most residents probably didn't even realize Emil existed, let alone that he'd been missing. The clinic kept its patients' information private, and Emil's trauma had kept him isolated from the general population.

  Only a handful of people knew he'd disappeared this morning. Jorik, obviously. Leah at the clinic. Me. And that was it.

  Jorik was pacing outside the clinic when we arrived. His head snapped up at the sound of us arriving, and his face transformed from worry to relief to confusion in rapid succession.

  "You found him," he breathed, rushing forward. "Thank the gods, you found him."

  "He's asleep," I said quietly, sliding off Nox's back while keeping Emil secure. "Help me get him inside."

  Jorik took Emil from my arms with the care of someone handling fragile glass. The boy stirred but didn't wake, his fingers still clutching that wooden horse.

  "What happened? Where did you find him?" Jorik asked as we walked toward the clinic entrance.

  "It's complicated."

  "Complicated how?"

  I pushed open the door. The main hall held a few patients waiting for treatment, but none paid us much attention. People came and went from the clinic all day long.

  "Let's get him settled first," I said. "Then I'll explain everything."

  Jorik carried Emil to his usual room, laying him gently on the narrow bed.

  "Vera." Jorik's voice held an edge now. "Tell me what's going on."

  I took a breath, choosing my words carefully. "Emi was taken. By people who claim to have known him since birth."

  “Taken? By who?"

  "Knights from a kingdom called Solus." I paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "They say Emil is a prince."

  The words hung in the air between us. Jorik's face went through several expressions—confusion, disbelief, understanding—before settling on something that looked like exhaustion.

  "A prince," he repeated, his voice flat.

  "Yes."

  Jorik stumbled backward until he found the nearest chair and sat heavily. For a long moment, he just stared at the floor, his hands clasped between his knees.

  "So Marta wasn't his real mother at all, was she?"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "No," I said quietly. "She was protecting him. His real mother was Princess Alicia of Solus. She married King Malachar of Drakmoor, and when Malachar killed her, Marta fled with Emil."

  "No wonder," he murmured.

  I perked up. "No wonder what?"

  "I always felt something was off." Jorik looked up at me, then back at Emil's sleeping form. "He and Marta appeared in Millbrook years ago. Just showed up one day, no explanation. Henrik took them in without asking questions, which wasn't like him. He was always careful about strangers."

  I moved closer, listening intently.

  "Marta said Emil was her son, but..." Jorik shook his head. "They didn't look anything alike. Different hair, different eyes. And the way she acted around him—it was protective, sure, but not quite like a mother.”

  "You noticed that?"

  "Hard not to, once you paid attention." Jorik's fingers drummed against his knee. "She never let him out of her sight. Never let him play with the other children. Always kept him close to Henrik's house, like she was afraid someone would see him."

  He paused. "And Henrik never questioned it. Never pushed for answers. Just accepted them both without a word... Did he know? About Emil being a prince?"

  I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. The question hung between us, unanswerable. Had Henrik known the full truth? Or had he simply sensed danger and offered shelter without asking for details?

  Jorik seemed to read my uncertainty. He shook his head slowly. "Doesn't matter now, does it?”

  I nodded solemnly.

  He was right. We'd never know if Henrik had been protecting a prince or just a frightened woman and child.

  Jorik fell silent for a moment. Then his eyes widened, his face going pale. "Oh gods... That's why the knights came to Millbrook."

  "They were looking for Emil," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "All those people who died..." He stared at Emil's sleeping form, his expression unreadable. "It was because of him."

  I opened my mouth to say something, to tell him it wasn't Emil's fault, that he was just a child caught in circumstances beyond his control. But the words stuck in my throat.

  Because Jorik was right. The brutal truth was that Millbrook had burned because Emil was there. All those people died because Emil existed.

  The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

  Then Jorik sighed, a sound so tired it made my chest ache. He reached out and gently brushed Emil's hair back from his forehead, his touch impossibly gentle.

  "Poor kid," he said softly.

  I stared at him, stunned. After everything—after losing his home, his sister, his entire life—Jorik could still look at Emil and feel compassion instead of blame. Could still see a traumatized child instead of the reason for his suffering.

  "Jorik—"

  "It's not his fault," he said, cutting me off. His voice was steady now, resigned. "He didn't ask to be born a prince. Didn't ask for his mother to die or his father to hunt him. He's just a kid who's been running his whole life."

  His fingers traced the outline of the wooden horse still clutched in Emil's hand. "Senna would say the same thing. She always had a soft spot for strays."

  The room fell quiet again, but this time the silence felt different. Less heavy. More like acceptance.

  "So what now?" Jorik finally asked, his gaze still on Emil. "These knights, they're taking him away?"

  "In three days. To a sanctuary in the Mistfall Mountains."

  "And we're just supposed to let them?"

  "They're his mother's royal guard. They say they've protected him since birth."

  "Then where were they when Millbrook burned?" Some of the bitterness crept back into Jorik's voice.

  I had no answer for that. The knights had their explanations, their reasons for staying hidden. But those reasons felt hollow against the weight of all that death.

  "The knights agreed to let us come with them," I said carefully. "To the sanctuary. If you want to."

  Jorik's hand stilled on Emil's hair. He looked up at me, surprise flickering across his face.

  "Come with them?"

  "I negotiated it. Both of us can go, stay with Emil at the sanctuary." I'd expected relief, maybe even gratitude. Instead, Jorik's expression grew complicated.

  "To the Mistfall Mountains," he said slowly.

  "Yes."

  He pulled his hand back from Emil, fingers curling into a loose fist. "And what happens there? We just... live in hiding? Wait for the next attack? Spend our lives looking over our shoulders?"

  "You'd be with Emil," I said. "You'd be safe."

  "Safe." Jorik's laugh was hollow. "I've been running from one disaster to another since Millbrook burned. Senna's dead. Henrik's dead. Everyone I knew is dead or scattered." He stood up, pacing to the window. "I just want a normal life, Vera. Is that so wrong? To want to wake up without wondering if today's the day someone comes to kill us?"

  The words hit harder than I expected. I'd assumed Jorik would jump at the chance to stay with Emil, to keep what little family he had left. I hadn't considered that he might be tired of danger, of violence, of living on the edge of someone else's war.

  "It's not wrong," I said quietly.

  "But Emil needs me." Jorik's forehead pressed against the window frame. "He's already lost so much. If I leave too..."

  "You don't have to decide now," I told him. "We have three days. Think about it. Figure out what you really want."

  "And if I decide to stay here? To let him go without me?"

  "Then that's your choice." I moved to stand beside him. "No one can blame you for wanting to survive, Jorik. You've been through enough."

  He was quiet for a long moment, watching the street below.

  "Three days," he finally said.

  "Three days."

  "And you? You're going with them?"

  The question caught me off guard. Was I? Had I actually decided to leave Oakenford, to tie my fate to a hunted prince and three knights?

  "I don't know," I admitted. "I need to think about it too."

  Jorik glanced at me, something like understanding in his eyes. "At least we're both confused."

  I found myself smiling. "At least there's that."