Page 4 of A Kingdom's Heart
A flicker through the dark, so faint I almost missed it. I stopped, blinking against the rain. There it was again, a small, steady glow between the trees.
Light.
My heart kicked against my ribs. I pushed forward, branches scraping my arms, mud pulling at my feet. The glow brightened as I neared, gathering shape and color until I could see it clearly.
A cottage. The windows shone warm against the dark, with soft gold through the rain.
Relief hit so sharply it almost hurt. I let out a broken laugh, half disbelief, half gratitude, and kept walking toward the light. Then I started running.
Branches scraped against my cloak as I hurried forward. My legs ached, but I did not care. The closer I came, the brighter the light grew. It looked lived in. Safe.
Once I reached the door, I knocked gently at first. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No answer.
I knocked again, harder this time, my hand trembling. Still nothing. The rain beat louder against the roof, and panic rose in my chest.
“Please,” I called. “Someone, please.”
I hit the door again, rougher, desperate now. The latch rattled, and I tried it myself. The door was locked. I pushed once more, ready to call out again, when it swung open.
A figure filled the doorway.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. The light from inside caught the edge of a sword in his hand.
I froze where I stood.
He did not speak. He only watched me. Water dripped from his dark hair, tracing lines down a face I could barely see. His grip on the hilt tightened and he shifted his weight forward as if he expected an attack.
The air grew thin. My pulse thundered in my ears.
He looked ready to kill.
Before I could speak, before I could even breathe, the world seemed to hold still.
CHAPTER THREE
WILLIAM
No one ever came here. Not this late, not in weather like this. My home was far from the village, surrounded by open fields and the dark line of the forest. Even traders rarely passed by. So when someone began pounding on my door, hard and desperate, I froze.
The sound came again, sharper this time. Whoever it was wanted in.
I reached for the sword on the wall. My father’s sword. The leather grip was worn smooth where his hands had held it for years. He had taught me how to use it, taught me to defend what was mine, taught me never to strike a woman no matter the cause. I remembered that as I lifted the blade and went to the door.
The rain hit the walls in sheets, the wind howling across the open field. I pulled the latch and opened the door.
I expected a beast, or a thief, or maybe some poor soul from the village who had lost their way. But what stood there made me pause.
A small figure, head lowered, hands raised slightly in front of her. The hood of her cloak dripped with rain, the fabric clinging to her frame. For a moment, she said nothing, only breathed hard, trembling from the cold.
Then I saw she was a woman.
I lowered the sword at once. “Who are you?” I asked.
Her voice came soft, shaky. “I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you. I lost my way in the storm. I saw your light and thought…” She hesitated, then swallowed. “I thought I might ask for shelter, just until the rain passes.”
I studied her in the dim light. Her voice sounded young but careful, her words too smooth for a common traveler. I was about to speak when she lifted her head.
