[Aldric’s POV]
By the time the fortress came into view, the light was already dying. It rose out of the mountain like a scar—stone carved straight from the cliff, narrow slits instead of windows, a ring of jagged rock around it like broken teeth. Smoke curled faintly from vents in the rock. Torches flickered along the outer wall.
Behind me, the men muttered under their breath. No one liked the look of it.
“We make camp here,” I ordered, reining in on a ledge overlooking the valley. “No fires but the smallest. No shouting. No steel against stone.”
We pulled back into a shallow hollow of rock, just enough to shelter the horses and give us cover. Seraphine dismounted stiffly, one hand on the saddle, the other pressed to her side. She tried to hide the strain; she failed.
I swung down and caught her elbow before she could stumble.
“I’m fine,” she muttered.
“You’re not,” I said. “Sit.”
She glared at me, then at the fortress. “We’re close. I won’t sit.”
“You’ll sit because I’m telling you to,” I snapped.
She yanked her arm free. “You don’t command my legs.”
Maybe not. But every sway of her body reminded me how recently she’d nearly bled out in a stable. Whatever she said, she was not ready for this terrain.
Rowan joined us, with eyes fixed on the stronghold. “They chose well,” he said. “One entrance. Sheer drop on two sides.”
“And we can’t risk a siege,” I replied. “He’d use the infants as shields and torch both.”
My stomach tightened just saying it. I turned to them both. “We go in small. Quiet. I take Rowan. We infiltrate under dark. Seraphine stays back with a guard detail.”
“No,” she said it so fast I almost thought I’d imagined it.
I faced her. “You will stay,” I repeated. “This is not a debate.”
“It is,” she bit out. “You are not walking into that fortress without me.”
“You’re not a soldier.”
“I can be stronger than any of your soldiers, King Aldric! You know that. I’d go to any lengths to save my babies.”
“You want to see them alive?” I demanded. “You staying here is the only way I’ll be able to make it happen!”
She laughed once, harsh. “You march into danger draped in righteousness and tell me to sit down and be quiet. Don’t you dare think that’s what I would do, knowing what’s at play.”
My temper flared. “You’re shaking,” I said.
“I would be shaking in a bed in Blackthorn just the same,” she replied. “At least here I can move toward them instead of lying still wondering if they’re screaming.”
Her words punched through me. I ran a hand over my face, fighting for control.
“I will not risk you,” I said. “I will not risk them.”
“You risk them when you underestimate me,” she insisted. “They know me. When they hear my voice, feel my arms, they will know. That might buy you seconds you wouldn’t have otherwise.”
Rowan finally stepped forward. “She’s not wrong.”
I turned on him. “Not now.”
“Now is exactly when,” he said. “If she stays, you’ll be half-mad with worry. If she goes, she’s an asset.”
“She’s a target,” I snapped. “Blackharrow will recognize her on sight.”
“Then don’t let him,” Rowan said.
I stared at him. “Explain.”
He looked between us. “You and I go in as planned. But Seraphine doesn’t stay behind. She enters with us, disguised.”
Seraphine’s eyes widened. “As what?”
Rowan’s mouth twisted. “As what Elowen was supposed to be—a healer. Cloak her in stillroom colors. Smear herbs on her hands. No one looks twice at a quiet woman carrying vials.”
I imagined it—Seraphine hooded, head bowed, flanked by us as if under our command instead of beside us.
“It’s still too risky,” I said.
“It’s better than leaving her to suffocate in camp,” Rowan said. “And better than marching a queen to the gate with a crown painted on her forehead.”
Seraphine straightened. “I can do it.”
I looked at her carefully. Pale and tired. But there was steel in her spine, in the way her mouth set.
“You’ll have to keep your head down,” I said. “No flinching. No shouting.”
“I have lived years in your court speaking only when spoken to,” she said. “Pretending to be less than I am is not new to me.”
The truth of that stung. “The moment he recognizes you,” I warned, “you become a hostage.”
“Then don’t let him recognize me,” she shot back. “You’re clever when you want to be.”
Our eyes locked, heat rising between us that had nothing to do with the thin mountain air. Fury, fear, something sharper. The space between us felt like a drawn bowstring—one wrong move and everything snapped.
“You are infuriating,” I said.
“You are controlling,” she answered.
“You are reckless.”
“You are late,” she said, voice low. “Late to your own children. Late to every chance I gave you to be more than a king.”
My breath hitched. I dragged my gaze away from Seraphine and focused on the plan. I was better with plans: they bled less than emotions.
“We go in as three,” I said. “A few soldiers stay back with the others. If anything goes wrong, they pull out. No heroics at the gate.”
Rowan nodded. “Agreed.”
Seraphine’s jaw tightened. “When do we leave?”
“After dark,” I said. “You’ll need to rest until then.”
“I’ll rest when they’re in my arms,” she replied.
I opened my mouth—to argue, to order, I wasn’t sure—when movement at the edge of camp caught my eye. A scout staggered toward us from the rocks: alone, blood streaking down his temple, cloak torn. He almost fell into the circle of our fireless camp, catching himself on one knee.
“Medic!” someone called, but he shook his head, eyes fixed on me.
“Your… Majesty…” he rasped. His chest heaved. “They… saw us,” he said. “We got too close. Their archers—”
“Did they follow you?” Rowan demanded, dropping down beside him.
“N-no,” he gasped. “I doubled back. Lost them in the ravine.”
His hand shot out, grabbing my sleeve with surprising strength. “Blackharrow…” His pupils were blown wide, fear swallowing the color. “He knows. He knows you’re coming. He’s ready. He… he’s prepared…”
His gaze slid past me, toward Seraphine. His voice thinned to a ragged whisper.
“He’s prepared the infants as bait.”
The word hung there—bait—fouling the air. Seraphine’s scream tore through the camp before I could even breathe.