Three
𓃮
A sharp, terrified cry—distinctly female—cut through his brooding silence. It was followed by the aggressive shrieks of carrion birds on the hunt. In an instant, the razor-sharp instincts of the predator he was at his core. His head lifted, his eyes narrowing, every sense focusing on the source of the sound. The isolation was gone. There was only the hunt, the threat, and the undeniable pull to answer a cry for help he didn't yet understand.
Rhyse Pendragon
As he closed the distance, a foreign sensation seized him—a frantic, hammering rhythm against his ribs that had nothing to do with the exertion of the ride. His own heart was pounding, a wild, frantic drumbeat that echoed the fear in that unknown cry.
Rhyse Pendragon
His muscles coiled with a protective fury he didn't understand, his golden eyes scanning the grey ahead, searching for the source.
He broke into a small clearing and the scene before him froze the blood in his veins.
A young woman, naked and shivering, was on her knees in the snow, arms thrown up to shield herself from the diving attack of a massive vulture. Her skin was mottled blue with cold, her eyes wide with a devastation that went far beyond this single moment of terror. She was the very picture of absolute vulnerability, of a soul already broken being offered up to a cruel end.
A roar, low and thunderous with pure, undiluted rage, ripped from Rhyse’s throat. It was a sound that promised evisceration. The vulture, mere inches from its prey, faltered, its primitive brain recognizing a greater, more dangerous predator. Rhyse didn't even need to draw his sword. The raw, commanding power that rolled off him was a physical force. The scavengers shrieked in alarm, their courage broken, and beat a frantic retreat into the leaden sky, leaving an echoing silence in their wake.
Rhyse Pendragon
His gaze snapped back to the girl. She crumpled, the last of her strength spent, collapsing into the freezing slush with a whimper that was more air than sound. She was a fragile, fallen thing, and the frantic beating in Rhyse's chest tightened into a fierce, inexplicable ache. He was at her side in an instant, his own pain forgotten, his black cloak already sweeping from his shoulders to envelop her freezing form.
He saw the shattered reflection of her worthlessness, the absolute certainty that this was simply the culmination of a life of being unwanted. A final, silent tear traced a clean path through the grime on her cheek, a last testament to a pain so deep he felt its echo in his own chest.
Sylvie Burrowes
In the sudden, ringing silence, her arms slowly lowered. Her gaze, vast and shimmering with unshed tears, lifted to his.
It was not a look of gratitude, not yet. It was the raw, unguarded look of a soul utterly shattered. In those deep, violet depths, he saw a universe of pain—abandonment, betrayal, a cold so profound it had seeped into her very spirit. Another tear broke free, a silent testament to a suffering he could not yet fathom.
And in that single, suspended moment, something impossible happened.
Rhyse Pendragon
Rhyse, the predator, the king who wore isolation like armor, **felt it**. A phantom cold pierced his own heart. The echo of her despair resonated within the chambers of his own, a silent, screaming harmony of loneliness that he knew all too well. He didn't just see her pain; he *absorbed* it.
That tear struck him with more force than any physical blow.
Her body went limp, collapsing into the freezing slush with a final, breathless sigh.
Rhyse Pendragon
He gathered her into his arms as if she were made of the most fragile glass, her head lolling against his chest, her face pale and streaked with tears against his clothing .
Rhyse Pendragon
Cradling her gently, he approached his stallion. The great warhorse, stood perfectly still as its master carefully laid the precious burden across the saddle before swinging up behind her. He settled her against him, one arm securing her tightly to his chest, the other taking the reins.
He looked down at her, a small, broken thing wrapped in the symbol of his power, and felt the weight of an unspoken vow settle upon him, heavier and more certain than any crown. It was a promise of protection, etched not in words, but in the silent, steady beat of his heart against her still form.
With a soft click of his tongue, he guided the horse to turn. Towards His Kingdom,leaving the weeping woods behind.
Author Bunny
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