By dusk, we reached the borders of Raventhorn.
The towering trees thinned into ragged hills, their tops crowned with crumbling stone watchtowers and broken black flags.
The scent of iron filled the air — old blood and old wars.
A grim welcome.
Ahead, the road split around a massive gate carved into the side of the hills.
Guards waited there.
Not the casual patrols of lesser kingdoms.
These men wore heavy black armor, swords sheathed but loose in their belts, crossbows slung across their backs.
They stood in formation — six across — blocking the gate entirely.
A message.
I pulled my horse to a slow halt as we approached, lifting my hood carefully to shade my face.
Lucas did the same, the lazy curve of his mouth the only thing hinting at his usual cocky calm.
The lead guard stepped forward, a burly man with graying hair and sharp, suspicious eyes.
"State your name and business," he barked.
Lucas didn't hesitate.
He nudged his horse forward a single step — enough to draw attention, not enough to seem aggressive.
"Traders from the northern passes," he said smoothly.
"Seeking an audience with Lord Everan of Raventhorn.
We bring samples of rare mountain herbs — potential trade."
He spoke easily, confidently, his voice carrying the right notes of boredom and formality.
Not too eager.
Not too defensive.
I kept my face calm, my hands resting loosely on the reins.
Every muscle coiled under the surface.
Waiting.
The guard eyed our packs, our cloaks, our horses.
He circled once, slow and deliberate.
"Show your papers," he demanded.
I reached carefully into my pouch, pulling out the forged documents Cassius's scribes had crafted.
I handed them over without a word.
The guard inspected them slowly, flipping through the seals and signatures.
Minutes dragged.
The other guards shifted subtly, their hands drifting toward their weapons.
I could smell their suspicion.
Their nerves.
I shifted my stance slightly in the saddle — casual — but it placed my hidden blade within easy reach.
Lucas didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
Just waited, relaxed as ever.
Finally, the guard snapped the documents closed and gave a short grunt.
"Pass."
He jerked his chin toward the inner road winding up the hills.
"But mind yourselves," he added darkly.
"Raventhorn doesn't treat liars kindly."
I smiled thinly beneath my hood.
We rode through the gates in silence, the heavy iron portcullis rattling down behind us with a final, echoing thud.
Trapped.
Inside enemy territory now.
No more open fields.
No more easy exits.
Only the twisting, dangerous heart of Raventhorn.
Lucas glanced sideways at me as we rode.
His pale blue eyes gleamed faintly beneath his hood.
"Well done," he said quietly.
"Yeah, like that needed a lot." I rolled my eyes.
Raventhorn's capital was not a city built for beauty.
It was a fortress turned outward — cobbled streets twisting through narrow alleys, buildings crouched close together like wolves hiding from the rain.
The people here walked with their heads low and their knives closer.
Trust was a weakness.
Hope, a fool's luxury.
Lucas and I found lodging at a rough inn tucked into one of the lesser districts — a place where no one asked too many questions and the walls were thick enough to muffle screams.
We paid in coins.
The innkeeper didn't even blink when I requested a room overlooking the alley, a second exit, and no servants.
As night fell, the streets came alive.
Merchants hawked cheap wares by torchlight.
Thieves skulked in the shadows.
And higher up, near the citadel, the nobles' mansions burned with soft, decadent light — glittering cages for rats who called themselves kings.
It was in the crowded marketplace that we began gathering information.
Not with questions.
Questions drew attention.
We listened.
We watched.
We blended.
Lucas moved through the throngs like smoke — one moment examining spices, the next testing a blade at a blacksmith's stall — his lazy smirk never faltering.
I watched him carefully.
Not just his smile.
Not just the way he moved.
His hands.
Subtle gestures.
Silent signals.
Quick glances.
He was picking up more than herbs and gossip.
He was reading the currents beneath the city's skin.
I noticed something else, too.
The way the women around him lingered longer at their stalls.
The way their voices grew softer.
Smiles a little wider.
Eyes a little bolder.
Because Lucas, even bloodied from travel and cloaked in shadows, looked dangerous — and beautiful in a way that made fools talk.
He didn't flirt back.
Not openly.
But the easy grin he gave — the careless way he leaned closer when a merchant's daughter stammered —
was enough.
I scowled under my hood.
"Tch. What a flirt," I muttered, frowning.
Lucas, mercifully, didn't hear.
Or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.
I forced myself to focus again, pushing Lucas and his shameless flirting from my mind.
We slipped deeper into the market square, where the torches burned lower and the crowds thinned.
Near the edge, a group of drunken men gathered around a cracked barrel, their voices loud and slurred, waving mugs of cheap ale.
I slowed my steps, pretending to examine a stall of rusted knives.
Lucas drifted lazily behind me, giving no sign he noticed anything unusual — but I knew he heard them too.
"...I'm tellin' you," one man slurred, slamming his mug onto the barrel.
"The king's gearin' up for something'. Too many shipments. Too many bloody mercs comin' and goin'."
Another man laughed, a harsh, broken sound.
"He ain't gonna wait much longer. Word is, full moon's when the gates fall."
I stiffened slightly under my cloak.
The full moon.
A third man, older, leaned in close, his voice dropping.
"Mark my words," he rasped. "This city's gonna drown in blood before winter. And those of us smart enough'll be standing on the right side when it happens."
He tipped back his mug, ale spilling down his chin.
The others roared with laughter.
I turned away casually, drifting back toward Lucas without drawing attention.
We didn't need more.
We had enough.
And more importantly —
Now we have a timeline. We returned to the inn near midnight, our cloaks dusted with the filth of the city.
I tossed my satchel onto the rickety table and pulled the curtains tight.
Lucas sank lazily into the battered chair near the fireplace, stretching out his legs with a sigh.
"Well?" he asked, studying me from beneath half-lidded eyes.
I sat opposite Lucas, removing my boots carefully, never fully relaxing.
He watched me with that lazy, half-lidded gaze, waiting.
"I gathered some information," I said, my voice low.
"But it's mostly just suspicions. Observations. Nothing solid yet."
Lucas nodded once, tapping a finger lightly against the armrest.
"We're supposed to meet with Lord Raventhorn the day after tomorrow," I continued.
"After that, they'll expect us to move on. We have to finish the mission by tomorrow night."
He tilted his head slightly, considering.
"We'll need to sneak in then," Lucas said.
"If we can find any letter… proof he's been communicating with mercenary werewolves... it would be enough."
I nodded.
"Yes. Should we go tonight?" I asked.
Lucas's mouth curved into a slight frown.
"No. Someone could already be onto us," he said.
"It's too risky. It's better to move tomorrow night — grab what we need and leave immediately after."
I exhaled slowly.
"Okay. We'll do that."