Liam gasped as Grace fell back, limp in his arms, surrendered to his strength. "Grace!" he breathed urgently, concerned that they had harmed her more than he had realized. He was relieved when he felt, more than saw, the rising and falling of her chest. Guilt flooded his heart and pounded him down as he lifted her tenderly up into his grasp. He realized that all of this was his fault...and if he had never mixed her up with his life she would have been safe and warm at home.

"I'm so sorry Grace." He whispered to her unconscious form, his eyes resting on her face which he could barely see in the flickering torch light. She was beautiful...and innocent and pure, and he had entangled her in the King's web of evil and his own uncertain future. His eyes focused upon a long slice adorning one of her cheeks, and rage tightened within him. He pulled her gently closer to himself, and turned to Stendar, who was staring down expressionlessly at the, former, Vayondian interrogator.

"We have to get out of here." Liam hissed, making the older man turn. "I'm sure the King would take great delight in finding us here and I do not plan on granting him yet another twisted pleasure."

Stendar inclined his head toward the hall, leading the way out into the darkness of the dungeon. The two men stalked down the way, passing rows of cells with thick wooden doors and small barred windows. The air felt tight, and a static feeling of danger clung to their minds as they hurried toward their planned exit. When they reached the end of the hall, they stopped. To their left was a corner, turning and joining with another passageway. To their right was a blank wall, oddly placed where another cell should have been, and straight ahead was the stairs leading out of the place.

Stendar took a step forward, and groped along the plain wall, his fingers searching for a minute crevice. This was their way of escape, and Liam waited, his breath caught in his throat, for the wall to slide back and admit them.

As if to answer their unspoken fears, above them on the landing leading down, there was a loud click, as the bolt for the door slid back. A flickering torch light appear, and the heaving breathing of the jail guard could be heard. Stendar gritted his teeth, and willed himself to find the opening....suddenly then he felt his finger slip into a hole and he pressed on it solidly. The wall sunk in, opening just enough to allow him an Liam, and Grace, to enter.

Liam held Grace tight to him as he hurried in. Just as the wall eased back into it's place, the sentry finished his descent. The light from his torch played on the stones, and he let out a sigh. "Must have been my imagination...."

****

Morning. It always seemed to come with the promise of something great. With the assurance of hope, light, and goodness. The grim twilight hours were washed away into a new morning, the moon was tucked behind the horizon, it's white light quenched by the bright rays of the sun. The flowers danced and opened, and the breezes kissed those lucky enough to be awake to witness the birth of the new day.

The many forests of Vayond were no exception to this beauty. In the early hours, their leaves were painted pink, light orange, and yellow, and the wind rustled them like a soft peaceful song. There were a rare few who could be found enjoying mother natures unsung spectacle...but Liam and his mentor Stendar were two of such men.

After fleeing the castle, avoiding any foolish guards who had given chase, they had settled some 20 miles away in a section of one of the many spans of trees that flanked Dravon. They had made a camp, using whatever they could lay hands on to create beds. Luckily, in their saddle bags, Liam had found several blankets which he had laid out as bed for Grace, insisting that neither Stendar nor him needed them as much as she would during the night. That morning, Liam and his friend had risen with the sun, but Grace still lay unconscious upon her bed on the ground.

Now, at 7:30 in the morning, Liam sat across the fire from the sleeping Grace, his eyes fixed upon her, his body brittle, waiting for the moment when she would stir and awaken. He had worried about her greatly during the night, especially after having seen how serious of wounds whip-lashes could be, and now sat here anxiously at his vigil. His gaze wavered for a moment, and he let out a sigh, thinking of how his night had been spent mostly sleepless, kept up by guilt and his concern for her. He wondered briefly why his feelings had such control over him, since he had never let his emotions take so much hold, before . But Grace...there was something he felt for her which he couldn't describe, and he knew was only beginning to blossom with in his heart. His blue eyes trailed back to look at Grace's face, and he prayed that soon she would wake. I swear I'll never leave you again...

Grace felt warm. Surprisingly warm. The air was not damp, the ground was not hard. Where was she? What happened? She shifted very slightly, then hissed with sudden pain as her movement creased the ruts in her back. The fire that raged through the wounds woke her up completely, but she kept her eyes tightly shut. What was the last thing that happened before she blacked out? There was the interrogator, the wooden pole, the whip, the whip, the whip... The whip. Had she passed out because of the whip? Loss of blood? Too much pain? She took a deep breath and slowly cracked her eyes open. She was on her side (the mostly uninjured one), covered in blankets, staring at a warm fire. She blinked in utter astonishment. It took a moment for her eyes to focus completely, and she gazed at the leaping flames while her head struggled to clear the cobwebs from her brain. Then her focus shifted to what could be seen through the flames.

Liam.

In spite of herself, she gasped aloud and drew back, increasing the fire that blazed up her back and side. The memories of her last few lucid minutes flooded her mind and she knew exactly what was going on.

"Liam!" Nothing else would escape past her suddenly very dry lips and the breathless and fearful beating of her heart made her quake.

-----------------------------

As everybody settled in, Telwyn rapidly put together a small fire. Her movements were short, efficient and quick, but if you looked very hard, you might notice that there was a little less energy in the way she set about her work. In fact, when the little flames began to flicker upwards, past the small branches she had placed on top of the moss, she leaned back on her heels and rested her hands on her knees with a soft sigh. She set her gaze on the fire and was quiet for a while.

Liam's head snapped up at the sound of Grace's voice. His thoughts wrenched away from anything besides her, and his eyes locked on upon her face, twisted in a expression of pain and confusion. His mouth went dry, and in a swift motion he was at his feet, his hands curled by his sides. "Grace!" he said, trying to keep the urgency from his tone, the almost excitement, the rush of his heart from affecting his voice. She's awake... Relief seeped into him, and he edged around the fire, coming closer to wear she lay.

"Uh..." he began, biting his tongue. He was suddenly at a loss for any words; or any anything. What should he say? What could he say? "I, um....." he glanced down for a moment, kicking himself inwardly. With an almost pleading expression he looked back up, blue eyes locking with hers. "Hello." It was simple, and he could find nothing else to say. Stupid...can't you find anything better!? You've talked to other ladies before! But she is different...

Micah surveyed the serene little meadow Telwyn had led them into. The tall, soft grass and the gentle moonlight cascading from above made the area an oasis of comfort in the midst of the usually harsh wood. He could hear a low melody of crickets, hidden amidst the grass like tiny musicians, playing their harps in harmony. Without even thinking about it he breathed a short sigh of relief; after a long day of travel through difficult terrain, this was the sort of place where one would be glad to stop.

“I must say, Telwyn, you are quite good at your job,” he said with a hint of mirth, stepping through the grass toward the center of the meadow.

It wasn’t long before they had built a small fire to ward off the only unpleasant element the meadow had to offer - the gnawing chill. The group took their seats in a circle around the dancing flame, and roasted some strips of venison left over from a previous meal. The end result wasn’t pleasurable to the tongue, but it satisfied the stomach, and that was really the most one could ask for.

Micah had casually made sure to be seated by Susanne, whose company he had come to enjoy more than anyone else’s in the group. It especially pleased him to see that she had definitely recovered significantly since that first night he met her, when she collapsed half-dead upon the steps of the smithy. He found himself thinking about that night now, with keen interest. “Tell me about yourself, Susanne,” he asked, not in a demanding way, but with marked curiosity.

-------

Tristan rode into camp with an angry and sickened demeanor. He knew they had failed their mission; Evewen had reached her father’s ship, and the rings were now beyond reach. Failure was not something Tristan took well – and he knew Sephora would take it even less so. This knowledge had made him quite out of sorts the entire trip back, as he mentally rehearsed excuses and justifications for the failure. Still, he knew none of these would lessen her wrath, and that only made him angrier as he prepared to meet her head on. He wasn’t one to grovel or whimper under punishment.

After dismounting, Tristan didn’t hesitate a moment with any attempts to delay the inevitable rebuke. He marched quickly and decidedly to Sephora’s tent at the center of camp and pushed his way into her audience. Before she even uttered a word, he shot her a fiery glare.

“Your daughter is a poisonous and infernal toad, and this band would’ve been better off if we had fed her to wolves the day she was born!” He growled, releasing all of the anger that had swelled up in him the whole trip back. His arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps tensed to the point that veins were showing, as he awaited her reply with a heavy glower.

Susanne thought the place they had stopped to rest for the night was beautiful. Again it made her grateful for a guide, and her skills in the forest regions of Vayond. Even if the clearing, with the soft swaying grass, was not as serene and magical, she would have appreciated it as a place to sleep after an exhausting day.

The meal was not lavish, but it was something, and you grew to like the tough pieces of cooked venison, especially if you had experienced half starving before. After their simple dinner, Susanne found herself seated on the blades of green grass beside Micah, with the blanket wrapped around herself. The warmth of the flame was sufficient, but the woolen fabric pressed against her skin brought a sense of home and security; something she longed to have truly once again.

She looked up at Micah as he asked her a question, and she cracked a smile, her tired eyes going up to meet his. "What would you like to know?" she sighed, not sadly, but in a reminiscing sort of fashion. "I'm afraid my life is quite a mix of sad, happy, and embarrassing tales, just like everyone else's." She brought her knees to her chest, and gazed into the fire. "I was raised by my uncle; at his house in the meadows outside of a village. It wasn't a fancy upbringing, but I was never left to be hungry, and he was kind to me. " she plucked a few pieces of grass. "When I grew older I....I moved away. Because my uncle was aged, and I was afraid I was hindering his chances of every marrying. After I left him though, I always felt like I had a shadow constantly watching me. Looking over my shoulder at everything I did, and anywhere I went. I worked at an inn for some time." She bit her lip, remembering back on things not so long ago, but seemed so far away because of her ordeal. "I must have done that for a year, maybe two. And then, one day, I was attacked. I managed to escape whatever it was, and hide in the inn, but the manager didn't want anything of me if I had someone out to kill me. So he made me leave...." she looked at his hand which was pressed to the ground beside him. "And I think you know from there."

Micah listened intently as Susanne shared the story of her life. He couldn't help wondering why the Hunters would be after such an innocent and helpless young woman. What did she ever do, to deserve her whole life being turned upside down like this? When she finished, he gave her a friendly smile. "Yes, from there it's been nothing but bandits, murderers, and cold nights." He meant it as a joke, but it was too true to be funny. "I have to say, you've taken it all so well considering the hardships. I mean, I haven't heard you complain once. Not all of us are so patient through it all."

"I figured that griping wouldn't change anything." Susanne said softly. "It couldn't help my circumstances and once I was rescued by you, I was too thankful to complain. At least I had some friends." She sighed, wearily, feeling her blue eyes flutter with exhaustion. Various things had made previous nights of sleep broken, and she hoped this night would be different.

Her head drooped slightly as silence took the group again, and the flames continued to warm and dance. They were strangely intoxicating...lulling you into peace. Susanne covered a small yawn, and leaned her head on her right arm, supporting it while still looking fixedly at the fire. She sleepily thought about everything that had happened, and how lucky she was to have been sheltered by those who sat around her. She bit her lip, trying to stay awake, despite the deepening darkness and the pull to slumber. With a final sigh her head slipped off her arm and dropped soundlessly to rest on Micah's shoulder.

Micah was staring dismally into the fire amid the quiet group, wondering uselessly what the future held for them, when he felt Susanne's head fall softly onto his shoulder. He glanced down at her; her eyes were shut tight with weariness, and the slow cadence of her breaths suggested she was asleep. Her face looked so peaceful and beautiful in the dancing firelight, framed by the gentle flow of her soft hair.

He gently put his arm around her, lifting the blanket back into place from where it had slipped off her shoulder. He guessed the others were probably watching, but he didn't care. He sighed contentedly as he realized; despite all the terrible circumstances of the past week, he wouldn't trade any of it if it meant he would never meet Susanne. He still had no idea what the future would bring, but it didn't seem so hopeless. Being near her, to keep her from danger, was all he wanted or needed now. A faint smile spread on his face, as he found new resolve and purpose in this single realization: he loved Susanne.

"Rest well," he whispered into her dreams, and held her tight.

A yawn escaped Shyanne's lips as she gazed into the fire. She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come. Not even the rippling flames could lull her to sleep.

She sat upright, her legs pulled close to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. The cloak that Evewen had given her was meticulously arranged around her, to block out the cold night air. The hood was up, obscuring her delicate features.

However, despite her masked appearance, she could see everything and everyone around her.

Silence engulfed the entire group as they bedded down for the night. Even Telwyn was silent for the time being.

She heard Micah speak quietly and she glanced up. Her eyes widened at the sight and her chest tightened. There, directly across the fire, Micah sat with his arm around Susanne as she slept, her head peacefully cradled on Micah's shoulder. Shyanne took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. How could this be? she thought frantically.

All that she had hoped and longed for for years, now seemed ridiculous and impossible at this point in time. Why hadn't she seen it sooner?

Shyanne frowned, closed her eyes and wished sleep would come quickly.

Earlier that day...

Callan Smith's job was to clean up the messes that often happened in a place like a livery. To say that the dirty work was left to him could be an accurate statement, but he was an apprentice. And apparently, that was what apprentices did.

It wasn't that he minded it, because he didn't. At all. In fact, he had chosen his trade with a clear head, a clean conscience, and dirty boots. Many people didn't understand why the son of a blacksmith would stoop to working at the livery. The truth was, Callan loved it. He had always loved working with horses, and blacksmithing had never appealed to him, despite his father's profession. So it was that Callan decided to apprentice at the livery, and most days, he never looked back. Even if it meant that he got cleaning-the-stalls duty more often than not.

He wrapped his fingers around the rough wooden handle of the pitchfork and lifted another scoop into the small wooden wheelbarrow next to him. "That should do it," he mumbled to himself, propping the pitchfork against the wall. He dusted off his hands, stepping back to admire his finished work. Not that he was done, of course--he still had ten more stalls to clean. Before he could do that, though, he had to dispose of the manure and soiled hay that had already accumulated from the first ten stalls.

He took a quick swig of water, then picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and rolled it out of the barn to the compost heap.

"Callan!" A familiar voice called to him as he dumped the load.

"Yes, sir?" He nodded in respect to Mr. Fabian, his kind but strict employer, who was standing about ten feet away talking to a customer.

"Please take this horse to the stables and brush him down." Mr. Fabian gestured to a nearby mare--not an uncommon sight in Callan's world.

He nodded again, this time in obedience. "Yes, sir."

Grace trembled, staring into Liam's eyes, pulling back further and clutching the blanket as though it could protect her. How? Why? Why? Why? "W- why'd you have to do that?" she finally managed to choke out, her voice a little shaky. "You- you're an outlaw! And now I am too!! You spend your life on the run and now you've dragged me into that lifestyle as well! You- you-!" She lost her voice at that point and one little tear wrote a line down her dirty, blood spattered cheek.

------------------------------------

Telwyn raised her eyes from the wavering flame and looked at Micah. A strange expression flickered across her face, but the next instant it was swallowed up by a huge grin and silent laughter. She stood, laughing, and gazed down at the slumbering girl on Micah's shoulder.
"Well," she murmured, switching her gaze from Susanne to Micah, "I suppose you're a little busy just now. I have to go cover our trail. Want to wake her and come with me?" She raised an eyebrow somewhat challengingly, that strangely mischievous glint in her bright eyes.

Liam should have expected this. He should have known that what he had thrust Grace into would be hard for her to accept. But for some odd reason, as she burst out at him, he felt a cold shot of ice run down his heart. He sighed, eye lids pressing closed, biting his lip, as he knelt down beside her on the ground. "Grace, listen, I'm sorry." he said softly, "I should have told you who I was in the first place. I should have left your town sooner. There are a lot of things I should have done." he ran a hand down his face. "But I can't take it all back down, and I wouldn't want to, because I wouldn't have met you."

He took a deep breath, and reached out, wiping the tear from her dirty cheek with his thumb. "Grace, I'm the Prince of Vayond." his head fell as he made the confession, and stared at the ground. I'm so sorry..... he thought.

Grace jerked backwards as though Liam's finger had stung her. That... That couldn't be true. Prince of Vayond!? She knew he was a desperate character, but this-... This was a bit much.

Slowly, she got to her feet, fire zipping up her side and back as she felt a trickle of warm blood begin to ooze out of the wounds. For a moment, she stared down at him, her face twisted into a grimace of internal pain, lower lip trembling. "How could you?" she whispered, "How could you just waltz in and toy with my heart so cavalierly? How could you try to tell me that you don't regret all this just so you could meet me? How can you possibly think that I could believe that you care for me now? And how could you expect me to believe something like that that is so-... So-...!" She couldn't find the right word to describe it, so bit her lower lip to hold back the tears, then turned her back on him and walked away, holding the blanket tight around her and nestling her head in the coarse fabric.

Micah gave her a steady glance, disliking her laughing tease but not apologetic. "I think you can handle it yourself, Telwyn," he answered evenly, and gave a gesturing nod towards the wood. "Just don't get yourself lost." That small prompting somewhere deep within that had kept him suspicious of her this whole time spoke up once again, suggesting he shouldn't let her take off on her own, but he ignored it. At the moment, all the cares and worries of their predicament had been set aside, and he was content to sit here, with Susanne. He wasn't going to let Telwyn ruin that.

Micah sat by the fire for a while longer, thinking of almost nothing, simply enjoying the temporary peace that would surely be gone by morning, when the worries of the real world returned. He glanced down at Susanne, still slumbering peacefully, a faint smile proving that she too was free of worries for the moment. He gently slid his arm behind her back and let her lie down in the soft grass, then lifted the blanket over her delicately. He moved a few yards away to his own spot and lay down for the night, falling promptly asleep.

"Grace...please..." Liam pleaded, eyes stinging harshly with tears. He stood slowly as she walked away, not believing what he had just heard. Barely being able to stomach the fact that everything had just seemed to fall apart. He felt like he had been slapped across the face. Or worse...had a dagger dug straight into his heart. And the most terrible part was - she was right. How could he? What right did he have!? Why had he? Why had he done what he had done? He had thought it the right thing to quietly pursue that small aching in his heart whenever he was around her...he had thought it the only thing to do when she had been captured was to rescue her.

But no, she was right. He shouldn't wish this all to happen to her just so he could meet her. That was selfish, and went against all the things Stendar had raised him in. He sucked in a pained breath, not daring to look at Grace's back. A tear, lonely, salty, wet, rolled down his cheek and he left it fall. It would be the first time he cried in years. "You're right." he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

He turned around, staring off into the forest, eyes flicking as Stendar silently came back into the camp site, holding wood. His mentor opened his mouth but saw Liam's miserable expression and snapped his jaw shut.

You're right Grace. I had no right. None. Liam thought as he shook his head in Stendar's direction, and sat back down, facing the fire. But I am the Prince/ If anything I've ever said to you is true it's that.... he took a breath and closed his eyes, wondering how this would end.