Dawn crept through the cracked roof, weak light spilling across the cabin. Isolde moved as though in a dream, feeding her children, sweeping, preparing simple breakfast, all the while hiding Alaric in a basket under rags and firewood. When he began to wail, she hushed him with an old lullaby. “Sleep now… sleep, little one… sleep.”
The sound of hooves shattered the fragile morning calm. Peering through the narrow window, she spotted four armored soldiers riding between huts, the sun glinting off their mail like steel mirrors. Behind them walked a man in a red cloak, inspecting each dwelling with calculated precision.
They knocked on her neighbors’ doors. One. Two. Sweat pricked her spine.
“Children,” she whispered, voice trembling, “do not speak. Do nothing.”
A heavy knock rattled her own door.
“By command of the crown,” a voice boomed, “open immediately.”
Isolde forced herself to inhale, then swung the door open. Standing before her was a man she had never seen, cloaked in scarlet, eyes sharp and calculating.
“We are searching for a traveler. A knight wearing dark garb. Has anyone passed this way?”
“No, sir,” she said, voice firm, though every nerve screamed. “No one has been here.”