After hours of punishment disguised as travel, the wagon crossed an intersection, and the world shifted beneath it.

  The grinding, bone-jarring churn softened into something almost civilized. Not smooth, exactly—but steady. Predictable. The violence of the road eased so abruptly that it took Xulian a heartbeat to realize why her teeth had stopped rattling.

  …Oh.

  Her body reacted before her mind did, tension bleeding out of muscles she hadn’t realized were clenched. The ache didn’t vanish, but it dulled, retreating from sharp protest into a manageable throb. She let out a breath she hadn’t meant to release, irritation giving way to reluctant relief.

  She glanced down.

  Stone.

  Proper stone. Set clean and deliberate beneath the wheels, fitted tight, edges worn smooth by use rather than neglect. Not the broken mess of roots and half-buried rubble they’d been dragged across since leaving Marlow’s ruins, but a road that actually deserved the name.

  So that’s what a maintained road feels like, she thought dryly.

  Figures it shows up after I’m already half-bruised to death.

  The forest didn’t soften around it.

  It was cut.

  Trunks and undergrowth pressed close on either side, wild and unchecked, branches leaning inward as if testing the boundary. Moss crept along exposed roots. Ferns crowded the edges. But the stone held firm, a clean line driven straight through the green like a blade, nothing daring to reclaim it.

  Xulian followed the line of cobblestone with open curiosity, gaze tracing where the forest stopped short, where growth simply… failed.

  This shouldn’t work, she thought.

  Not like this.

  The forests weren’t tame. She’d learned that the hard way a few times along the way when the soldiers had to defend against stray monsters attacking their march. Even abandoned structures had been half-swallowed in places, stone cracked and split by roots that refused to respect human intention.

  You don’t just keep a road like this alive in the middle of a forest, she thought.

  Not without something fighting back.

  Her mind reached, instinctively, for the answer that made the least amount of sense and therefore the most.

  Magic, she decided.

  It has to be.

  She eyed the stones again, expression sharpening.

  Either that, she amended, or the people here are absurdly stubborn.

  The wagon rolled on.

  Beside her, Cilian noticed the shift without meaning to.

  It was subtle. A change in how she sat. The way her gaze stopped skimming and started following, tracking the road with intent rather than endurance. Despite his lingering unease, something in his chest tightened.

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

  Her expression wasn’t soft, exactly—but it was alive. Alert. Curious in a way that felt unguarded. The resemblance struck him before he could stop it.

  A cat, he thought absurdly.

  Careful. Watchful. Ready to pounce.

  The thought lingered longer than it should have.

  A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips before he caught himself. He looked forward again, reins steady in his hands, unsure why the sight had unsettled him.

  He didn’t speak.

  Not yet.

  The clatter of wheels and hoofbeats drew Xulian’s attention before she could fully finish dismantling the road in her head.

  Movement ahead.

  From between the trees, a caravan emerged.

  Not a desperate one. Not cautious.

  Polished wagon wheels caught the sunlight. Canvas covers were properly tied. The escorts flanking them—adventurers by the look of their gear—walked with weapons at their sides but hands relaxed, posture loose. Axes slung without urgency. Swords sheathed without tension.

  The merchants leaned out as they passed, calling greetings.

  Friendly ones.

  Xulian stared.

  They weren’t running.

  They weren’t braced.

  They weren’t even wary.

  They waved.

  They laughed.

  Voices carried easily across the cobblestones, playful shouts traded between merchants and soldiers marching alongside her wagon. Someone cracked a joke she didn’t catch. Someone else responded with a cheer.

  For a heartbeat, it felt less like a military road near a hostile border and more like—

  A festival, she thought incredulously.

  Her gaze flicked from face to face.

  This is wrong.

  The forest was dangerous. She knew that now. The Surillian border was close. She knew that too. And yet—

  No fear, she realized.

  Not even a hint.

  Her brows drew together as she tried to reconcile the scene with everything she’d learned so far.

  The soldiers responded in kind, calling back greetings, laughter rolling over the steady cadence of marching boots. The sound echoed along the stone, rhythmic, almost comforting.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  They trust this, she realized.

  The road. The patrols. Each other.

  The idea lodged in her mind, uncomfortable and fascinating all at once.

  How can anyone be this at ease here?

  She leaned forward slightly, scanning details with clinical attention. Laughter lines around a merchant’s eyes. The easy grip on a sword hilt that wasn’t ready to draw. A young man waved enthusiastically at a soldier, who returned it with a grin.

  Her outer expression barely shifted.

  Inside, curiosity buzzed sharp and insistent.

  This world keeps violating my expectations, she thought.

  And I keep realizing how flimsy those expectations were.

  The caravan passed, wagons jostling lightly as they disappeared around a bend, voices fading into the forest.

  Xulian exhaled softly, eyes lingering on the tracks left behind.

  Different, she thought.

  Everything about this road is different.

  Cilian rode a little closer.

  He didn’t speak immediately. Just watched her with that quiet, hesitant attention that had become far too familiar over the last stretch of travel. Her fascination with something as mundane as a trade caravan made him acutely aware of the silence between them.

  He wanted to fill it.

  He didn’t know how.

  Lilian leaned subtly toward him.

  She pressed her fingertips together, then tilted her wrist toward Xulian, eyes sparkling with unmistakable intent. When that didn’t work, she exaggerated the motion just enough to be impossible to miss, brows lifting in pointed insistence.

  Cilian blinked.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then color crept faintly up his neck.

  She’s serious, he realized.

  She’s trying to—

  He exhaled quietly and cleared his throat.

  “This road,” he began, voice low, measured, careful not to intrude, “is part of one of the trade routes between Belgruim and Aulin.”

  Xulian turned her head toward him.

  The movement was small. Deliberate.

  Her attention locked onto him in a way that made his grip tighten slightly on the reins.

  “Mondholz,” he continued, choosing his words with visible care, “is a key rest stop along it. Merchants come through often. The road is patrolled by both Belgruim soldiers and Aulin Forest Guardians. It’s… relatively safe.”

  He’s watching me, Xulian realized.

  She noted the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes, the slight stiffness in his posture.

  He’s trying not to upset me.

  The thought surprised her more than it should have.

  A flicker of guilt twisted in her chest.

  Why does he care so much how I react? He's a prince, this shouldn't matter to him at all.

  Cilian shifted slightly. “It’s not just a stopping point,” he added gently. “Mondholz handles timber from the surrounding forests. A lot of the South’s wood passes through there. Being close to the border makes it important to both Belgruim and Aulin.”

  She watched his hands as he spoke. The way his fingers flexed, adjusted, and steadied themselves.

  He’s nervous, she realized.

  Because of me?

  She hadn’t meant to ignore him before. Not really. But she hadn’t reached out either.

  I was cold, she admitted to herself.

  And now he’s walking on glass.

  She shifted slightly on the wagon, careful not to draw attention, thoughts circling him despite herself.

  Why does he even care?

  And yet—a strange warmth she has never felt crept in where irritation should have been.

  “How far,” she asked quietly, breaking the moment before it grew heavier, “until Mondholz?”

  Cilian exhaled, relief faint but present. “A few hours,” he said. “We’ll reach it by nightfall. We’ll rest there before moving toward Gilium.”

  She nodded once.

  “The main force will stay in Mondholz,” he continued. “We’ll take a boat from there, closer to Gilium. Saves about half a day.”

  So that’s the plan, she thought.

  “And the leak?” she asked after a beat, eyes still on his hands rather than his face.

  “I have a plan,” he replied simply.

  No bravado. No insistence.

  Just certainty.

  Something in her eased.

  As the town finally rose ahead—forest breaking abruptly into cleared land, stone walls catching the last light of the setting sun—Xulian felt something else settle in her chest.

  Not arrival.

  A pause.

  Mondholz was… larger than she expected.

  Stone walls reinforced with wooden palisades. A river running clean and deliberate alongside it. Structures clustered with intent.

  They call this a town? she thought.

  By medieval standards, this is practically a city.

  She filed the thought away, faint amusement curling at its edge.

  My frame of reference is broken, she realized.

  Figures.

  As they rolled inside, she felt it clearly.

  This is where paths decide whether they keep crossing.

  She didn’t speak right away.

  Then, softly, almost to herself, she wondered whether she should keep walking alongside theirs—or finally choose her own.

  Find my own way, she thought.

  The idea lingered.

  It sat in Xulian’s mind like a stone that refused to sink, heavy and quietly insistent. Mondholz’s walls were already in sight now, the last light of the setting sun catching on stone and timber as the wagons slowed. The moment felt… final in a way she hadn’t expected.

  Is this where we stop pretending I belong here?

  She shifted on the wagon, fingers tightening briefly in her lap before she spoke. “So…” Her voice came out softer than she intended. “Is this where we part ways?”

  The question slipped into the space between them, unguarded.

  Lilian turned first, surprise flashing across her face. “Part ways?”

  Xulian nodded, eyes drifting back toward the approaching town. I’m not part of the force. I’m not part of Cilian’s party. I’ve just been… here. The thought left a faint ache behind it, one she hadn’t realized had grown so quietly. I got used to this. To her. Talking with Luim about cultivation like it was normal.

  Luim frowned openly now, looking between them as if she’d just suggested something deeply unreasonable. “Why would you leave here?”

  “Because this is Mondholz,” Xulian said simply. “You have your route. Your obligations.” Your lives. “And I…” She paused, searching for the shape of the truth. I need to figure out my own path. My own dao, apparently. The thought came with a dry, internal snort. Great. First milestone: not being a stowaway.

  Silence followed, stretched thin and uncomfortable.

  It was Lilian who broke it, a little too quickly. “You don’t have to go alone,” she said. “You could come with me. To the temple.” Her eyes brightened as the idea took hold. “You could meet Luim’s master.”

  Luim straightened at once. “Yes. Master would want to meet her. Especially after—” He stopped himself, but the look he gave Xulian was earnest, almost hopeful. “You help me understand things. My circulation, my focus. I don’t want that to just… end.”

  Since when did that matter this much to me? Xulian wondered, caught off guard by the warmth that followed. She hadn’t meant to make a point. She’d just been… thinking aloud.

  Cilian hadn’t spoken yet.

  She felt his attention like pressure, and when she finally looked at him, she caught the brief tightening of his jaw before his expression smoothed back into careful neutrality.

  “That may not be wise,” he said, a touch too evenly. “Given the circumstances under which we found her.”

  Xulian blinked.

  He continued, words coming faster now, as if he were justifying something to himself as much as to the others. “She wasfound in a dungeon connected to sensitive matters. Until we determine how much information may have been compromised, she remains an important witness.” His gaze flicked toward her, then away. “Which means she should remain under protection.”

  Under protection, she repeated silently. Is that what this is?

  Vel watched him closely, eyes narrowing just a fraction before she looked away again, thoughtful.

  Lilian tilted her head. “So… you’re saying she shouldn’t leave?”

  “I’m saying,” Cilian corrected, “that it would be irresponsible to let her travel alone. Especially not so close to the border.”

  Funny, Xulian thought. He didn’t sound this responsible when he was cowering away after that incident.

  Luim seized on it immediately. “Then she can come with us,” he said, as if the matter were settled. “To the temple, its in the capital and close to the palace.”

  Xulian opened her mouth, then hesitated. They’re all deciding very quickly for people who didn’t realize I might leave five minutes ago.

  She exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t trying to disappear,” she said. “I just… didn’t know if I was supposed to stay.” Her gaze drifted back to Mondholz’s gates as they loomed closer. I don’t even know what ‘staying’ means yet.

  Lilian reached out, resting a hand lightly on her arm. “You don’t have to decide everything now,” she said gently. “Just… don’t decide alone.”

  Something eased in Xulian’s chest at that.

  Cilian said nothing more, but she caught the way his shoulders relaxed, just slightly, as if a tension he hadn’t acknowledged had finally loosened.

  So this is how it happens, she thought. No declarations. No contracts. Just people realizing, a little too late, that someone matters.

  The wagons rolled forward, walls rising beside the river in the fading light, as they approached the now visible gate that marked the entry.

  Xulian watched it all in silence, the question no longer sharp, but still unanswered.

  Maybe I don’t know my dao yet, she thought, a trace of dry amusement threading through the uncertainty. But for now… I’ll walk this stretch with them