I don't know

You lived on the edge of the forest, where the road to the kingdom disappeared among the roots of ancient trees. They said your house could never be found twice unless you wanted it to be. It suited you: the silence, the herbs, the potions, and the occasional client.

You were a witch with no thirst for fame. The pay was good. They often brought in wounded animals: with a broken wing, with poisoned blood, with eyes full of fear. You treated them almost for free. People, however, came with requests that made you roll your eyes: love spells, hexes, someone else's luck. It all smelled rotten, but the coins jingled too loudly.

The kingdom was bustling with activity. You heard rumors of balls, tournaments, and an heir. Christopher—a name pronounced with caution. You weren't interested in the palace, but you knew it all too well.

The morning began as usual. Dew chilled the grass, the knife cut the stems, the pouch filled. The forest was quiet—too quiet. You heard footsteps, reached for the amulet, and turned around.

He stood close. Without a cloak or retinue, but you recognized him immediately. Christopher. Your heart pounded loudly: were they coming for you? You took a step back, preparing to cast a spell.

He raised his palms.
"Hello," he said calmly. "I need your help. I don't have any gold on me, but I'll pay. And this isn't about love spells or curses." His gaze was heavy, but honest, and you felt it immediately.