They walked on through the morning, the Shaes leading the soldiers along the same inexplicable route. It had been easier when the prospect of bandits, beasts, and fair folk was only theoretical. After Lollie, it was easier to picture enemies in the trees, darting behind rocks, hiding their footprints in the shallow streams that wended their way through the uneven landscape.

Discounting the anxiety, the forest today was much the same, with no discernible path, nor any clear markers that even hinted at where they might be headed. Were they getting closer to the princess? Closer to the Between? Lollie had made it seem like Brella’s ability to pop from one country to the next was not some sort of elaborate hoax. That was as reassuring as it was discomfiting. If Brella was telling the truth, that meant that Scratch would really pursue the princess. And if she could get Frances back, she would really claim her rightful spot as Lady Commander. She allowed the thought to warm her, just for a moment. Not hope, but motivation. Incentive.

She set her mind to poke at the mysterious snarl of Frances’s disappearance. If King Ingomar had really planned to stage his own daughter’s abduction, the girl probably wasn’t in Koravia. The whispered word that Frances and Iris had picked up—Koravia, Koravia—was the planted seed, not the culprit. If—a big if—the Shaes were telling the truth, then King Ingomar’s plan was to start a war with Koravia by accusing their king of kidnapping Princess Frances.

Strength against Koravia was one of many reasons King Ingomar had led all of his mighty conquests, his “west, west, west to the ocean” pursuit. What if he wasn’t satisfied with a strong defense? What if he had decided the safer path would be to take the offensive and attack Koravia before they got a chance to do the same? All he needed was a good enough reason to make the first move.

Scratch was so wrapped up in her thoughts she barely heard the crinkle of dead leaves. “Stop,” she whispered, but by the time the word slipped through her lips, it was already too late. A rustle in the trees ahead, one beside, and one in a bush—they were surrounded. She dropped her hand to her knife.

“Do what I say when I say it,” she breathed. Brella met her eyes, nodding mutely. Something lashed around Scratch’s insides at the sight of her, squeezing tight. She blinked it away, finding James. His brows were drawn, his tongue darting across his nearly healed lip. He reached for his bow, nocked an arrow, and—

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” A man stepped out from behind the trees ahead, tall and broad and instantly familiar.

“Branch,” Scratch breathed.