The forest blurred into streaks of green and gold as the carriage plummeted down the ravine path, rattling like a dying beast. Branches whipped the windows. The horses—foam flinging from their mouths—charged blind, driven by terror and pain.
Aaron clung to Neria with one arm and the shattered window frame with the other. His shoulder screamed with every bounce, but he held on. If he loosened his grip for even a breath, the next violent lurch might tear his sister away.
Lira sagged against the wall, breath shallow, hand pressed to her bleeding shoulder. The wound pulsed with every heartbeat. She tried to sit upright but slumped as another jolt rocked the carriage.
"Stay awake," Aaron begged. "Please."
"I'm awake." Her voice rasped like stone scraping stone. "I'm not leaving you."
But Aaron saw what she wouldn't say. Her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers trembled around the slick blood soaking her dress.
The carriage skidded sideways, wheels shrieking. The right side rose off the ground before slamming down again. Neria yelped. Aaron shielded her head.
The forest pressed tighter. The path dropped steeper.
Someone wants us dead.
Aaron had known, in some distant way, since the arrows fell. But knowing was different from understanding. The terror of it had numbed him.
Until he saw it.
A flash—just a flicker between the trees.
A figure bounded down the slope parallel to them, moving effortlessly between trunks, boots hardly disturbing the leaves. An assassin. Cloak whispering like ripples, mask glinting between shadows.
For an instant, the assassin's sleeve snagged on a branch. The dark fabric pulled back, just enough for Aaron to see the wrist beneath.
A sigil.
A golden crest.
A wyvern curling around a crown.
The royal emblem of Avalon.
Aaron's heart punched his ribs.
No. He blinked, but the vision didn't vanish. It burned brighter.
Another assassin darted through the underbrush, and he too bore the same mark—stamped into a leather bracer, edges worn but unmistakable.
The Queen's crest.
Aaron's breath stuttered. His mouth went dry.
Not foreign. Not raiders. Not political rebels.
Royal assassins.
His own family's soldiers.
He felt the world tilt.
The assassins weren't chasing the carriage. They didn't need to. They had driven it exactly where they wanted. Their presence was merely a silent escort, ensuring the carriage continued its fatal descent.
Neria whimpered against his chest. Aaron barely heard her. His ears rang like struck metal.
The Queen wanted them dead.
The Queen—his father's wife.
His mother's rival.
His hand curled into a fist so tight his nails bit skin.
The forest thinned for a heartbeat, opening into a narrow bend. Sunlight flashed across the assassin's bracer again, sealing the truth like a blade sliding home.
His voice broke from him, ragged. "Mother... it's the Queen."
Lira's eyes lifted slowly, as if each blink cost her years. "What?"
"Their sigils." Aaron swallowed hard. The air burned his throat. "They're hers."
Lira's expression didn't shift in shock. It didn't need to. Her silence was answer enough.
"You knew," Aaron whispered.
A tremor ran through her arm. She didn't deny it.
"I suspected." Her breath hitched. "But I never thought she'd move this soon."
The carriage hit a dead branch lying across the trail. Wood cracked. Neria cried out as they bounced, nearly airborne.
Aaron twisted, trying to see ahead. The ravine curved sharply. Rocks jutted like jagged teeth. One bad turn would be enough—
Lira steadied herself, knuckles white where she gripped the bench. "Aaron. Look at me."
He did.
Her face—pale with pain, splattered with her own blood—held no fear now. Only a solemn, devastating certainty.
"You and Neria weren't supposed to be on this hunt."
Aaron felt something drop inside him, like a stone falling through water.
"I asked for permission," she continued. "I sent word to the Queen three days ago that we'd be joining. She denied the request."
Aaron blinked. "Denied? But we came."
"I insisted." A humorless breath escaped her. "I said you deserved a place in tradition. That you're nearly a man. She couldn't refuse publicly."
Aaron's mind spiraled. "So she arranged—"
"The route," Lira said softly. "She assigned our guards. She insisted we travel with only one carriage, separated from the main procession."
Another impact rocked them. Splinters stabbed through the floorboards.
Neria sobbed harder. Aaron hushed her, though his own throat burned with panic.
He turned back to Lira. "She planned this to kill you."
"And you," Lira whispered. "And Neria."
"But why us?" Aaron's voice cracked. "We're not threats. I'm just—I'm nobody compared to my brothers."
Lira's gaze pierced him, steady despite the blood trailing down her cheek.
"You're the King's son."
Aaron's breath hitched.
"The Queen would rather kill a child," Lira continued, "than allow a rival bloodline to exist beside her own sons."
Aaron shook his head violently. "But Father would never allow—"
"The King is dying." Lira didn't soften it. "He hasn't risen from his bed in weeks."
Aaron felt the floor tilt under him in a way that had nothing to do with the carriage's movement. His father. Dying. The man he'd barely seen in recent months, always too busy with councils and wars and politics.
"Your older brothers," Lira said, voice raw, "are tearing the court in half fighting over succession. The Queen knows whichever brother wins will still consider you a threat. A third prince. A child the nobles could rally behind if the throne ever wavers."
Another shudder ran through the carriage. The horses skidded on loose soil, hooves flailing.
Aaron's pulse thundered. "So she wants us out of the way before the succession is decided."
"She wants us erased." Lira winced, pressing her shoulder. "She wants the gold line ended today. Before the court realizes the King is nearly gone."
Aaron's stomach twisted into knots. His own heartbeat felt like a drum inside his skull.
"My brothers..." he whispered. "Do they know?"
"They don't," Lira said. "But they wouldn't stop her. They have their own wars to fight. You and Neria are nothing but obstacles to them now."
The words cut deeper than any arrow. His brothers—the first prince, the second prince—had never been close to him. Different mothers, different courts, different worlds. But he'd never imagined they'd stand by while he was murdered.
Aaron looked out the window again.
The assassins ran parallel to the cliff now, silent shadows weaving through trees with inhuman precision. They didn't hurry. They didn't need to.
They had already won.
"They'll make it look like an accident," Lira murmured. "A tragic fall during the ceremonial hunt. They'll mourn us publicly. They'll blame the terrain. They'll bury us with honors."
Aaron's fingers shook against Neria's hair. "They'll bury lies."
"Yes," Lira said quietly. "And the court will believe every word."
The carriage jolted sharply as the left wheel hit a root. The entire frame lurched sideways. Wood cracked. Something groaned beneath them.
Lira heard it too.
Her eyes widened. "The axle... Aaron—"
A screech tore through the undercarriage.
Pieces of wood spat up into the cabin.
Neria shrieked and clung to Aaron's tunic, her eight-year-old frame trembling violently.
The left wheel wobbled.
The path bent. The ravine edge loomed like a hungry mouth.
"Aaron," Lira gasped. "Hold her tight. Don't let her go."
He tightened his grip around Neria, arms locked like iron. His own ribs protested but he didn't loosen.
"I won't," he said through gritted teeth. "I won't let go."
Lira dragged herself toward them, bracing with her good hand, using her heel to keep from sliding as the carriage tilted.
She reached him—touched his cheek with trembling fingers.
"My son..." she whispered. "If we fall—"
"We're not falling," Aaron said sharply. "We're not. We'll survive this. We have to."
Her smile was soft, agonizing. "You sound like your father. Back when he was still himself."
The wheel caught a stone.
A deafening crack split the air.
The axle snapped.
The carriage pitched violently to the right.
For a moment, the world hung in a strange, suspended quiet. The horses screamed. Wood groaned. Leaves swirled inside the cabin like dying sparks.
Lira's eyes widened with a terror she had hidden until now.
"Aaron—!"
Then the world dropped.
The carriage rolled sideways, tearing from the horses. The door smashed open. Wind blasted inside as the ravine yawned beneath them.
Neria wailed, her scream piercing through the chaos.
Aaron locked both arms around her, twisting his body between her and the splintering wall. He wouldn't let her hit anything. He wouldn't let her get hurt.
Lira lunged toward them, her good arm reaching—
The carriage hit a jutting stone—
—lifted into the air—
—and tumbled over the edge.
Down, into the ravine's shadowed maw.
The world became a spinning nightmare of breaking wood, screaming wind, and his sister's terrified cries. Aaron held her. He held her through every impact, every lurch, every bone-jarring collision.
He held her even as darkness rushed up to meet them.