Prologue: The Night Everything Was Lost

19 years ago

The nursery smelled of warm milk and lavender. Two cribs stood side by side under the soft glow of a single lamp.

Sabrina Lopez rested her hands on the railings, heart still full from the long day of holding them. Harry slept with his tiny fist stuffed in his mouth, making soft sucking noises. Jade lay awake, her silver hair catching the light like moonlight on water, those deep blue eyes fixed on her mother with unnerving calm.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, little one,” Sabrina whispered, reaching down to brush a strand from Jade’s forehead. Her voice cracked slightly — the exhaustion and overwhelming love mixing together. “Both of you… my miracles.”

Jade made a small cooing sound, almost like agreement.

Sabrina smiled, even as her eyes stung. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you? I can already tell.”

Behind her, the door creaked open.

“Your Grace?”

A young maid stood there, hands clasped in front of her. Plain face. Quiet voice. New.

“I’ve come to check on the children.”

Sabrina hesitated. Something in her chest tightened — that strange, primal instinct new mothers carry. She looked at her babies one more time, reluctant to leave even for a moment.

“Mira, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“The children are fine. But… stay with them. I’ll only be a minute. Their father wanted to see them before bed.”

“Of course.”

Sabrina forced herself to step away. At the door she glanced back. Jade was still watching her.

She never saw her daughter again.

An hour later the Duke found his wife on her knees in the empty nursery, clutching the tiny blanket from Jade’s crib to her chest as if it could still hold warmth. Her screams had already gone hoarse.

The window swung open in the cold night wind.

The maid named Mira had vanished.

Harry slept on, unaware, in the crib beside the empty one.

The Duke of Rivermond stood frozen for a long moment, then dropped beside his wife and pulled her into his arms. His voice, when it finally came, was raw and shaking with a fury and grief that would harden into iron over the years:

“I will find her. I swear it on my life. I don’t care how long it takes… I will bring our daughter home.”

"Chapter One: Jasmine"

Jasmine loved the forest because it never asked her to hide.

Here, beneath the shifting canopy of leaves, she could let the scarf slip just a little. Silver strands caught the dappled light as she walked barefoot over cool moss. Kira and Akira moved like silver ghosts beside her, their presence the only safety she truly trusted.

"Jasmine!"

Lilly’s voice cut through the trees, bright and impatient. "You’re going to be late for market again!"

Jasmine laughed, but her hand flew up to tighten the scarf around her hair. The familiar knot of anxiety settled in her stomach — that constant, low hum she had learned to live with. She pulled the fabric lower, making sure not a single strand showed.

"Coming!" she called, forcing lightness into her voice.

She grabbed her basket of herbs and ran toward the village path, heart beating a little too fast, the way it always did when she left the trees behind. Granny’s warning echoed in her head for the thousandth time: If the wrong person sees that hair, you won’t live to see your first birthday.

At the market, Jasmine kept her head down while she set up her stall. She smiled at customers, chatted politely, but every laugh felt slightly practiced. When Old Man Henrick hobbled over complaining about his knees, she handed him the willow bark tea with genuine kindness.

"You’re a good girl," he said, pressing coins into her palm.

The words landed warmly, but they also stung. If only you knew.

That evening, back in Granny’s small cottage, Jasmine sat at the wooden table counting her coins under the warm firelight. The numbers blurred a little as tiredness crept in — not just from the day, but from the endless performance of being normal.

"Not bad," she murmured.

Granny looked up from the stew, her sharp eyes softening as they always did when she looked at Jasmine. She crossed the room slowly and pressed a kiss to the top of Jasmine’s scarf-covered head.

"You’re a good girl," Granny said quietly. "I don’t say it enough. But you are."

Jasmine leaned into the touch, eyes closing for a moment. The affection was real, and yet it always carried the same quiet ache: She loves the girl she found… but would she still love the truth?

"I had a good teacher," Jasmine whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Chapter Two: The Forest

Three days later

The forest knew Jasmine’s name.

The paths opened for her. The feverfew grew exactly where she needed it. Kira and Akira stayed close, their black coats blending with the dappled light, tongues lolling happily.

“Kira. Akira. Stay close,” she murmured, kneeling to harvest the plants.

Then Akira froze.

Her hackles rose. A low, uneasy whine slipped from her throat.

Jasmine’s stomach tightened. “What is it, girl?”

The wolf bolted.

Jasmine dropped the feverfew and ran after her, heart already hammering. She found Akira standing over a man slumped against the base of an old oak.

He was young — maybe twenty-two or twenty-three — dressed in fine, torn clothes now dark with blood. His face was deathly pale. A deep gash ran along his side, still sluggishly bleeding.

For one horrible second, Jasmine thought he was already gone.

Then his chest rose — shallow, weak.

She dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands hovered uselessly. Too deep. Feverfew won’t be enough. He needs yarrow, a clean cloth, pressure—

Her eyes fell on her scarf.

Her breath caught.

No.

Granny’s voice crashed over her like cold water: Don’t let anyone see that hair. If the wrong person remembers you, you won’t live to see another winter.

Jasmine’s fingers trembled. She looked at the man’s face — young, helpless, lips slightly parted as if he were already slipping away. Then back at the wound. Blood was pooling on the forest floor.

She could walk away right now. Leave him here. No one would ever know.

But her hands refused to move.

“Damn it,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Damn it, why did you have to be here?”

Her heart pounded so hard she felt sick. With shaking fingers, she reached up and pulled the scarf off.

Silver hair spilled down her shoulders, bright and impossible in the forest light. She felt terrifyingly exposed — as if the trees themselves were staring at her. For the first time in years, the wind touched her scalp.

She tore the scarf in half with her teeth, one piece pressed hard against the bleeding wound, the other quickly wrapped around her head in a messy, imperfect knot. It wasn’t enough. Strands of silver still escaped.

“Kira. Akira. Guard,” she ordered, voice tight.

The wolves positioned themselves on either side of the stranger, ears pricked, eyes alert.

Jasmine grabbed the man’s arm and hauled it over her shoulder. He was heavy — dead weight — and the effort made her legs shake. Blood soaked into her dress.

“You’re not dying in my forest,” she muttered through gritted teeth, tears of fear and frustration pricking her eyes. “I don’t have time to bury you… and I’m not letting you die on my conscience either.”

He didn’t answer. His head lolled against her shoulder as she dragged him toward the hidden cave, every step filled with the terrifying knowledge that she had just risked everything for a stranger whose name she didn’t even know.

Chapter Three: The Cave

Day One

The cave felt smaller with a dying man inside it.

Jasmine lowered him onto the thin straw bed, her arms burning from dragging him so far. She cut away his blood-soaked shirt with shaking fingers. The wound was deep but clean. Still, her stomach twisted with fear — one wrong move and he would die here, in her secret place.

“Focus,” she whispered fiercely. “He dies if you don’t focus.”

She worked as fast as she could — clean water, yarrow powder, needle and thread. Every stitch made her heart pound harder. When she finally tied the bandage and covered him with her spare cloak, she sat back, exhausted and terrified.

He looked so young. Dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Hands that had clearly held a sword, not a plow. A soldier. Maybe a knight.

She should run home right now. Tell Granny everything.

But Granny would ask about the scarf. About why she had risked everything.

Not yet.

“Kira. Guard.”

The wolf lay down across the entrance like a silent sentinel. Jasmine slipped out into the darkening forest, chest tight with the weight of what she had just done.

Day Two

He still hadn’t woken.

Jasmine returned at dawn, scarf pulled painfully tight, heart anxious. She changed the bandages. Left fresh bread and water. He didn’t touch them.

In the evening she came again. His skin burned with fever.

“Come on,” she whispered, pressing a cool poultice to his brow. “Fight. Please fight.”

She sat beside him until the light faded, knees drawn to her chest, wondering if she was dooming herself for a man who might never even know her name.

Day Three

The routine was wearing her down.

Morning. Fresh bandages. Untouched food. Evening. The same.

She left three portions this time — morning, noon, and night — and felt a strange mix of anger and worry twisting in her gut.

“Kira. Stay with him.”

The wolf gave her a long, doubtful look.

“I know,” Jasmine muttered. “It’s stupid. Just… guard him.”

Day Four — Morning

Jasmine had barely slept. Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she crept out before dawn, soup and bread in her basket, scarf knotted so tightly it hurt.

The moment she neared the cave, Kira was standing at the entrance, hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

“Kira? What is it?”

The wolf didn’t stop.

Jasmine’s pulse spiked. She stepped past her anyway. “He’s half dead. He’s not a threat.”

She knelt beside him and reached out to check his temperature—

His hand shot up and clamped around her wrist like iron.

Jasmine froze.

His eyes snapped open — dark blue, bright with fever, sharp and suspicious.

“What’s your motive?” he rasped.

Anger flared hot and sudden in her chest — anger at his ingratitude, at her own stupidity for risking everything, at the way her heart was still racing with fear.

She yanked her wrist free. “If you’re that worried, recover fast and get out of my cave. I don’t have patience or space for ungrateful people.”

She stood and turned her back, trying to hide how badly her hands were shaking.

Silence stretched behind her.

Then, quietly: “How long?”

“Four days,” she answered without turning around. “You’ve been unconscious for four days.”

He looked down at the bandage on his waist. “You did this.”

“Obviously.”

He said “Why?”

“Because you were bleeding to death in my forest. What was I supposed to do — walk past?”

He said “Yes.”

The single word landed like a stone in her stomach. Cold. Honest. It hurt more than she expected.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Jasmine set the bread and soup down within his reach, her throat tight. As she walked toward the entrance, his voice stopped her again.

“Wait.”

She paused, back still turned.

“What’s your name?”

She almost answered. The word rose in her throat — Jasmine — before Granny’s warning slammed into her: Don’t let anyone know you. Don’t let anyone remember you.

The fear of what she had already risked crashed over her in a cold wave.

“Nobody,” she said, voice quieter than she wanted.

And she walked out, leaving the stranger and her growing tangle of fear, anger, and unwanted compassion behind her in the cave.