2. Verena

CHAPTER 2

VERENA

M y legs screamed in protest as I ascended another steep hill, sweat dripping down my forehead and stinging my eyes. But it was nothing compared to the gnawing pain in my stomach that twisted and turned until I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I knew I couldn't keep going like this and needed to find shelter and food soon before exhaustion and hunger overtook me completely. For three days, I had pushed through without rest or sustenance, and my body was now fiercely protesting.

Still, I pressed on, taking slow, deliberate steps as I scanned the horizon for any signs of civilization. My eyes were drawn to the distance, where a haze of smoke hung in the air. It could only mean one thing: a village.

I quickened my pace, my heart pounding with hope and anticipation as I descended the incline, the smoke growing thicker and more visible.

It would be a risk to stop, but it would be an even bigger risk if I didn't find something to eat soon.

I had attempted to use my bow and arrows to hunt a rabbit earlier, but I couldn't tell if it was my own hesitation over taking a life or my lack of proficiency that caused me to fail miserably.

Or if it was the way my mind drifted to Dacre and the way he had touched me when he taught me to use it.

Either way, I was left with no rabbit and a growing hunger.

I was still wearing the same leathers I left the hidden city in, the ones I left Dacre in. They would know I wasn't just some girl who was traveling through. I looked like I belonged to the rebellion that I was certain was now looking for me.

He would be looking for me.

My father was an enemy of the rebellion, and now, so was I.

The village was nestled in a small valley, a cluster of scattered houses and buildings surrounded by a dense forest. Smoke curled from the chimneys of the homes, and I heard the low murmur of voices.

As I approached the entrance of the village, I paused, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

I kept my head down as I walked, trying to blend in with the villagers mingling about, going about their daily tasks. An older lady knelt over a bed of blooming vegetables, her hands caked in the same dirt that splattered across her tattered apron. She glanced up at me as I passed, and our eyes met briefly, before I quickly looked away.

I didn't want any trouble in this village; I just needed food and a few minutes to rest so I could figure out my next move.

My steps echoed through the narrow, winding streets, each one a reminder of the growing ache in my stomach. I followed the plume of smoke rising from a nearby cottage, my feet taking me closer and closer to its source. As I neared the quaint tavern, I noticed its wooden door propped open, as if beckoning me inside with the promise of food and rest.

I stepped inside, my senses immediately assaulted by the warm, musty smell of ale and sweat. A low murmur of conversation filled the room as I looked around, my eyes darting around the sparsely littered tables in the dimly lit cottage.

A burly man stood behind the bar, his unruly beard reaching his chest as he wiped down the wooden bartop in front of him. He gave me a curious once-over before turning back to his customer, who sat on an old stool and leaned forward on his elbows as if the bar was responsible for holding him upright.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I awkwardly made my way over to the bar, trying to hide my trembling hands and shaky resolve.

My heart raced as I pulled out a stool and took a seat.

I reached into my pocket and felt the weight of the single coin I had left. Today was the day I would spend it.

"What can I get you?" The barkeep moved until he stood behind the bar in front of me, his rough hands resting on its surface. He cleared his throat, drawing my attention. My eyes shot up to meet his, the deep smile lines creasing around his eyes in stark contrast to the scruff on his face.

"What can I get you?" he asked gruffly, repeating himself, but he softened his tone.

I swallowed nervously, trying to gather my thoughts. I needed food.

"Do you have any food?" I asked tentatively, my voice barely above a whisper.

The barkeep's eyebrows drew together slightly, and I couldn't miss the way his gaze roamed over me as if he was assessing exactly who I was with that one look.

"Not much, but we have stew and some day-old bread."

Relief washed over me as I pulled out the coin and placed it on the counter. "Is this enough?"

He caught my wrist in his firm grip, causing me to jump in surprise. I felt his fingers press against the counterfeit rebellion mark that I had foolishly gotten tattooed on my skin.

The mark that had led me to him .

My heart pounded against my rib cage as he looked over my mark. I could only imagine what thoughts raced through his mind as he held my pulsing wrist in his hand.

Did he know I was on the run? Did he know my true identity? I feared with the rebellion on the hunt for me that word may have already spread through the villages.

With a gentle yet commanding gesture, he extended his other hand toward me. As he turned his wrist, the faded lines of his own rebellion mark came into view. The intricate design and meaning behind it were now exposed for me to see.

As I stared at the mark etched into his skin, I should have calmed with a sense of familiarity and security, but instead, a heavy wave of dread washed over me.

Dacre had taken what had started to feel like home and twisted it into something cruel and unforgiving. The hidden city had become something that would see me dead just as my father would.

My chest ached as I stared down at this man's mark and all I could see was Dacre's betrayal. All I could see was my own.

He had called me a little traitor since the day I met him, and he was right. I had been betraying him all along.

But I couldn't have trusted him with the truth.

He was the son of the rebellion, and I was the daughter of everything they fought against. We were born and bred to be enemies, to never trust the other.

The barkeep cocked his head to the side, studying me intently. I felt uncomfortable under his watchful gaze. It was as if he could see right through me, unraveling all my secrets and fears. His scrutiny made me squirm, and I longed to escape.

But I longed for food more.

"Who are you running from?" he asked, breaking the tense silence between us.

I felt my heart drop into my stomach as panic flooded through my body.

Without thinking, I stood and started to back away from him, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife that was tucked into my vest.

I had no power, hadn't been able to feel a single stirring of it since I left the hidden city. It was only my dagger and I that could protect me now.

But instead of attacking me or calling attention to me like I expected, the barkeep's expression softened and he held up his hands in a calming gesture.

"Easy now, no need for that."

My mind raced as I tried to come up with an explanation or excuse so I could get out of here.

"Sit down and eat." He nodded back to the stool I had just left. "You're not going to make it much farther if you don't get some food in you."

When I didn't move, he sighed and leaned forward on the bar so he was looking directly at me and no one else could hear him.

"You'll find that most people here have no support for the king, but our support for the rebellion is wavering as well."

My gaze snapped up to meet his, and I let out a shaky breath. "What?"

He motioned for me once again to take a seat, and this time I did as he said.

I sat down on the stool, my hand still resting on the knife. The barkeep walked to the back, and my spine straightened as I watched the direction he just left before scanning the small tavern to see if anyone else was looking at me.

The barkeep returned, his hands full with a steaming bowl of stew and a chunk of bread. He set them both down before me and nodded.

I didn't wait.

I grabbed the spoon and shoved a large bite of stew into my mouth. I didn't care that it burned my tongue. I was starving.

"Slow down or you'll make yourself sick."

He took a small step back before pouring me an ale and sliding it onto the bar in front of me.

I quickly swallowed my food and reached for the glass.

"How did you know?"

"That you're on the run?" He chuckled, the sound deep and carefree.

I nodded, and he crossed his arms.

"Well, I know you aren't just passing through. Nobody just passes through here, especially not when they look like they are on the verge of passing out from hunger."

He leaned in closer, his eyes piercing into mine.

"Besides," he continued, "I saw the mark on your wrist when you first walked in. It's not one that many people show off so carelessly, especially not when the king's soldiers just tore through our town looking for the lost heir."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry with fear.

"I need to leave."

"You need to eat." He nodded toward my stew. "The king's soldiers left two nights ago, and they were headed south, which I assume is the same direction you're heading."

I nodded even though I had no reason to trust him.

"Then you'll eat and rest." He said it so matter-of-factly, as if there was no room for argument, and there wasn't. I couldn't tell this man that I was not only running from the king's soldiers but also the men who were meant to protect those who didn't serve the king.

I took another bite of food before thinking about what he had said. "What did you mean by the support for the rebellion is wavering?"

He studied me for a long moment before answering.

"The rebellion was never supposed to be about power or control. It was a fight for freedom, for a better future. But as time has passed, some have started to see it as an opportunity for power. The lines have become blurred, and many have lost sight of the true meaning."

I absorbed his words, letting my thoughts drift to Dacre's father. I had felt uneasy since the first moment I met him, and I now knew it was because he reminded me of someone else.

My father.

Power-hungry men who lost sight of what should have been important to them.

I looked down at my stew and bread before taking another bite and savoring the warmth it brought to my empty stomach.

Dacre could be one of those men too, but a flicker of doubt told me that even though I wanted to hate him, he was nothing like them.

And that somehow made things so much worse than if he was.

Both my betrayal and his would have been easier to stomach if he had fit into the mold I had created in my mind. But instead, he turned out to be nothing like I imagined. The realization hit me like a wave crashing against the shore, leaving me lost and confused in its wake.

I looked up at the barkeep, his eyes still on me, waiting for me to respond.

"I've met men like that," I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his beard as he spoke. "I'd say you have. It's hard to trust anyone anymore, and even those who led the fight for a better future have become blinded by their ambitions."

I looked down at my half-finished meal, feeling the weight of his words bearing down on me.

"You think Davian wants to become king."

He clenched his jaw as if he shouldn't have said what he said next, and I wish he hadn't.

"It has been Davian's plan for years to make his son, Dacre, the next heir to the throne."

My stomach twisted with a mix of anger and something I couldn't place. I thought they were fighting for a better life, fighting against my ruthless father, but in reality, they were doing nothing more than helping Dacre secure his place as the next king.

Beyond my father, I was the only other person standing in his way.

And yet, he had let me run.

If his father found me, I had no doubt that he would see me dead.

I took another bite of my food, swallowing it down and dropping the spoon back into the bowl.

"Thank you for this." I nodded down to the food as I stood. "I need to leave."

He watched me carefully, too carefully, but he didn't try to stop me.

Instead, he simply nodded once as I stood and walked out the door.