Princess zetulah viridian POV;
Blood seeped into dirt. Not mine.
...Not yet.
But that iron stink? It stayed. Hung thick in the air, heavy, promising things I didn't wanna think about.
Sunlight slashed the field—gold and crimson smeared like a bad omen. Viridian's border? Too still. Too quiet. Like the land itself was holding its breath.
Then—the horns.
The ground shuddered. Not just from drums. This was deeper. Older. Like the earth knew what was coming and didn't like it.
Kaelith stood rigid beside me, fingers locked white-knuckled around his sword. Dawn turned his red eyes black. But I knew his tells—the twitch in his jaw, the way his breath caught, how his ribs barely expanded. He was a lit fuse waiting for the match.
"Father won't…" His voice cracked like dry wood. "He won't hesitate."
I didn't flinch. "Neither will I."
Liar's words.
---
Azzuri warriors stirred behind us. Solric's horse snorted mist. Kallan's magic buzzed against my skin—static, a live wire ready to snap.
And Emberclaw?
Fire. Everywhere. Banners licking up flames, armor burning hell-red. But the real gut punch?
Ragnis.
No crown. Just blood-colored steel. Bastard smirked, like we were his morning entertainment.
The scout's breathless whisper: "He's waiting. But for what?"
Kaelith barked a laugh. "Testing."
"How?"
"If I crack." His blade hissed an inch from its scabbard. "If I run."
My gut twisted. I'd bet my life on him. My people. And now?
Gods, what've I done?
Kaelith turned. Dawn carved his face into sharp, merciless lines.
"You should hate me," he rasped.
And then—
Fire.
The sky exploded. A roar split the world in two. Flames surged, a screaming wall of heat, hungry and alive.
Kaelith staggered. "No, no, this isn't—"
Another roar. Not wolf. Not man. Wrong.
Shapes crawled through the fire. Too many legs. Eyes like forge coals. The smell hit first—rot and burned sugar.
Ragnis' laughter cut through the madness.
"Kaelith!" Arms spread wide, like some damned prophet. "Choose, boy!"
Kaelith didn't breathe.
Kallan spat. "Knew you'd fold. Knew it."
I grabbed Kaelith's wrist. Too hot. Burning through his skin, through mine. "Swear you didn't—"
"Didn't know." His voice cracked.
But Ragnis?
The old monster knew everything.
The voice sliced through the chaos—low, mocking.
"Kaelith."
How father. Executioner.
Ragnis watched him like a wolf sizing up a limping stag. His smirk was a wound cut too deep. "Did you think you could crawl away, boy?"
Kaelith's knuckles cracked against the hilt. "My fate is mine." The lie curdled on his tongue. Liar. Always his.
Ragnis chuckled, the sound like coals grinding under a boot. "Your leash is your spine."
His hand lifted—casual, cruel.
A signal.
Pain detonated in Kaelith's ribs—sharp, breath-stealing. A dagger. Buried deep.
His knees hit the mud.
Blood seeped hot through his tunic, thick as tar, metallic on his tongue. His vision blurred—crimson streaks, smoke, Ragnis's grin.
A shadow loomed. Boots.
Ragnis knelt, voice a whisper. "Never my heir. Just a blade to wield… and break."
The moment he fell, I felt it—a hook wrenched beneath my ribs.
Kaelith.
There—kneeling, blood pooling black around him.
I moved before I thought.
A snarl ripped from my throat. My blade carved through flesh, armor—Emberclaw soldiers dropping like wheat.
Solric's voice—frayed, distant. "Zetulah, wait—"
Didn't.
Couldn't.
I leapt over a fallen banner. Straight into the trap.
—--
(Behind Azzuri Lines, Hidden Encampment)
The tent was dark, save for the candlelight licking gold across Lady Syrene's smile.
Beyond the canvas walls, war raged. Here? Only the slow, measured tap-tap-tap of her nail against a goblet.
A hooded spy knelt, voice sandpaper-dry. "She took the bait. Reckless. Predictable."
Syrene's smile stretched. "And the second phase?"
"Ready. The 'gift' rides for Azzuri—tainted grain. They'll starve by winter."
Her laugh was silk drawn over a dagger. "Let wolves devour wolves. We'll feast on bones."
(Emberclaw War Front)
I reached Kaelith as he crumpled, armor screeching against stone.
"Damn you," I breathed, dropping to my knees. My gloved hands pressed against his wound—hot, wet, too much blood. "Stay awake, you bastard."
His lashes fluttered—red irises fogged, distant. "Thought… you'd let me die."
I bared my fangs. "Not yet." Then softer, raw: "Never."
A shadow swallowed the light.
I looked up.
Ragnis.
Pristine. Unstained. Smiling.
"Admirable, Princess. Cradling my failure."
I stood, stepping between them, sword trembling. "I'll carve your heart out."
His laugh was steel on flint. "Try."
He snapped his fingers.
Fire erupted—walls of flame, hungry and howling, sealing us in.
Kaelith's fingers found my ankle, weak but insistent. "Zetulah… run."
R
agnis drew his sword—its molten runes pulsing like embers in the dark.
"Run, little wolf. Let's see those pretty legs burn."