Eilonwy moved swiftly through the underbrush, her cloak trailing behind her, the damp scent of moss and earth thick in the air. The Wraithwood was unlike any place she had ever seen—twisted trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky, while thick mist coiled around her ankles like living tendrils. The stories of this place spoke of illusions and whispers, of travelers who wandered too far and were never seen again.

  But she had no choice. The throne was out there, and she would find it.

  A rustling in the distance made her freeze. She pressed herself against the rough bark of a tree, heart hammering in her chest. Someone else was here. Perhaps many others. The search for the throne had drawn every ambitious soul in the Seven Realms, and not all of them would hesitate to spill blood to claim its power.

  Eilonwy’s hand drifted to the dagger at her belt—not a fine, noblewoman’s weapon, but a sharpened blade she had stolen from the armory before her escape. It was not much, but it would have to do.

  She crept forward, careful to keep her steps light, peering through the mist. A shadow moved between the trees.

  A man, cloaked and hooded, his stance too still, too deliberate. He was watching her.

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  Eilonwy’s fingers tightened around the dagger. “Who are you?” she called, keeping her voice steady.

  The figure did not move. For a long moment, there was only silence, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of the leaves in the cold breeze. Then—

  “The wrong question,” the man said at last, his voice smooth as river stone. “The better question is: why are you here?”

  Eilonwy narrowed her eyes. “You already know why.”

  The man tilted his head, considering her. Then, with an unsettling calmness, he stepped closer. Moonlight filtered through the branches, illuminating his face—sharp features, dark eyes that gleamed with quiet amusement. “Ah,” he murmured. “A princess in the wild. What a curious thing.”

  Eilonwy forced herself to hold his gaze, though every instinct told her to run. “And what are you?” she challenged. “A thief? A hunter?”

  He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Call me what you like. But I suspect we are after the same thing.”

  Eilonwy’s pulse quickened. If he was a seeker of the throne, that made him either an enemy or a rival. And rivals in this race did not tend to last long.

  The man stepped back into the shadows. “You won’t survive the Wraithwood alone, princess.” His voice drifted through the trees, low and knowing. “And if you keep moving without caution, you’ll be dead by morning.”

  Then, just like that, he was gone.

  Eilonwy exhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to slow. Whoever he was, he was right about one thing. The Wraithwood was no ordinary forest. And if she wasn’t careful, it would swallow her whole.

  Still, she squared her shoulders and took a step forward.

  Let it try.