The Lost Wood is an unnerving place at night. Legend has it that hundreds of men have been lost and never recovered from the bowels of this place.

Even on bright afternoons, the trees are so dense that they choke out most sunlight before it has a chance to reach the forest floor, and in that dappled shade, thick, green moss coats every tree trunk and branch, making it look as if the entire forest was populated by grotesque and greedy goblins.

But for me, this forest is a second home.

"Did you hear that?" Lucien asks.

He stops sucking on his cigarette, and in the darkness, I watch as the cherry glows orange, burning its way down to his knuckle.

"Don't tell me these woods are getting to your head?"

He's silent for a moment, wondering if he's indeed going bat-shit crazy, and then his body tenses. "There it is again. Over there."

I watch as Lucien twists his shoulders, trying to face the noise. But the only noise I hear is the wind brushing past leaves.

We've been keeping watch in the Lost Wood for years, and tonight of all nights, Lucien decides to grow jumpy on me.

I look down at my watch.

9:37 pm.

Where is she? She's late.

Another gust of wind blows past Lucien and I, and I shove my hands into my coat pockets, bracing myself against the cold. I stamp my boots on the ground, in an effort to keep my feet warm.

Just then, I hear a flock of birds flee from a nearby tree.

Birds don't do that without provocation.

"Shhh," I say, turning to Lucien and holding a finger to my lips. "I think you're right. We aren't alone tonight."

"Now you believe me," he smiles, in a way that says I told you so. He throws the remainder of his cigarette down to the ground and snuffs it out with his boot.

I watch as a thin wisp of blue smoke curls around his heel.

Lucien and I step off the trail and crouch behind a boulder. I'll be damned if I let one of Queen Moira's soldiers ambush us.

Not here. Not on my watch.

Our bodies grow tense as we hear a burst of noise. It's a person running at full speed through the forest.

But it's not a soldier.

It's a woman.

And it's not everyday that you see a beautiful woman in the Lost Wood.

Twigs are snapping under her feet. Her dress is torn and she's breathing heavy. Her arms are swinging wildly, and there are dry leaves stuck at odd angles in her hair.

I jump out from behind the boulder and grab her in my arms.

"Let me go! Let me go!" she screams, pounding my shoulders with her balled fists. She's thrashing and kicking my shins, doing everything in her power to flee from me. Her panic is palpable.

"It's OK, shhh, shhh," I say. "I'm here to help you. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

I try to calm her down, but she isn't listening. Fear has overtaken her. She's struggling in my arms and I can't help but watch the way her breasts rise and fall beneath her ragged breathing. She's underdressed for this weather. It looks as if she had to leave in a hurry and couldn't grab a coat.

Her dress is short and as she struggles in my arms, the fabric hikes up to her hips. My eyes fall on her soft, exposed thighs.

Clearly, my cock notices this too because I feel it give a quick twitch in my pants.

"Calm down," I whisper, and now Lucien is standing next to me, trying to soothe her as well.

"If she keeps this up, every soldier in a 10-mile radius will know where we are," Lucien says.

"Everything is fine," I say. "We aren't going to hurt you."

"We've been sent by Prince Gladrell," I continue, and this seems to work. She calms down, and stares at us with eyes that flash the color of a perfect spring sky.

Prince Gladrell never told us how fucking beautiful Snow is.

Those breasts. That heart-shaped ass.

This whole damsel-in-distress scenario is making my cock grow harder by the minute, and by the look on Lucien's face, I'm guessing he's also stiffer than a new pair of leather boots.

"Here, take this," I say, removing my coat and draping it over her shoulders.

"You know Prince Gladrell?" she asks, looking at us both, wondering whether or not she can trust us.

"Yes, and we also know your father. I'm Richard," I say, extending her my hand. "And this is Lucien."

Lucien gives her the hint of a smile and extends his hand as well. She shakes it, but I can still see the skepticism etched onto her face.

"We're Freedom Fighters," I say. "Your father, King Guy Avondale is a friend of ours. And what's happened to him is a shame."

Snow nods her head. "I want my father back in St. Carlta. Moira won't get away with this."

"And that's why we've pledged our loyalty to Prince Gladrell," I say. "As Freedom Fighters, we're here to help bring democracy to St. Carlta and restore King Avondale to power."

The tension in Snow's body seems to dissipate as she takes this all in, and I watch as she wipes a tear from her eye. "Thank you," she says, just above a whisper. She seems relieved. "I never thought I'd be running for my life."

"Neither did all of us," Lucien says.

"All of you?" Snow asks. "Are there more of you?"

As she says this, the rustle of leaves can be heard in the near distance and the soft crackle of boots stepping on dry branches truncates the silence.

Then, Snow sucks in a sharp breath and she turns to see five other men emerge from the forest.

"Yes, all of us," I smile. "We are the Seven Freedom Fighters, and we're here to protect you Princess Snow."