Chapter 232: Chapter 232: The Circle

“OH, LOOK AT THAT. The big bad wolf actually caught the bird before she flew away.”

Carson’s voice broke the heavy silence of the clearing. He burst through the shimmering silver ribbons of the trees on his horse, his face flushed with the thrill of the hunt.

Close behind him, Lucson and Mason followed, their expressions far more serious. Ravenson seemed to simply appear out of the darkness, a shadow detaching itself from the edge of the woods.

Grayson didn’t pull away immediately. He kept his hand tangled in Mailah’s hair for a second longer than necessary, his eyes locked onto hers with a look that promised this conversation was far from over. When he finally stepped back, the air felt suddenly, agonizingly cold.

“Late as usual,” Grayson said, his voice returning to its sharp, aristocratic edge. He didn’t look at his brothers; he looked at the unconscious man from House Cinder crumpled on the frosted moss.

“Late? We were busy stopping House Malakor from turning the path into a graveyard,” Mason said, leaning over his saddle to look at the fallen hunter. He gave a low whistle. “Did you break his wrist, Gray? That’s almost polite of you.”

“He tried to touch her,” Grayson replied. The words were simple, but the weight behind them made even Mason stop smiling for a moment.

Lucson rode to the center of the clearing, his eyes scanning the shifting trees. “The game isn’t over. We have to bring her to the King’s Altar at the edge of the manor. And every House in this forest knows it.”

Mailah looked from Lucson to the dark, whispering woods. “You mean they’re still coming for me?”

“Coming for you?” Carson laughed, though there was no joy in it. “Duchess, they are already here. They’re circling us like sharks in deep water. To them, you’re the key to a century of power. They won’t stop until you’re behind the manor walls—or in their hands.”

Grayson turned to Mailah, offering a gloved hand. The intensity in his gaze was back, that simmering heat that made her knees feel weak despite the terror. “Get on your horse. We move now, or we get buried here.”

He looked toward the chestnut mare waiting at the edge of the clearing. “Stay in the center. Do not let the reins go, no matter what you hear.”

Mailah felt a sharp, sudden sting of disappointment. It was like being splashed with ice water after standing by a fire. She had expected—honestly, she had hoped—that he would pull her up onto his massive black stallion, that she would be tucked against his back, feeling the solid strength of him protecting her from the world.

She opened her mouth to protest, to ask why she couldn’t just stay with him, but Grayson had already turned away. He was moving toward his horse with a predator’s grace, his mind clearly already miles ahead, calculating the fastest route through a forest full of enemies.

Her shoulders slumped slightly as she walked toward the chestnut horse. The silence of the woods felt heavier now.

“Don’t take it personally, Duchess.”

Mailah jumped, nearly tripping over a tree root. Carson was suddenly there, leaning against the side of her horse as if he’d been waiting for her to fail. He had a knowing, lopsided smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t taking anything personally,” Mailah lied, though her voice was a little too high.

“Right. And I’m a human priest,” Carson chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Your disappointment is written all over your face. You wanted to ride with the big, brooding hero, didn’t you? Wind in your hair, arms around his waist… very romantic.”

Mailah felt her face heat up. “I just thought it would be safer.”

“Actually, it’s the opposite,” Carson said, his tone softening just enough to be reassuring. He stepped closer, helping her up into the saddle with surprising gentleness. “If you’re on his horse, he’s restricted. He has to balance you, protect your limbs, and fight at the same time. If you’re on your own, we can form a perimeter. Five of us circling you is a lot harder to break than one man trying to do everything.”

He winked at her, patting the horse’s neck. “Trust the method, Mailah. We won’t let anyone even lay a finger on you. You’re an Ashford prize now. We’re very greedy with our things.”

Mailah bit her lip, glancing at Grayson, who was already mounted and staring into the tree line like he could see through the shadows. Carson’s words helped, but the feeling of being “possession” still sat uncomfortably in her stomach.

Who was she to them, really?

They didn’t ride like guests at a gala. They rode like a war party.

Lucson took the lead, his presence a literal shield of cold energy that seemed to push the grasping silver ribbons of the trees aside. Mason and Ravenson took the flanks, disappearing and reappearing in the shadows like twin ghosts of death. Carson stayed at the rear, his eyes darting everywhere, his hands ready.

Grayson stayed right beside Mailah. He rode so close their knees occasionally brushed—a constant, grounding presence in the chaos. It wasn’t the embrace she wanted, but every time their legs touched, a spark of electricity shot through her, reminding her he was still there.

“Don’t look at the trees,” Grayson commanded as they plunged back into the deep forest. “Look at me. If anything happens, if I tell you to run, you don’t hesitate. You ride for the manor and don’t look back.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Mailah said, her voice surprising her with its strength.

Grayson’s jaw tightened. A small, dark flicker of something crossed his face. “Just stay in the center of the circle.”

The forest was no longer singing; it was growling. The white moss beneath the horses’ hooves began to turn a sickly shade of grey. Suddenly, a massive iron chain, glowing with a dull orange heat, whipped out from the darkness. It was aimed directly at Mailah’s horse.

“Down!” Grayson roared.

He didn’t wait for her to react. He leaned out of his saddle, his arm wrapping around her waist and hauling her off her horse just as the chain shattered the animal’s legs.

The mare disappeared into a cloud of silver mist—a construct of the forest’s magic—as Grayson pulled Mailah onto his own massive black stallion.

Finally, she was where she wanted to be, but the circumstances were terrifying. She was tucked firmly against his chest, her back against his hard leather armor. She could feel the frantic, heavy beat of his heart against her spine.

“House Malakor,” Lucson shouted, drawing a long, silver sword that glowed like the moon. “They’re using the heavy hitters!”

Figures emerged from the shadows—men who looked more like boulders than humans, their skin grey and cracked. They carried massive hammers and chains, their eyes glowing with a dull, mindless greed.

“Mason! Ravenson! Clear the path!” Lucson ordered.

What followed was a dance of brutal beauty. Mason leapt from his horse, his body spinning in the air.

In each hand, he held a dagger that left trails of blue fire. He moved too fast for the stone-skinned men to react, his blades finding the soft joints in their armor.

Ravenson was even more terrifying; he didn’t fight with blades. He simply touched his enemies, and they collapsed into heaps of ash, their screams silenced before they could begin.

“Stay tucked in, Mailah!” Carson yelled from the back, using a heavy crossbow to pick off attackers who tried to circle around them. “Don’t ruin the hair! The servants worked hard on that!”

Despite the life-and-death stakes, Mailah found herself letting out a hysterical little laugh. “Is he seriously joking right now?”

“It’s how he keeps from going mad,” Grayson muttered, his grip on her waist tightening until it was almost bruising as his horse leaped over a fallen Malakor warrior. He steered the stallion with one hand, his other arm acting as a human seatbelt for her.

They broke through the Malakor line, but the forest was far from done. The air grew thick with a sweet, cloying scent—the smell of rotting lilies.

“House Vane,” Ravenson’s voice echoed through the trees, though he was nowhere to be seen. “They’re using the mist. Hold your breath!”

A thick fog began to roll over the moss. It wasn’t just a mist; it was an illusion.

Mailah felt her head grow heavy. The forest started to look like her childhood home. She saw her front door, her mother standing on the porch, waving to her.

“Mom?” she whispered, her hand reaching out.

“Mailah! No!”

Grayson’s voice was a thunderclap that shattered the dream. He grabbed her hand, pulling it back. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “It’s a lie! Look at me, Mailah!”

She blinked, the mist clearing just enough for her to see his eyes. They were burning with that intense lunar light, a beacon in the dark. She focused on that, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“I’m here,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his leather-clad forearm. “I’m okay.”

“Lucson! The mist is too thick!” Grayson shouted.

Lucson raised his sword high. “Ashfords! To me!”

The five brothers didn’t speak, but they moved as one. They formed a tight circle around Grayson’s horse. As they did, a pulse of pure, white energy radiated from them, pushing the fog back like a physical wave.

The power was so great that Mailah felt the hair on her arms stand up.

For a moment, the forest went dead silent. The hunters, hidden in the trees, fled. They knew they couldn’t break a unified Ashford front.

“We’re close,” Lucson said, his voice strained. “The altar is just beyond the next ridge.”

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