That evening, in a moonlit clearing on the lower slope of Alta-Sierra—a day’s ride from Savadra—Prince Alaric sat watching the flames twist and leap, their light throwing gold and crimson shadows against the wall of the dark forest. The night air was crisp, tinged with the resinous scent of pine and the faint musk of damp earth. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted, and the wolves howled.
They had made camp for the night, all five hundred of them—those who had avoided the provincial road, choosing instead to slip unseen through the shadowed passes of Alta-Sierra. Others had gone by boat along the Centuria River, hugging its winding banks.
The rest traveled the road disguised as merchant caravans or families fleeing the rumored war, scattering in all directions so no one could trace their true purpose. When the time came, they would converge upon Savadra from all four cardinal points.
Across the campfire, Abel and Logan were already fussing over Lara.
"Sis, here—this pigeon’s for you. I put my special seasoning on it so it won’t be bland," Abel said proudly, holding out the skewered bird, its skin crisp and glistening in the firelight.
Lara accepted it with a skeptical smile. "You sure you didn’t shoot down a homing pigeon, right?" she asked, tearing off a bite.
"Of course not," Abel replied, though his eyes flickered to the shadows as if to escape her gaze. He scratched his head and stammered, "Well... it wasn’t ours anyway. It carried a message from the Zuran camp for their soldiers in Fereya."
Lara stretched out her hand expectantly.
"Uhm... I gave it to His Highness," he admitted.
She sighed, taking another bite.
"Sis...," Logan stepped forward and inserted himself between Abel and Lara.
Abel shoved him to the side. "Who is your sister?"
Logan pointed at Lara, his face guileless. "She is. Her master is my master now, so I’m her younger brother."
Abel scowled. Rarely did he get to spend time with his cousin—if her brothers weren’t guarding her, then it was the ever-watchful Alaric. And now Logan was buzzing around her like a persistent fly.
Logan ignored Abel. "Sis..Sis... I caught a fish in the stream. It is very fresh and delicious. I also picked some fruits for you." He said proudly and then gave Abel a side-eye as if saying, I gave her more.
Lara laughed heartily. She took what was offered and thanked the two lads. Her gaze drifted around the camp, looking for Shaya. She intended to share her food with her, but when she spotted Bener already presenting her with grilled meat and fruit, she simply smiled.
Then her eyes found him. Across the fire, Alaric sat with his head bowed over a scroll, the flames painting shifting gold along the hard lines of his face, deepening the shadows in his eyes. He looked every inch the commander—focused, unreadable, yet impossibly magnetic.
Rising from the fallen tree she’d been sitting on, Lara took the woven vine-and-twig tray Logan handed her. "Thank you, little brothers. You’ve given me more than I can eat—so I’ll share."
Abel and Logan looked at each other resentfully.
"Little brothers!" How could she call them that?
"It is because you are childish." Abel chided.
"No way," Logan shot back, his voice filled with defiance as he crossed his arms. "I’m not the one being childish here. It’s you who’s acting like a kid." His eyes narrowed, reflecting his frustration and determination to stand his ground.
Lara shook her head as she crossed to where Alaric sat beside Agilus, their words low and urgent. Without a sound, she lowered herself onto the gnarled root beside them. "Looks important. You didn’t even notice me sit down."
She offered him the tray.
Agilus rose to his feet, his movements smooth and purposeful. With a subtle yet intentional shift, he glided away, leaving behind an aura of quiet confidence.
"A message from Fereya," he said softly, taking the tray from her and passing her the scroll.
Her eyes skimmed the message, widening slightly. "So I was right—Angus and Aramis aren’t ordinary men." She plucked a berry from the tray and popped it into her mouth. "Did you know from the start?"
"Yes," Alaric bit into the grilled pigeon, half-eaten by her earlier. "When I saw the defiance in Aramis’s eyes that day—the slave master’s whip poised above him, his hair a tangled mess, his nails broken and black with dirt—I knew. And when Angus stepped in front of the blow, taking it for him... despite his gauntness, I recognized him for what he is. A prince on the run, a fugitive. I remembered the rumors of a royal family nearly wiped out by assassination, but there had been survivors."
Alaric paused as he continued to gobble up his meat and fish. Then, after he popped a few wild berries into his mouth, he continued. "I bought them, not because I wanted to enslave them as my servants or as my guards, but because right there and then, even in my young mind, I saw the man that Angus would become."
Lara studied him from beneath her lashes, then she tilted her head to look at his face. Their gazes locked for some time. Being trained as an assassin in her past life, her brain was not wired the same way as Alaric’s. She was always wary.
"Aren’t you afraid he might turn against you? His own general betrayed him and butchered his family. Even if Angus is good, what if—?" She let the thought hang, watching the emotions shift across Alaric’s face. "Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not speaking against him—or Aramis. I’m just... the voice of caution."
Lara allowed her word to hang in the air as he studied Alaric, who was looking at her with conflicting emotions.
"I know." Alaric’s voice was quiet, but certain. "But the moment Angus took a blade for me—not once, but many times and almost dying in the process, I knew and I felt it. He is the man in my vision. The one who will help usher Estalis into its golden age. The first kingdom to be part of my empire."