The next morning, Sylra woke to the sound of rain pattering against the tavern’s shutters. It was a steady, rhythmic downpour that softened the world outside and made the warmth of her little home all the more comforting. She stretched and dressed quickly, pulling on her sturdy boots and tying her long braid before heading downstairs.


    The Stumbling Wyvern was quiet in the early hours, the scent of woodsmoke and stale ale lingering in the air. Sylra began her usual routine: wiping down the tables, sweeping the floors, and checking the stores of food and drink. But her mind wasn’t on her work. It lingered on Caspian—on his words, his presence, the way his blue eyes seemed to look at her as though she were more than just a goblin maid.


    She was halfway through stacking the clean tankards when the tavern door creaked open. A gust of cold, damp air swept in, and Sylra turned to greet the visitor.


    It wasn’t Caspian.


    A tall man in a dark cloak stood in the doorway, his hood pulled low over his face. Beneath the cloak, Sylra caught the glint of chainmail. His presence was commanding, his movements deliberate as he stepped inside.


    “Can I help you?” Sylra asked, her tone cautious.


    The man pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered face marked by scars and piercing gray eyes. “I’m looking for someone,” he said, his voice gravelly. “A young man. Blonde hair, well-dressed. Goes by the name Caspian.”


    Sylra’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. “Don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, turning back to her work.


    The man stepped closer, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. “He’s been seen here,” he said, his tone firm. “And I’ve been sent to bring him back. So I’ll ask again—where is he?”


    Sylra set the tankard down slowly and turned to face him. Her amber eyes gleamed with defiance. “I told you, I don’t know anyone by that name. Maybe you’ve got the wrong place.”


    The man narrowed his eyes, studying her. “You’re lying,” he said flatly.


    “Maybe,” Sylra replied, crossing her arms. “But unless you’re planning to order a drink, I suggest you take your accusations elsewhere. This is my tavern, and I don’t take kindly to people barging in and making demands.”


    For a moment, the man didn’t move. The tension in the room was palpable, like the air before a lightning strike. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a rolled parchment.


    “Perhaps this will refresh your memory,” he said, unfurling it.


    Sylra’s breath caught as she saw the royal crest stamped at the bottom. The parchment was an official decree—a bounty, offering a hefty reward for anyone who provided information on the whereabouts of Prince Caspian of Rivenhold.


    “You see,” the man said, his voice cold, “I have every reason to believe he’s been here. And if you’re hiding him, you’re making a grave mistake.”


    Sylra’s mind raced. She kept her expression carefully blank, though her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Like I said,” she replied evenly, “you’ve got the wrong place.”


    The man studied her for another long moment before rolling up the parchment and tucking it back into his cloak. “Very well,” he said. “But if I find out you’ve been lying, I’ll be back. And it won’t be a friendly visit.”


    With that, he turned and strode out into the rain, the door slamming shut behind him.


    Sylra exhaled slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no doubt the man was one of the king’s enforcers, sent to drag Caspian back to the palace whether he wanted to go or not.


    She moved to the door and locked it, her mind already spinning with plans. If they knew about Caspian’s visits, it was only a matter of time before they came for him. And if they discovered her role in helping him, she’d be in just as much danger.


    But fear wasn’t what fueled her now. It was resolve.


    Sylra grabbed her cloak and headed out the back door into the rain. She had to find Caspian before they did.


    <hr>


    The man, whose name was Commander Brask, was a seasoned enforcer and loyal servant of King Ulric, Caspian''s father. His orders were clear: locate Prince Caspian and bring him back to the palace by any means necessary.


    Caspian’s disappearance had not gone unnoticed, and his absences from court were beginning to cause rumors that the king could no longer afford to ignore. Whispers of rebellion among the nobility and doubts about the prince’s fitness to rule were spreading like wildfire. To King Ulric, Caspian’s actions were more than just youthful rebellion—they were a threat to the stability of the kingdom and the royal family''s reputation.


    But Brask’s mission was more than just retrieving the wayward prince. Caspian’s frequent visits to the Stumbling Wyvern had been noted, and rumors of his connection to a goblin woman had reached the king’s ears. For a prince to fraternize with a goblin—let alone form any kind of romantic attachment—was scandalous. To the king, it was a disgrace, an insult to the royal lineage, and a risk to the alliances he had painstakingly built with the human nobility.


    King Ulric had given Brask explicit instructions:


    Find Caspian and bring him back to court. If he resisted, he was to be detained and escorted back under guard.


    Investigate the goblin woman. If she was found to be a negative influence—or worse, a threat—she was to be removed from the picture, by force if necessary.


    Brask, a man hardened by years of carrying out the king’s will, had no qualms about following these orders. He saw Caspian’s actions as reckless and dangerous, a prince shirking his responsibilities for the sake of a fleeting infatuation. And as for Sylra, she was just another obstacle in the way of restoring order—one he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate.


    What Brask wanted with Caspian was simple: control. The prince needed to be brought back into the fold, reminded of his duty, and stripped of whatever distractions were keeping him from fulfilling his role as heir to the throne. To Brask, it wasn’t personal—it was politics, power, and loyalty to the crown.


    But what he didn’t anticipate was the strength of the bond between Caspian and Sylra, and the lengths both would go to protect each other.


    Prince Caspian’s disappearance wasn’t a sudden act of rebellion but a gradual escape from a life that had long felt like a gilded cage. Raised within the marble walls of Rivenhold Castle, Caspian had been groomed since birth to one day inherit the throne. His days were a strict regimen of lessons in diplomacy, swordsmanship, and the endless intricacies of court politics. From the outside, his life seemed ideal—wealth, privilege, and the adoration of the people. But beneath the surface, it was a life devoid of freedom.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Caspian disappeared because he was suffocating under the weight of expectation. His father, King Ulric, was a stern and uncompromising ruler who believed that duty to the crown came above all else. Caspian’s every move was scrutinized, every decision judged. Even his personal life was not his own—his future marriage was expected to be a political alliance, chosen not for love but for power.


    The breaking point came during a heated argument with the king. Ulric had begun arranging Caspian’s engagement to Lady Ellara, the daughter of a powerful noble family. While Lady Ellara was kind and graceful, Caspian barely knew her, and the idea of marrying her for political gain made him feel like a pawn in his father’s game. When he voiced his objections, the king dismissed him, calling him na?ve and unfit to lead if he couldn’t see the necessity of such alliances.


    That night, Caspian left the castle without a word, taking only a cloak and a few coins. He didn’t plan to disappear entirely—he just needed to breathe, to find a place where he could be himself without the crushing weight of his title.


    He wandered for days, avoiding towns where he might be recognized. When he stumbled upon the Stumbling Wyvern, it was by sheer chance, but the moment he stepped inside, he felt something he hadn’t in years: normalcy.


    The tavern was noisy, messy, and alive in a way the sterile halls of the palace never were. And then there was Sylra. She was unlike anyone he had ever met—sharp, bold, and unapologetically herself. She didn’t care that he was a prince or that he had run away from his duties. To her, he was just Caspian, another traveler looking for a drink and a warm fire.


    The longer he stayed, the harder it became to return. For the first time in his life, Caspian felt free. Free to laugh without worrying about appearances, free to speak without filtering his words, and free to dream of a life where he wasn’t bound by duty.


    His disappearance was a search for identity—a desperate attempt to figure out who he was beyond the crown. What he didn’t expect was to find love, friendship, and a sense of belonging in a place so far removed from the world he had always known.


    But now, with his father’s enforcers closing in, Caspian knew his time at the tavern—and with Sylra—was running out. The question was whether he could stand up to his father and the forces pulling him back or if he would lose everything he had found in his escape.


    <hr>


    The rain had only grown heavier as Sylra made her way through the narrow, winding streets of the town. The hood of her cloak was pulled tight, shielding her from the downpour, but the chill seeped into her bones nonetheless. Her boots splashed through puddles as she hurried toward the outskirts, her mind racing with worry and determination.


    She had a hunch where Caspian might be. He often slipped away to a quiet spot by the old mill at the edge of the forest—a place where the world felt still and the weight of his royal burdens seemed to lift.


    When she reached the mill, the rain was coming down in sheets, drenching the already overgrown clearing. The creak of the mill’s waterwheel was the only sound aside from the relentless patter of rain. Sylra scanned the area, her heart sinking as it appeared deserted.


    “Caspian!” she called, her voice barely carrying over the storm.


    A faint rustle came from the other side of the mill. Sylra moved toward the sound, her sharp eyes catching a flash of movement beneath the shelter of an old tree. Caspian was there, sitting on a fallen log, his cloak wrapped around him. His blonde hair was damp, plastered to his forehead, and his expression was distant, lost in thought.


    “Caspian,” Sylra said again, softer this time.


    He looked up, his blue eyes widening in surprise. “Sylra? What are you doing here?”


    She crossed the muddy ground, ignoring the rain as she knelt in front of him. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I came to warn you. Someone’s looking for you—one of your father’s men.”


    Caspian’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a weary sigh. “I figured it was only a matter of time.”


    Sylra grabbed his hands, her grip firm. “This isn’t just about dragging you back to the castle, Caspian. That man came to the tavern asking questions about you—and about me. Your father knows about us.”


    The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Caspian’s jaw tightened, and a spark of defiance lit in his eyes. “I won’t let them hurt you, Sylra. I don’t care what my father thinks or what he does—I won’t let him take this from me.”


    Sylra’s heart ached at the conviction in his voice. “Caspian, this isn’t just about you standing up to your father. These people don’t play fair. If they think I’m a threat to you or your kingdom, they’ll get rid of me without a second thought.”


    “Then we leave,” Caspian said, standing abruptly. “Together. We’ll disappear, go somewhere they can’t find us. I’ve already abandoned the court—I can abandon the kingdom, too.”


    Sylra stood as well, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. “Running won’t solve this. You can’t just leave everything behind, Caspian. Your people need you, even if you don’t see it right now. And I won’t let you throw your life away for me.”


    His hands covered hers, his gaze intense. “You’re not asking me to throw my life away, Sylra. You’re the first thing in my life that feels real. The only thing that makes me feel free.”


    Her breath hitched, her resolve wavering. She wanted to believe they could have a life together, far from the reach of kings and crowns. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.


    “We can’t stay here,” she said finally. “Not with your father’s men so close. If you’re serious about this—about us—we need to figure out a plan.”


    Caspian nodded, his grip tightening on her hands. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”


    For now, that was enough. As the rain continued to fall, the two of them stood beneath the tree, holding onto each other as though the storm couldn’t touch them. They didn’t know what lay ahead, but whatever it was, they would face it side by side.


    Sylra’s hand was steady as she took Caspian’s, her amber eyes locking with his. The rain had eased to a drizzle, the forest around them alive with the scent of wet earth and the distant rustle of leaves.


    “Caspian,” she began, her voice firm but gentle, “you can’t make decisions like this when you’re running on anger and fear. If we’re going to face what’s coming, we need to be smart about it. That means going back to the tavern.”


    Caspian shook his head, his expression resolute. “I can’t drag you into this, Sylra. If I go back, I’m putting a target on your back. Brask—my father’s man—he won’t stop until he’s dragged me back to the castle. And you—”


    “I’m already in this, Caspian,” she interrupted, her voice cutting through his. “That man came to my door looking for you. If they know about me, then running off together won’t make a difference. They’ll come after us, whether we’re hiding in the forest or standing in my tavern.”


    He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he struggled with her words. “So what do you suggest? We sit and wait for them to find us?”


    Sylra shook her head, stepping closer. “No. We use the tavern to our advantage. It’s a place I know inside and out. It’s my home, my territory. If we’re going to face this, I’d rather do it somewhere where I have the upper hand.”


    Caspian’s lips parted to argue, but she reached up, cupping his face with her hands. “Listen to me. I know you want to protect me, and I love you for it. But you can’t protect me by running. We need a plan, and we need a place to make one. The tavern is that place.”


    He exhaled slowly, leaning into her touch. For a moment, the weight of his burdens seemed to soften, and he closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.


    Sylra gave a small, wry smile. “You’re right. But you’ve got me anyway, so stop being stubborn and let me help.”


    When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with a mix of gratitude and determination. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go back to the tavern. But if anything happens, Sylra—”


    “Nothing will happen,” she interrupted firmly. “Not if we stay sharp and work together. Now, come on. The rain’s letting up, and I don’t want to explain to my customers why the place is locked in the middle of the day.”


    Caspian laughed softly, the sound a rare balm to his frayed nerves. He took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Lead the way, Sylra.”


    With her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders and Caspian at her side, Sylra began the trek back to the Stumbling Wyvern. The forest felt quieter now, the storm’s remnants fading into a calm drizzle. But she knew that the storm within the kingdom was only just beginning—and she and Caspian would need every bit of courage, cunning, and love they had to weather it.