The creature’s blood was still wet on Soren’s blade when he heard the footsteps human, deliberate, coming from the treeline.
Corvin stepped out of the fog. His fine clothes were torn, his face smeared with mud, a bleeding scratch running from temple to jaw. But his eyes were sharp and burning.
"Thornridge. I should have known you’d be stupid enough to come alone."
"Eldritch. I should have known you’d be stupid enough to follow me."
Corvin’s gaze dropped to Soren’s pack. "You found the Silverthorn Leaf. Give it to me."
"No."
They stood ten feet apart, two predators with blood on their hands and exhaustion in their bones. Somewhere in the distance, something howled.
"I didn’t track you through this cursed forest just to watch you play hero," Corvin snarled. "Give me the leaf. You can stay here and bleed."
"You won’t make it back alone."
"And you will? You can barely stand."
"I’ve survived worse."
"Name one thing."
Soren was silent. Corvin laughed, sharp and humorless.
"That’s what I thought. If you die out here, Thorne dies too. Is that what you want? Your pride gets you killed, and the prince pays the price?"
"This isn’t about pride."
"Then what is it about?" Corvin’s voice cracked, and the mask slipped. "Why do you care so much about him? You’ve never cared about anyone. You’re the Ice Wolf. You don’t feel. You tolerate Valeria because she’s convenient and Ragnar because he’s useful and the rest of us because we’re not worth the effort of disliking. So why Thorne?"
"He’s my student."
"Liar."
"Believe what you want."
"I will." Corvin stepped closer, gold bleeding into his pupils. "I will figure out what you’re hiding, Thornridge. And when I do—"
"You’ll what? Fight me? You’ve tried that."
"Maybe this time it will end differently."
The silence stretched thin as ice over deep water. Then Soren sheathed his blade.
"We’re wasting time. The forest is full of things that want to kill us. If we fight each other, we both die, and so does he. So we move together, or we don’t move at all."
Corvin stared. "You’re suggesting we work together."
"I’m suggesting we don’t let our rivalry kill the person we both came here to save."
The word hung in the air. Both. Soren hadn’t meant to say it. Corvin hadn’t expected to hear it.
Then Corvin nodded. "Fine. But I’m watching you."
"Watch all you want. Just keep up."
They moved into the trees together, two enemies bound by a common purpose, the Silverthorn Leaf pulsing softly in Soren’s pack.
In the healer’s wing, Nyra’s body was changing.
Master Aldric had never seen anything like it. The prince’s wounds were glowing faint at first, then spreading, a soft silver luminescence that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat. He pressed his fingers to her wrist. Her pulse was weak, but underneath it was something else. A second rhythm. A deeper hum.
The silver light flared. Her body arched off the cot, suspended a hand’s breadth above the sweat-soaked sheets, her silver hair floating like a halo.
He had read about this in the old texts. The ones the kings had tried to burn.
Sacred Moonblood. The daughter’s blessing. The power of the Goddess made flesh.
"Impossible," he whispered. "The Moonblood line was destroyed. There are no daughters left."
The light pulsed once more, then faded. Nyra settled back onto the cot. The poison was still killing her. But something had awakened.
They moved in silence for the first hour, navigating by the faint moonlight that filtered through the twisted canopy. Soren led. Corvin followed.
It was Corvin who broke. "Why did you really come out here?"
Soren didn’t answer.
"The Proctor ordered everyone to stay put. The guards were dispatched. You had nothing to gain unless you had something to lose." Corvin ducked under a low branch. "You’ve been different since Thorne arrived. The moment he fell into your arms, something changed. I saw your face. You looked at him like he mattered."
"He’s my student. My responsibility."
"That’s not all he is."
"Drop it, Eldritch."
"Why did you come out here?" Soren turned to face him. "You could have let the guards handle it. You could have let me die out here. Why are you risking your life for a first-year you barely know?"
Corvin’s mouth opened. Closed. For the first time, he looked genuinely uncertain.
"He’s... interesting. The blood I collected it’s not normal. It’s not Alpha blood. I need to know what he is."
"That’s it? Curiosity?"
"What else would it be?"
"I don’t know. You tell me."
A branch snapped behind them. Both spun, blades drawn, wolves surging to the surface. Nothing just shadows and fog.
"We need to keep moving," Soren said.
"Agreed."
They walked on. The questions lingered, unanswered, festering between them like an open wound.
Valeria had always known how to find what didn’t belong to her.
Soren’s suite was unlocked. It always was. She had entered a hundred times before welcomed, desired, wrapped in his sheets and his scent. Tonight, she entered as a thief.
She searched methodically. Drawers. Mattress. Personal items. Nothing.
Then she opened the wardrobe.
It was folded on the middle shelf, half-hidden behind training shirts. A strip of pale fabric, stained with sweat and something darker. Binding cloth. The kind a woman used to flatten her chest.
"What would Soren be doing with this?"
The answer came slowly, piece by terrible piece. Thorne’s slight build. The way he never changed in front of other students. The way he flinched. Soren’s sudden, inexplicable obsession.
Not a prince. A princess.
She folded the cloth carefully and placed it back. Her hands trembled not with fear, but with something that felt almost like triumph. She didn’t have the full picture yet. But she had enough. Enough to destroy the impostor. Enough to get Soren back.
She slipped out and vanished into the shadows.
Killian moved through the healer’s wing like a ghost.
The corridor was empty. The guards were distracted. It had been pathetically easy to slip past. Nikolai’s orders had been to tamper with the antidote switch an ingredient, ensure the potion failed. But Killian wasn’t here for Nikolai.
He was here for Thorne.
The prince lay on a cot, pale as death, blood crusted around his nose and ears. Killian stood over him, studying the delicate features, the too-slender wrists, the soft mouth.
"What does he see in you?" The words came out barely above a whisper. "Corvin looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. You’re nothing. A weakling. A ghost. Why does he look at you like that when he won’t even glance at me?"
His hand moved to the vial in his pocket. A simple poison fast-acting, untraceable. He could end this now. Corvin would grieve for a week, maybe two. Then he’d notice Killian. He’d finally see him.
His fingers closed around the vial.
The door burst open.
"Healer!" Ragnar’s voice bellowed. "They’re back! Thornridge and Eldritch they’ve got the leaf!"
Killian’s hand withdrew. He stepped back into the shadows as Master Aldric rushed in, followed by guards and students and the Proctor himself. The moment was lost.
They emerged from the treeline at dawn.
Soren was barely standing. The gash on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but he’d lost more blood than he wanted to admit. Corvin’s leg dragged, and the scratch on his face had swollen until one eye was nearly closed. But the Silverthorn Leaf was safe.
"Thornridge!" Ragnar reached them first, his scarred face torn between relief and fury. "You absolute bastard you went alone? I would have—"
"You would have tried to stop me."
"Damn right I would have!"
More guards arrived. Hands reached for the precious leaf. Soren surrendered it without protest, his eyes searching the crowd.
"Thorne? Is he still—"
"Alive," Ragnar said. "Barely."
"Then let’s move."
The healer’s wing was chaos. Master Aldric seized the leaf and began preparation crushing, measuring, heating the base potion. His hands moved with practiced speed, but his face was drawn.
"What’s wrong?" Corvin demanded.
"The supplies. Someone’s been in here. The binding agent it’s been replaced with water."
"Can you still brew it?"
"I can try. But without the binding agent, the potion could lose potency." He paused. "Or it could kill him."
Soren grabbed the healer’s collar. "Then find another binding agent. Make it work."
"Soren." Ragnar pulled him back. "Let him work."
The healer straightened his robes. "I’ll need to improvise. It will take time. Time he doesn’t have."
"How long?"
"An hour. Maybe two."
"And how long does he have?"
Aldric’s silence was answer enough.
Soren turned away. Through the window, the first light of dawn was breaking over the academy towers. He had survived the Forbidden Forest. He had found the leaf. He had made it back. And now there was nothing left to do but wait.
She’s strong, Kael murmured. Stronger than you know. She’ll hold on.
"You don’t know that."
I know her. Better than you do. Better than she knows herself.
Soren pressed his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes. "Hold on. Just hold on a little longer."
In the healer’s chamber, Master Aldric worked. The Silverthorn Leaf shimmered as it dissolved into the base potion, turning silver, then gold, then silver again.
And on the cot, Nyra’s fingers twitched.
Something was waking up.