Yes, it was bad form to leave without telling anyone. Cowardly, even, to vanish before the household had woken. But Lara had weighed her options before dawn: slip out quietly, or stay and risk punching Vaelen right in his princely face.
There were few choices that morning that would leave her with any dignity. So she chose the one that didn't end with a royal scandal, a black eye, or the queen's guards hauling her out by her boots.
She left a note, if it counted—just three words, scrawled on a scrap of parchment. Don't worry. Back soon. It didn't feel like enough, but then, nothing had felt like enough lately.
The castle was quiet at that hour, the halls cool and half-lit, dew still glazing the rose gardens. She moved lightly, boots in hand until she reached the outer stair.
There, she pulled them on and squared her shoulders, feeling the old familiar armor settle around her. Out here, the world was simple.
Bandits were bandits. Forests were forests. Danger was something you could touch, not just feel gnawing at the edges of your heart.
She'd packed light. A battered satchel with dried meat, a wedge of hard cheese, three apples, and a flask of water—plus her sword, sharpened that very morning.
No change of clothes. No letters from home. The lighter she traveled, the less likely she'd look back.
As she slipped out the side gate, she caught a last glimpse of the high eastern tower, where she knew Aliyah and Kaelith were probably already plotting their morning rebellion.
A pang shot through her, sharp and unwelcome, but she shook it off. They'd be fine. Sarisa would keep them busy.
Elysia would give them cake for breakfast if they asked nicely enough. Lara would only be gone a few days—assuming the bandits weren't too clever.
And if they were…well, she'd been looking for a fight.
The northern border was wilder than most Celestians liked to admit—untamed hills, thick woods, roads rutted by spring floods and never truly repaired.
It was the edge of civilization and something older. Here, the air tasted of pine and wild mint, of distance and possibility. Lara felt her heart ease a fraction with every mile she put between herself and the castle.
She kept her pace brisk, ignoring the heaviness in her chest that sometimes caught her off guard.
Out here, her mind could focus on simple things: the crunch of gravel underfoot, the rhythm of her breathing, the way the sun slanted through the treetops.
She stopped only to check her map and to study the wagon tracks veering off into the deeper woods.
By noon, she'd found the first sign of trouble. A merchant's cart upended, its canvas slashed, goods scattered and pilfered.
No blood, but the wheel tracks suggested a hurried departure—on foot, into the trees. Lara crouched beside the wheel, fingertips brushing the dirt.
She could see where someone had slipped in the mud and scrambled away, boots leaving a sharp, nervous pattern.
She muttered under her breath. "Amateurs. Or desperate."
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. She'd learned long ago that the best way to keep your mind sharp was to stay a little bit hungry.
The forest thickened as she pressed on, moving quietly, senses alert. The birds here were bold and loud—jays and crows, the odd screech of a hawk overhead—but the underbrush was still.
No sign of the larger predator she'd heard rumors of—a rogue dragon would leave scorch marks, bones, not just nervous silence.
Still, she kept an eye out for odd tracks. Dragons were rare this far south, but "rare" was not the same as "impossible."
She checked the map again. The main road ran east-west, but the bandits had veered north, toward the river.
That meant they knew the area, at least a little. She let herself enjoy the puzzle, letting it fill the space in her head where worry and old longing usually spun.
If she let herself think about the castle, she'd start to wonder what Sarisa was doing, if Aliyah had noticed her gone, if Kaelith was already telling exaggerated tales about how Lara once wrestled a wyvern with her bare hands.
If Malvoria had rolled her eyes and said, "Let her run, she always comes back."
No. The road was her only companion now, and she needed its distraction.
Mid-afternoon brought rain, thin and sharp as needles. Lara tilted her head back, letting it soak her hair, streak her face, chill her to the bone. It felt good—a bracing reminder that she was alive, that pain and discomfort were sometimes easier to bear than heartache.
She found another sign: a strip of cloth snagged on a thorn bush, muddy boot prints leading down a deer path.
She followed, light on her feet, every sense tuned to the smallest break in the silence. The woods grew darker, old trees leaning close, the air thick with green and shadow.
Lara's hand went to her sword hilt as she moved, slow and quiet. The world shrank to the crunch of leaf litter, the hush of rain in the branches, the ache in her calves.
For a time, she felt almost whole—danger and purpose clearing her mind like a blade through fog.
She paused at a clearing. There, at last, was movement, a flicker of cloth behind a fallen log, the faint sound of labored breathing. Lara crouched, letting the woods swallow her shape, every lesson of survival rising to the surface.
She watched. One figure ormaybe two. They looked exhausted, one clutching a satchel to his chest, the other pacing, glancing nervously over his shoulder.
They were young no older than twenty, maybe less. One wore a patchy green coat, the other a battered brown tunic. Neither looked like hardened criminals.
Lara moved closer, silent as a shadow. She caught snatches of their conversation: "…shouldn't have gone back… he said he'd meet us…" "…what if the dragon comes? I don't want to get eaten, I—"
Dragon. Her blood ran colder, but she waited, watching.
One of the boys barely more than a kid, really knelt to fumble in the mud, trying to light a stub of a candle with shaking hands. "He said he'd be here by nightfall. We just have to wait."
The other spat. "Easy for you to say. You didn't see what happened to Old Ren's crew. Charred to bones."
Lara's mind worked fast. If they're meeting someone… this isn't the whole gang. Just the lost ones.
She made her move then stepping out from behind the tree, her blade still sheathed but her voice full of iron. "You two are terrible at hiding."
The boys startled, scrabbling for sticks that would never be weapons. Lara raised a hand, showing them her empty palm.
"I'm not here to gut you," she said, voice bored. "But I want answers. And if you think you can outrun me, you're welcome to try."
The taller one scowled, trying to muster some courage. "Who are you?"
"Just a traveler," Lara lied, "but I've got a low tolerance for idiots who mess with merchants and dragons."
They glanced at each other, the balance between fear and bravado tipping.
"Look," Lara said, softer now, "I'm not here to hand you over if you tell me the truth. Bandits don't scare me. Dragons, though… that's another matter."
The boys hesitated. The younger finally muttered, "We were supposed to meet the boss here. He's got a plan. Says he knows how to deal with the dragon. He's gone to the cave by the river."
Lara nodded, mind racing. "How many are left?"
"Five, maybe six. The boss is the only one who's not scared out of his mind."
Lara glanced at the sky—clouds darkening, night coming quick. "You two," she said, "head east. Go home. If I see you in these woods again, I'll let the real monsters have you."
They nodded, stumbling to their feet, barely looking back as they vanished into the underbrush.
Lara waited until they were gone, then let herself breathe.
She checked her sword, tightened her pack, and pressed on through the wet, tangled woods—toward the river, toward the cave, toward whatever trouble waited.
Her feet were wet. Her heart ached. She was tired and hungry, with a dozen aches in her bones.
But for the first time in weeks, she felt a little like herself.
Time to find these bandits and maybe the dragon, too.