Chapter Six: Beneath the Wild Sky
The cabin wasn't much.
Just four timber walls, a creaking roof, and a fireplace that smoked if you weren't careful. But to Elara and Aldric, it was a kingdom all its own.
They had stumbled across it a week after their escape—half-buried in moss and silence at the edge of the Darrin Forest. Long abandoned, but solid. Like it had waited for them.
The days were quiet. Almost too quiet for someone like Aldric, who had grown up with banners, bells, and endless voices shouting his name. Now, only birds called in the morning, and the wind rustled through the trees like whispers too soft to hear.
And Elara… she had never known peace before. Not like this.
Yet peace had its own kind of ache.
Some mornings, she would stare at the mirror in the washbasin, expecting to see the beast. Waiting for her golden eyes to turn black. For her fingers to shift into claws. But they never did.
Aldric had taught her how to chop wood. She taught him how to set traps and track wild game. At night, they sat beside the hearth, drinking tea from mismatched cups and reading old books they found in the back of the cabin. Sometimes, they danced in the candlelight. Slowly. No music. Just breath and heartbeat.
Still, the peace didn't stop the questions.
One night, as the fire crackled low and their hands intertwined, Elara broke the silence.
"Do you ever regret it?"
Aldric looked up from the half-whittled piece of wood in his hand. "Regret what?"
"Leaving your crown. Your people. Your name."
He took a moment to answer.
"I don't regret you," he said.
She smiled softly. "That's not what I asked."
"I regret that it was the only way," he admitted. "That love in the open wasn't an option. That I had to choose between a throne and the truth."
Elara was quiet for a moment. "You know… you never asked about me. About how I became this."
"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
She looked into the fire. "I think I am."
The words came slowly, like stones being pulled from deep water.
"I wasn't born a wolf," she began. "I was cursed."
Aldric sat up straighter.
She nodded. "I was eighteen. My village was raided by mercenaries. They came in the night—burned homes, took what they wanted. I tried to fight. I should've died."
Her voice cracked, but she went on.
"But I didn't. One of them—he wasn't human. I didn't know it then. He was a cursed creature hiding behind a man's skin. When he bit me, I thought it was just another wound."
She touched her shoulder, as if it still burned.
"But when the next full moon came, I changed. It was agony. Like my body was being torn apart and stitched back together by fire. I couldn't control it. I couldn't think. I hurt people, Aldric. Innocents. I ran from the village before they could see what I'd become."
Her voice broke. "I've been running ever since."
Aldric reached for her hand.
"You're not the monster they made you out to be."
She looked up, tears rimmed in her eyes. "Then what am I?"
"You're strong," he said. "And scarred. And still standing. That makes you human."
She didn't reply. But she leaned into his chest, letting the warmth of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
Weeks passed. Then a month.
Spring crept into the forest, painting it green and gold. Elara began to smile more. The shadows under her eyes faded. The moon came and went, and she learned to manage the change with distance, meditation, and grit.
But one morning, everything shattered.
Aldric had gone to the nearby stream for water. When he returned, the door to the cabin was ajar.
"Elara?" he called, setting down the pail.
No response.
He stepped inside.
The hearth was cold. The bed untouched. But something was wrong.
The scent of smoke lingered in the air. And something else… iron.
He saw the note pinned to the wall with a dagger. Scrawled in shaky letters.
"We have her. Come alone if you want her back."
Aldric's heart dropped.
His first instinct was rage. But rage was useless without direction.
He searched the clearing. Footprints. Four, maybe five men. Heavy boots. They'd come from the east.
He packed only what he needed—his father's dagger, some dried meat, and the ring he hadn't worn since leaving Eldwyn.
He didn't know who had taken her or why—but he would tear apart the forest to find her.
They held her in a ruined fort built into the hillside, camouflaged by overgrown vines and shadow. She was chained in a stone cell, wrists raw and skin bruised.
The leader was a man named Marek, a bounty hunter from the south who had once worked for Aldric's court. He wore a scar down his left cheek and smiled like someone who enjoyed cruelty a little too much.
"You're more than just a prize, girl," he said as he crouched in front of her. "You're leverage."
Elara spat at his feet. "You don't even know what you're dealing with."
"Oh, I do," he said, amused. "You're the beast that bewitched the king. The one who made him walk away from his crown. That makes you worth more than gold."
He stood. "And when he comes—because we both know he will—I'll take his head. And yours."
Elara didn't reply. She closed her eyes. Centered her breath.
Because the moon was coming.
And so was Aldric.
That night, the moon rose full and bright.
Aldric stood at the treeline, overlooking the fort below.
Five men. One fort. One chance.
He gripped the hilt of his dagger, heart pounding.
Then he moved.
Like a ghost through the trees.
He took the first two guards quietly—one with a rock, the other with a chokehold. The third spotted him too late. Aldric slashed the man's leg and left him unconscious.
Inside, the torches flickered. He could hear voices. Footsteps.
And then—
"Elara!"
Her voice, faint. But alive.
He ran toward it, kicking open the cell door.
She was there—bloodied, bruised, but still breathing.
"Don't!" she shouted suddenly.
A blade flashed from the side.
Marek lunged, slashing toward Aldric's chest.
The king blocked it, barely, staggering back.
"You came," Marek sneered.
"I always will," Aldric growled.
They fought, steel against steel, grunts echoing through the stone halls.
Marek was stronger. But Aldric was faster. Smarter.
One slip. One misstep.
And Aldric drove the dagger into Marek's side.
The man gasped, stumbled, then collapsed.
Elara stared at him, chained and shaking.
Without a word, Aldric broke the lock on her chains. Pulled her close.
"You came for me," she whispered.
"Always."
And in the moonlight, as blood cooled and silence fell, she kissed him.
With everything left inside her.
They left the fort in flames.
Together.
Alive.
And though the wilds were dangerous, and the world unforgiving, they knew this:
They had faced the darkness.
And won.
Not with magic.
But with love.
And they would keep choosing each other—again and again.
Until their last breath beneath the wild sky.
To be continued....
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