The bell rang, and yet, Ophelia did not move.

Her breaths were heavy. Her lungs were short on air. She hadn’t kept track of the time—so it could have very well been only a minute, or over an hour—but after a moment, the deer’s head moved along with the opening door. “Hey,” Elian said as he stepped in with his leather boots still partially soaked by the dew outside. “Dinner’s ready.” His voice was soft, like seeds of daffodils flying through the wind. Despite Ophelia’s earlier gut-wrenching feeling, she sensed no hostility whatsoever coming from him.

Ophelia hugged her knees close to her chest. She averted her gaze from his. A part of the old wood showed resistance when the skirt of her dress rose alongside her legs; its fabric was now caught in the many, tiny splinters she could not see.

Elian kneeled down before her and extended his hand for her to take. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Are you not feeling well?”

She shook her head. Even if she could have spoken, she wasn’t sure she would have found the words, nor the courage, to do so.

“Stop babying her,” a voice said from the corridor. “She’s a grown woman. Even if she appears to be young, Kris tells me she is at least of age to offer her hand in marriage or join the army.”

“I know, Vera,” Elian said in return. “But not everyone’s like you. Sometimes,”—he smiled at Ophelia—“we just need a bit of a push, right?”

Ophelia gulped. That these people could murder other sources of life in cold blood seemed preposterous to her. And yet… and yet… She glanced upward once more, to the deer’s head. And yet, this was here.

She took Elian’s hand; it was the least she could do. A young woman who looked no older than twenty was there, waiting, when she passed the open door. Her arms were crossed, a sword hung by her waist and her long black hair fell at the sides of her face, framing the stare of an ice-queen—the lightest blue in anyone Ophelia had ever seen.

“Ophelia,”—Elian motioned to his comrade with his free hand—“Meet Vera. She’s in charge of most of our troupes.”

Vera looked down at Ophelia and scoffed. “She reminds me of them,” she said before turning her back on them. “It’s ominous, I don’t like it.”

Them? Who is that? Ophelia wondered as she watched Vera walk away, her dark cape casting shadows along the ground lit by torches that burned bright across the inn’s walls.