He ignored the title—Marakhal—Shadow Lord—and looked over the camp. Four others—warriors he knew by scent and by the silence in which they stood. Loyal. Scarred. Patient.
"Who still follows me?" he asked quietly.
No one spoke. Then Shazi raised her chin. "All who remain."
He studied their faces, one by one, the flicker of firelight painting red across the planes of their skin. None flinched under his gaze. None looked away.
Satisfied, he nodded. "Then listen. We move before dawn. Maidan is falling. Thalorin will not stop until she has scoured every shadow that bore my name. We go to the forest."
A murmur passed through them. Shazi met his eyes again, dark and measuring. "The forest?" she said. "Even our kind avoid those trees."
"Which is why we'll be safe there."
He turned to Eliza. She stood still at the edge of the light, droplets gleaming on her hair, the line of her throat pale against the dark cloak. She looked like she belonged nowhere and yet had chosen this place anyway.
"Eat," he said to her, softer than he meant to. "Rest. We leave soon."
Shazi's gaze flicked between them, amusement returning in a quieter form. "So this is what unmade the great shadow prince," she murmured, half to herself. "Not war. Not magic. A woman."
Eliza met her stare without blinking. "If you're finished," she said evenly, "I'd rather not freeze before morning."
Shazi barked a short laugh and turned away. "I like her," she said, throwing another log into the fire.
Rakhal ignored them both. He crouched beside the flame, warming his hands briefly before gesturing to the others. "Pack what you can carry. We run light. No trail."
The warriors obeyed instantly, movements efficient and silent.
When they were ready, Eliza tried to shoulder one of the packs. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "No."
"I can walk," she said, defiant.
"You'll slow us."
"I've marched through worse terrain?—"
He lifted her before she could finish, his hands unyielding but careful. She gasped, glaring up at him, but he only adjusted his grip. "Then rest," he said. "The pace will kill you otherwise."
Shazi caught his eye and grinned, sharp and knowing. "Some things never change," she said quietly. "You always carry what you can't leave behind."
Rakhal didn't answer. He simply turned toward the dark horizon where the trees began, their silhouettes black against the paling sky.
"Move," he commanded.
They ran—five shadows and one human queen, vanishing into the mist that still rose from Maidan's burning edge.
The rain stopped. The wind carried the scent of pine and earth ahead of them. And beneath it, faint but growing, came the hum of something old and waiting—the forest that even orcs feared to name.
Rakhal tightened his hold on her.
This time, she didn't resist.
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Ancient trees consumed them.
It began as a line of black trees on the horizon and became an ocean of trunks and shadow, endless, breathing. Mist hung in the air like silk. The soil beneath their feet was damp and alive. No wind stirred the canopy. Even the birds were silent.
