(Kael's POV)
Windholt was quiet—unnaturally so.
Kael tugged at his reins as his horse came to a slow stop near the edge of the woods. His guards stayed close behind, weapons within reach but not drawn. He preferred subtlety, for now.
A faint wisp of smoke curled in the air ahead, just over a crooked wooden house surrounded by half-dead trees and thorn bushes that looked like they were bred to keep people out.
"Well, this looks inviting," Kael muttered.
One of the guards shifted uneasily. "Sir, are we sure this is the right place?"
Kael gave him a dry look. "Does it look like I've ever been unsure?"
The man shut up.
He dismounted and approached carefully, boots crunching softly over dry leaves and scattered herbs. The place smelled of fire, earth, and something faintly sweet. Magic? Maybe.
The wooden door creaked open just before he could knock.
A blonde girl with piercing ocean-blue eyes stood there, one hand on the frame.
She wasn't what he expected.
She was more.
Taller than average, slim but with dangerous curves. Her expression was unreadable—cold, almost bored—but her gaze sparked with something else. Challenge, maybe. Or amusement. Her pale lips twitched just slightly.
"You came all the way here for tea?" she asked dryly. "Because you could've written."
Kael blinked.
Then grinned. "Freya, I presume."
She tilted her head. "Depends. Who's asking? And should I care?"
"Kael Morven," he said with a mock bow. "Advisor to Crown Prince Sebastian. I'm here... as a friend. Mostly."
"I'm fresh out of friends."
"Well," Kael said with a slight smirk, "lucky for you, I'm persistent."
Freya's eyes narrowed, but not in fear. No, she was sizing him up. Measuring his threat level. Which, to be fair, was something he usually enjoyed. But there was something in the air here—something he couldn't place.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she said flatly. "So if this is a royal interrogation, skip the theatrics and ask your questions."
Kael chuckled. "Fiery. I like that."
"Flattery will get you a bruised ego," she replied, stepping aside. "Come in before the forest decides you look tasty."
Kael exchanged a glance with his guards before stepping in.
The inside of the house was warmer than expected, filled with dried herbs, a half-burnt candle, and shadows that clung to corners like secrets. A small framed cloth hung on the wall—stitched words that read: "Trust no whisper. Listen to the silence."
"Nice décor," Kael murmured.
"She liked riddles," Freya said, her tone softer now. Just for a second. "Now... what does your prince want with me?"
Kael studied her. "There've been... reports. Strange lights. Earth split open and sealed again. Villagers whispering about a girl who shouldn't be here. You."
Freya rolled her eyes. "So I exist, and suddenly that's a problem."
"Not a problem," Kael said, "just... unusual."
Freya folded her arms. "Look, I didn't burn any crops, I haven't turned anyone into frogs, and I haven't murdered anyone in at least—" she paused, "—ever. So unless standing still is now considered a threat, I don't see what you're investigating."
He almost laughed. She was good. Really good.
"There's been talk of bringing you in for questioning."
"'Talk'," she echoed, unimpressed.
"Voluntarily," Kael added, more serious now. "No chains. No accusations. But... for your own safety, perhaps it's better you speak for yourself."
Freya went quiet, eyes flicking toward the darkened window.
She felt it too.
Something was off today. The wind outside had changed direction again. And that uneasy feeling—it wasn't gone. Like someone was still watching. Waiting.
"I'll come," she said after a pause. "But if this is a trick—"
"I don't lie to pretty girls," Kael grinned.
She gave him a sharp look. "Good. Because pretty girls can still bury you six feet under."
Kael raised his hands in mock surrender. "Duly noted."
---
(Freya's POV)
The forest behind her felt like it was holding its breath.
Even as she walked with them—one guard behind her, one ahead, Kael close at her side—she didn't relax. She kept her hands at her sides, her mind alert.
Miami… I wish you were here.
The old witch would've laughed. "Let them come," she'd say. "Let them try."
Freya swallowed the memory. Not now.
Not while eyes might still be watching from the trees.