Emory and Shay helped the others prepare for the trip, making sure they had enough herbs, food, and weapons to sneak into the castle. While they worked, Cassius remained inside the cabin, but if one looked towards the windows they would see him peeking out and watching the Unholy with a close eye.

"You'd think as someone who hired Unholy to kill us he wouldn't have that strong of a reaction to these ones," Emory muttered to Shay, keeping her eyes on the bag she packed on her horse. Shay wasn't paying much attention, and upon realizing Emory had said something, nodded in unbeknownst agreement.

"Emory, I should look at your shoulder again before we head out. I don't want you to be in too much pain while we're riding." Aila walked up, looking down to Emory's wound and then to behind the cabin. "Is that okay?"

"Of course," Emory forced a smile and followed Aila towards the back of the cabin. Aila sat down on the grass and gestured for Emory to follow suit.

"Can you just remove part of your shirt?" Aila asked as she root through her bag of 'medicine.' Emory just nodded and began removing her vest. As she got to her shirt, she pulled the fabric over her shoulder and winced a little. "Still tender, I see."

"I feel a lot better with that stuff you gave me."

"Good, I made more of it for you. Here," Aila handed her the medicine and then grabbed a cloth from her bag. Emory took the bitter medicine but kept her eyes on Aila as she worked. She was beautiful, and for that Emory couldn't help but stare. There was something about her that made Emory hate her and curious about her all at once. Aila looked up and caught Emory staring, causing her to quickly look away. Aila just chuckled and moved closer to Emory. "I'm going to clean your wound. It might sting."

Before Emory could protest, Aila pressed the rag to Emory's wound and she let out a cry of pain. "Oh..." Emory winced and looked down to the rag. "Fuck. What was that?"

Aila rose an eyebrow. "Alcohol. Helps with cleaning out and lessening your chance of infection. I figured if I told you there would be less of a chance of you actually letting me help you."

"You were right," Emory laughed and looked up at Aila. "I'm never letting you do that again."

"Then don't get hurt again," Aila smiled, her eyes lingering on Emory for a few seconds longer. "I'm finished. Make sure whoever you're riding with goes a little slower."

Emory stifled her smile and gave a curt nod, letting Aila return to the others. As Emory covered herself up again, her ears caught the sound of others nearby. It was distant, but Emory could make out the laughter of more than a few people. She stood from her spot on the ground and moved back around the cabin. The others were remaining generally quiet as they prepared for the trip, and Emory flagged them down with waving arms. They all caught on fairly quickly and stopped moving completely. Aila listened, gesturing for Shay to get on the horse she had been handling.

Shay followed suit, straining her ears for any sound. Sure enough, the group Emory had heard had another bout of laughter, but this time it was much closer. Everyone swiftly began packing their bags at double the speed, but Ingrid moved quickly towards Emory. "Let me help you onto the horse," she whispered. Emory nodded as Ingrid guided her over to Shay's horse, cupping her hands together so Emory could more easily get up. As Emory got up and began to situate herself, another voice rang out.

"Is that a cabin?"

Ingrid's heart jumped into her throat, and she looked over her shoulder to where some foliage could be seen shifting in the distance. Ingrid looked up at Emory and Shay, who were also looking towards the moving shrubs and branches. Ingrid slapped the horse, making it take off into a gallop past the Unholy soldiers. They followed behind the Prophet, leaving Ingrid without question.

    Ingrid herself grabbed the skirts of her dress and took off quickly in another direction.

Emory could feel her shoulder burning with the impact of the horse as it ran through the forest. She could hear the Unholy galloping behind her, weaving their way through the forest after the girls. Shay kept her eyes on the forest before her, and Emory held onto her with her left arm, trying to glance back at the others when she had the chance. Ingrid was nowhere to be seen, but Aila caught Emory's eyes.

    Aila gave a nod just before an arrow struck the pack of a soldier beside her. Not too far behind the Unholy was Evander's men. They rode after, a look of determination on their faces. One of them, older than the rest, held his sword up as he came up close behind another one of Aila's. As Emory looked back, the man's face changed and his sword lowered.

    "Split off," Emory shouted to Aila before looking back at the man, who now had his eyes set on her. Aila looked torn, but gestured for her people to follow her as she turned right, dodging the trees. One of Evander's men looked as if he wanted to follow after, but the man with the sword shouted something and they all focused in on the girls. Emory turned back towards Shay and leaned close. "We're on our own, you have to lose them."

Before they realized it, the forest was thinning out quickly, leaving more room for the horses to run but at the same time leaving them more visible to everyone. Emory realized they were being brought to the edge of the forest, where on the horizon waited even more soldiers.

As they came to the end of trees and undergrowth, Shay pulled up on the reins, meeting a wall of Evander's men with spears pointed in her direction. The riders behind them came to a stop as well, forming a semi-circle behind the girls. Shay spun the horse around, eventually coming to face the man Emory had made eye contact with before. He was older, with a few wrinkles in his tanned skin, dark brown black curls atop his head turning gray in certain parts. He looked familiar in an odd sense, and as he looked at the two young women in front of him, he knew the exact familiarity they were trying to figure out.

"Prophet Shay," he started hesitantly. "I'm pleased to finally meet you."

The castle was as large as the girls remembered it. It sat on a hill just before it dipped down towards the rocky shore of Eden, overlooking the mountainous land before it. Its parapets were tall, still flying the flag of Rosalind high and proud, just above the flag of Eden, green against the blue sky. The gate was pulled up to allow entrance, and they entered the lower bailey. King Evander rode in front, followed by Shay and Emory surrounded by multiple soldiers.

    There were a few people milling about, stable hands, practicing soldiers, a few merchants and their tables set up around Rosalind's Fountain. Emory looked at it all with sadness. She had missed this place.

    The upper bailey had no one, and the gardens were in the same pristine condition as they were when Emory and Shay had last seen them. The public temple looked empty, but the carnations around it seemed to be well cared for. Everything was as if it had been preserved in some sort of bubble that defied time.

    They were separated. Emory brought carefully down into the dungeon, stripped of her few weapons and left to wait alone while Shay was led elsewhere. "Don't worry," she had told her. "I'll find a way out." Emory was so sure of it. She could feel it. But when Shay walked into the throne room after King Evander, some part of her thought she would never see Emory again.

    The place where her father once sat was the man who had taken his life. Shay watched Evander with keen eyes, following his every move. He had waved the other guards out of the throne room to leave them alone, and Shay could feel the back of her neck prickling. Evander didn't look like a murderer, but he looked at her the same way she imagined she was looking at him. The only difference was, he was calm.

    "You truly don't have to be afraid. I'm going to hurt you or Emory." Evander sighed, resting both of his hands on the armrests of his throne. "How is her shoulder by the way?"

    "How do you know Emory?" Shay looked up to him with confusion. "Or, remember her?"

    "You two were close, and believe it or not I was the one who had found her in Pinewater and brought her into the castle."

    "I don't."

    He sighed once more and changed the subject. "Shay, I want you to understand that I am not required to treat you with the amount of respect you have been given your entire life. As a princess and the heir to the throne, perhaps, but you have yet to claim that right." Evander said it simply, and Shay felt her teeth grind.

    "At least I have more right to the throne than you being both Princess and Prophet." Shay shot back at him, but he only laughed.

    "You're no prophet, child. You could say whatever you wanted to and I still would know the truth." He mocked her, eyes laughing, almost bitter as they looked down at her. She felt a pain in her stomach, twisting and turning the longer she sat in silence. "You know I'm right."

    Shay squared her shoulders and calmed herself. He was wrong, she told herself. Rosalind was with her. "You can say whatever you want, Evander, but whether you like it or not I am the Daughter of Rosalind."

    Evander smiled and shook his head. "You've been lying to yourself for so long it seems you actually believe it. You believe in the idea that your connection to Rosalind is stronger than the common person. You believe that your sole purpose is to do as Rosalind asks, to tell everyone what she shares with you." Evander rose from his seat and slowly made his way over to Shay. Shay's eyes were locked on him as he came close to her, speaking in a playful voice. "Do you hear her voice, Shay?" His feet fell softly on the carpet rolled out beneath them. "Does she guide you?" His big brown eyes held her gaze, unwavering. "Do you even believe she's there?"

    He came face to face with Shay, and she stumbled a step backwards, losing her strength. Evander continued. "You know it's all a lie, Shay. There's no shame in admitting it."

    "Admitting what?"

    "That you are no prophet."

    "I am the first daughter of King Alaric and Queen Lena, and as the line goes, I am the Daughter of Rosalind. Playing mind games with me will not change that."

    "They aren't mind games, my dear. It's the truth. You may have been the first daughter of King Alaric and Queen Lena, but you were not his true first daughter."