THE ONLY PRINCE [High Fantasy Quest Adventure w/ Fae Romance]

Chapter Ten

ONE BY ONE.

A single set at first.

Then, another. And another.

Four. Six. Nine? I lose count.

Each set of prints seems to materialize out of thin air, as if the snow itself is birthing them into existence.

Some are large and heavy, leaving deep imprints that speak of great strength and weight. Others are delicate and precise, barely making a mark on the pristine white canvas.

All leading away from the darkness of the forest and moving closer to the cottage.

To me.

The hair on the back of my neck stands alert.

A cold sweat breaks out on my skin as I try to make sense of it. I turn away from the window, my pulse pounding in my veins. The silence of the cottage now feels oppressive, suffocating. A subtle heaviness settles in my chest. Where is Orion?

I call out for him, but my voice seems to be swallowed by the stillness of the night.

My mind races, trying to piece together what could be out there, leaving those tracks. A faint dizziness washes over me, as if the world is spinning gently around me. It must have something to do with that fae prince...

What other magic was he capable of? A Stormbringer, a necromancer, and now what?

My father's legends and stories of adventuring in magical foreign lands are all I know of magic. That somewhere on a mythical mountain a species of great snow leopard once lived. That in an enchanted forest, there were uncatchable golden deer with antlers of bronze.

Orion always claims that was many years ago, somewhere far away, somewhere "unreachable" now.

But the prince had certainly reached us.

Myths say fae are beautiful, elusive, humanlike creatures that are uninterested in mortals. Their realm is supposed to be luxurious, plentiful, and just as beautiful as they are.

Fae are not supposed to come to the mortal realm.

Every shadow in the room seems to flicker and dance, my ears straining for any sound beyond the walls of the cottage.

I clutch the soft, warm Daenara's pelt to my shaking body, drawing in its comforting scent as I gather the strength to step outside the room. The heavy fur is a shield against the chilly air that bites at my exposed skin.

My limbs hesitate to move, still aching with a dull numbness, still recovering from all the cold that has seeped into the marrow of my bones. My skin has lost some of the vibrance of my usual color, as if it too is struggling to regain its vitality. My sun kissed morning of gaining new freckles, of tanning, feels long ago.

Each movement is like pushing through a thick fog, my body and mind not quite in sync yet.

The floorboards creak beneath my weight, each sound reverberating through the silent cottage like a thunderclap.

I make my way through the hallway, the walls seeming to close in around me as I move down the stairs. The tension in the air grows thicker with every step I take, my senses on high alert for any sign of danger. Orion must have picked up the fallen candles because now they stand back in their usual place along the windowsills, the small flames casting eerie shadows that seem to twist and writhe on the walls.

As I reach the bottom step, a faint glimmer catches my eye. In the dim light of the candles, I see something on the table that wasn't there before. I approach cautiously, my heart racing in my chest. There, sitting delicately amidst scattered carvings and trinkets, is Jovanna's music box. The intricate carvings on the wooden surface glisten with a thin layer of that winter lace, evidence of the storm that had raged through earlier. It's in even worse condition now than when I had originally found it.