The moon hung low, its silver light filtering through the tangled branches of the forest. A thin mist hugged the ground, curling around the bare feet of a young man limping along the narrow dirt path. He wore tattered clothes, and his face, half-hidden behind a mop of dark hair, was smudged with dirt and despair. Each step seemed to take more out of him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of something heavier than fatigue.
A broken lute dangled from his back; its strings snapped, and the wood splintered. It might have once been a source of melody, of joy, but now it was just another relic of the life he’d left behind. Or rather, the life that had abandoned him. A faint line of scar tissue ran along his jaw—a souvenir from the last town he’d begged in. The townsfolk didn’t like drifters, especially ones who sang stories of long-forgotten glories and their sharp-edged failures.
But now, he walked without song, no words, no tune, just the sound of his breath—a rasp in the cold night air.
Ahead, a golden glow flickered through the trees. Firelight, faint but steady. He hesitated, his bare feet rooting themselves to the damp earth. The last time he’d approached such a light, it had been a trap, a cruel trick played by boys barely older than him. He still bore the bruises on his ribs. But hunger gnawed at him now, a sharper pain than even his pride could ignore.
His feet moved forward before his mind caught up, his body driven by the hope of warmth, food, or maybe just the faintest scrap of kindness.
The fire was not as big as it had seemed, a modest flame enclosed by a ring of stones. Beside it sat a figure cloaked in white, the fabric catching the firelight and glowing like frost under the sun. She looked up as he approached, her face framed by a cascade of golden hair. She couldn’t have been much older than him, though her expression carried a weight of wisdom that unnerved him.
“Come closer,” she said softly, her voice lilting like a melody. It wasn’t a command, nor was it a plea. It simply was, and his feet obeyed before he could think to resist.
As he stepped into the clearing, he noticed the basket beside her—overflowing with bread, fruits, and what looked like a flask of wine. His stomach clenched, a low growl escaping before he could stifle it.
She smiled, not unkindly. “You’re hungry.”
He didn’t answer, his gaze darting to the basket and then to her face. Her eyes, green as the forest canopy in summer, studied him without judgment.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to a patch of moss beside the fire.
He hesitated but obeyed, sinking to the ground with relief. The warmth of the fire seeped into his bones, chasing away the chill that had settled in his marrow.
“Eat,” she said, handing him a piece of bread. It was soft, fresh, and tasted like the best thing he’d ever eaten. He devoured it, barely chewing, and she handed him another without comment.
When he had sated his hunger, he finally looked at her, his voice hoarse from disuse. “Why?”
Her head tilted slightly, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why not?”
He wanted to ask more, but something about her stopped him. Maybe it was how she looked at him—not pity or fear, but with quiet curiosity as if he were a puzzle she was determined to solve.
They sat silently for a while, the crackling fire the only sound. He didn’t tell her his name, nor did she offer hers. It didn’t seem necessary.
Days passed, though he wasn’t sure how many. She never asked him to leave, and he never found the will to go. She brought food and fresh clothes, though she never explained their origins. He began to feel human again, the scars on his body and soul fading under her care.
But there were questions he couldn’t ignore. One evening, as they sat by the fire, he finally asked, “Who are you?”
Her gaze flickered to the trees as if searching for an answer. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping in a way that made her seem smaller, younger. “I’m someone who shouldn’t be here,” she admitted. “Someone who shouldn’t be with you.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because my parents—because my world—would never allow it.”
He stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. “You’re—”
“A princess,” she said, cutting him off. There was no pride in her voice, only resignation. “And you… are not what they would consider acceptable company.”
The words stung, but he couldn’t blame her for them. She was right. He was a vagrant, a failure, a man with nothing to his name but a broken lute and a string of bad luck.
“You should go,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the fire.
His chest tightened. “You want me to?”
Her gaze met his, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes for the first time. “No. But if they find you, if they find us…” She shook her head, unable to finish.
He stood, his fists clenching at his sides. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
A bitter smile curved her lips. “It’s not me they’ll hurt.”
The following day, he was gone. He left before the sun rose, his footsteps silent on the forest floor. He didn’t take her food or clothes, leaving all the items neatly folded by the fire. The only thing he carried was the memory of her face, a lifeline to hold onto as he ventured back into the cruel, unforgiving world.
But the forest seemed to conspire against him. The path twisted and turned, leading him in circles until he was back at her feet at the clearing.
She was waiting for him, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of exasperation and relief. “You’re terrible at leaving.”
He sank to his knees, his head in his hands. “I don’t know where else to go.”
She knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. “Then don’t go,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. They built a life in the forest, hidden from the eyes of the world. He repaired his lute, his songs returning like birds in spring. She danced to his music, her laughter filling the air like the chiming of bells.
But happiness, like the forest, was wild and unpredictable. One day, the sound of hoofbeats shattered their peace. Her parents’ guards, their armor gleaming like the sun, descended upon the clearing.
He stood before her, his broken lute in hand like a shield. “Leave her alone.”
The guards laughed, their swords drawn, but she stepped forward, her chin held high. “If you harm him, you’ll have to answer to me.”
“Your Highness,” one of the guards said, his voice uneasy, “your parents—”
“Will do nothing,” she said sharply. “Not if they want to keep their daughter.”
Her defiance bought them time, but it didn’t buy them freedom. They took them back to the castle, their hands bound, their fates uncertain.
Yet as they stood before her parents, her hand found his, their fingers entwining like the roots of the forest that had sheltered them. And in that moment, he knew that no matter what happened, they had already won. They had defied the odds, the world, and even fate itself.