The first rays of dawn painted the sky in pale pink and gold as the small group crested the last hill. Before them lay Darwisha a village scarred by fire, its thatched rooftops blackened, and fields trampled under the weight of destruction. Smoke curled from distant ruins.
Kaelith slowed his horse at the crest. Beside him, Hale watched intently, eyes steady but concerned. Elion relaxed his grip on his bow, Lysaro's sword rested against his thigh, and Rellan scanned the village for survivors.
They rode forward, Prince Kaelith at the lead, banner streaming, demeanor calm but urgent. Villagers emerged slowly. Gaunt men, tear-streaked women, and children with hollow eyes. No soldiers met them only despair.
As they entered the center square, Kaelith dismounted, hands still on the pommel of his sword. He looked every survivor in the eye, showing them he had come.
A frail elderly woman shuffled forward. Her voice cracked.
"A savior came at last."
Kaelith lowered himself to one knee. We are here to help. Tell me what needs to be done.
Another survivor stepped forward a ragged man named Jerrik. "They struck at dawn… cut us off, burned the homesteads. We've lost over half our people, your Highness. If help doesn't come now, there may be none left.
Hale fell in beside Kaelith, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. Your Highness, we'll set guard posts tonight. We'll treat the wounded. We'll defend you if the Raiders return.
Kaelith looked at Hale, then asked: "Elion for healing? Lysaro you and Rellan on patrol? We need to watch throughout the night.
Commands were issued quickly, and the group sprang into action. Hale and Kaelith helped lay out blankets for the injured. Elion set up an arcanic ward near the well to draw out infection. Lysaro and Rellan took to the village entrance to stand guard.
Kaelith turned to Hale and said quietly, "You see? This is why I came."
Hale offered a faint smile. "This is where we belong tonight together."
Kaelith nodded and looked beyond the crowd. In Hale's eyes, he saw steadiness. Comfort. His heart tightened.
As the sun rose higher, hope bloomed in Darwisha for the first time in weeks. Kaelith and his team had arrived. Their presence meant safety. Their authority meant restoration.
ZARETHRONE KINGDOM
The scent of rose oil and heat lingered thickly in the air. Silk sheets were tangled around slender limbs. A gasp. A quiet moan.
Lady Celira arched against Lady Myrienne, her golden hair fanned across the pillow like spilled honey.
"Myrienne," Celira whispered, breathless. "We shouldn't…"
"We always say that," Myrienne murmured against her throat, her lips leaving warm trails along her skin. "And yet, you always come back."
Fingertips brushed down ribs, over hips, slow and reverent. Their bodies moved together in the candlelight, a tangle of forbidden warmth. Every sigh, every touch, was a rebellion.
"You're to be married soon," Celira said softly, eyes glinting with something more than just desire.
Myrienne paused, their foreheads pressed. "Then let me pretend, just for tonight… that you're mine."
Outside, the guards passed by, unaware of the love blooming quietly hidden beneath velvet and shame.
THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
King Aldric leaned forward at the head of the polished obsidian table, the candlelight sharpening the silver streak in his beard. His gaze was stern, unreadable.
Around him sat the high court advisors, nobles, and military heads.
"We've waited long enough," the King said. Prince Kaelith has proven himself. It's time he took a bride. We must secure the line.
"Princess Lysandra of Veilmar," said Lord Darius. Her family controls the southern ports. A union would strengthen both trade and defense.
She's beautiful. Strong-willed. A fitting match said Lady Merrow. And still untouched.
A murmur of agreement swept through the chamber.
The King cut it off.
"Kaelith does not need to know. Not yet."
"We'll present the engagement upon his return," Lord Darius added. "Frame it as a celebration. Duty. He'll accept."
"And if he doesn't?" someone asked.
Silence.
Then the King's voice was low and decisive.
"He will. He must. He's a prince of Zarethrone."
DARWISHA
Night settled over Darwisha like a heavy cloak. The scent of ash and damp earth lingered in the wind. Lanterns glowed faintly outside homes, and Kaelith stood at the center of the village square, cape fluttering slightly as he studied the tree line.
Beside him, Hale checked his sword. Lysaro leaned against a wooden post, watching the shadows with narrowed eyes, while Rellan and the village's few remaining defenders circled the outer perimeter.
Kaelith hadn't spoken much since the sun went down.
Hale hadn't left his side.
The quiet was broken by a scream.
Then another.
Shouting. The thunder of boots. The distant hiss of arrows.
"They're back!" someone cried.
The villagers began to flee their homes women pulling children close, men scrambling for tools to defend their families.
Kaelith stepped forward, his voice like steel.
"To arms! Protect the people! Hold your line!"
Hale surged ahead of him quick, precise. He blocked a blade meant for a fleeing child and shoved the attacker back with one smooth motion. More figures emerged from the woods, faces masked, blades glinting under the moonlight.
The raiders.
Not just bandits-trained men. Too coordinated. Too confident.
Kaelith drew his sword.
Two of the masked attackers lunged for him but Hale was faster.
He stepped between them, parrying the first strike and guiding Kaelith's sword with his hand, whispering,
"Protect the prince."
Their eyes met for a split second. Something electric passed between them.
Kaelith blinked but obeyed. He fell into formation behind Hale and began to strike with surgical precision. Together, they moved like mirrors, like instinct. As if they'd always fought side by side.
Elion loosed a bolt of searing light toward the rooftops, blasting one attacker off balance. He looked toward Kaelith just in time to see Hale stepping in front of him again.
Elion's mouth tightened. Jealousy simmered.
Meanwhile, Lysaro and Rellan fought back-to-back at the edge of the square, their blades singing through the air. Villagers ducked for cover behind barrels and fences, clutching one another.
"Kaelith! Behind you!" Hale shouted.
Kaelith turned just in time to see an axe arcing toward him.
He froze.
But Hale didn't.
He launched himself forward, taking the full weight of the blade on his side as he parried, blood soaking through his tunic but still, he didn't fall.
Kaelith caught him as he staggered. "Hale! Hale!"
"I'm fine," Hale gasped, pushing himself upright.
"No, you're not!"
"I said I'm fine."
But the way Kaelith held his arm around his back, hand over the wound wasn't the way a prince held a servant. It was something else.
Something no one could miss.
Even Elion turned his face away.
The battle slowed. With Hale's defense and Kaelith's sword, the attackers faltered. Rellan and Lysaro cut off their retreat.
And just as suddenly as it began. It ended.
The last of the raiders fled into the woods, leaving behind the moans of the wounded and the trembling breath of a village that had survived again.
Kaelith helped Hale sit on the stone wall.
"You're reckless," the prince muttered. "And stupid."
Hale gave a crooked smile.
You're welcome, Your Highness.
Kaelith's lips twitched into a reticent smile.
"Just stay alive, Hale."
The healer arrived and Kaelith stepped back slowly, reluctantly his eyes never leaving Hale.
But the question burned in his mind even as he looked toward the darkness.
Who were those raiders?