Morning broke pale beneath a veil of mist, the palace courtyard glistening with dew. Two cloaked figures crossed it in near silence.
Pearl walked at Orielle's side already adjusting the hood over Orielle's head for what felt like the fifth time. "This wind blow your cover, since your hair is like a royal banner," she muttered, tugging it down again.
Orielle barely reacted. Her mind was elsewhere.
Ahead of them, Beararn led the way. He had argued against this journey until his voice ran thin, but Orielle's resolve had not wavered. Not once. She's as stubborn as the king, he thought grimly. Let's hope this doesn't end with more blood spilled for it.
They left before dawn. The carriage wheels rattled over uneven stone, the rhythm relentless as they pushed farther from the palace. The air grew sharper, thick with pine and the faint, lingering scent of smoke.
By the time they crested the ridge, the camp came into view. Tents stretched across the clearing, marked with Blue-and-gold banners—Tirian's forces.
But there was no order to it. Men moved quickly between tents, voices raised in urgency. Groans carried through the air. The scent of blood hung heavy, unmistakable.
Orielle's breath caught.
Beararn's gaze swept the camp, pulling a knight to the side. His eyes grew wide.
Aftermath? "We were ambushed," the knight said.
"We fought monsters attacking nearby village," he added under his breath. " Just as we finished Kharis' men struck us, they must've been lying in wait for weakness."
A calculated move. Those Varakor scum. He returned to the ladies unsure if it would be better to keep what he learned quiet for now.
Pearl steadied Orielle as they stepped down from the carriage. "Orielle... Have a feeling this will be troublesome," she murmured, brushing concern from her own expression. "After we confirm he's alive, we should leave as soon as possible."
"Though, I guess… seeing you here might finish the job," she added under her breath, half-joking, half-resigned.
Orielle didn't hear her. She was already moving toward the largest guarded tent.
The knights stationed outside turned, fear on their faces when they saw the queen, unsure of what to do.
"Orielle—!" Pearl called— Orielle broke into a run. Beararn swore quietly and followed immediately.
Inside, the tent was thick with heat and the sharp scent of medicine, sweat, and burning oil.
Tirian lay on a cot at its corner. His chest was bare, wrapped in linen that had already darkened in places. His leg was bound tightly and propped, the injury clearly recent. His sword rested within arm's reach.
"Orielle!" Pearl's voice echoed.
Orielle's voice broke as she dropped to her knees beside him, "Tirian!" her hands finding his without hesitation.
His eyes snapped open. For a moment he didn't move.
"Orielle…?" he said, disbelief flooding his voice. Then it hit. "What in the gods' names are you doing here?!" he snapped, pushing himself up—
Pain shot through his leg and chest instantly, forcing a sharp wince from him.
She's here…? No—no, why is she here?! Shock twisted quickly into anger. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice harder now, strained beneath it.
Pearl lingered near the entrance, guilt written plainly across her face. "She needed to see you," she said quickly. "She—"
"Pearl." Tirian's voice cut through her. Fury, barely contained. "You brought her here?" he demanded. "The Queen—my wife—carrying our child, and you thought this was wise?"
Pearl stepped forward, bristling. "She thought you might die!" she shot back. "I only wanted to show her that you were—"
Tirian forced himself upright. A sharp breath tore from him as pain flared through his leg. Kharis's assassins are still hunting me… "They could strike at any moment," he said, voice tightening. "We barely survived the ambush. This place isn't secure—being here…" his jaw clenched, "…it's like inviting death."
"Tirian, please," Orielle said, her voice trembling as she steadied him. "I had to see you. I had to know you were—"
"Alive?" he snapped. The word broke out of him. His hands came up, gripping her face, his eyes fierce, but wet. "Orielle…" His voice lowered, strained. "You've seen. Now go."
"Tirian—"
"Go!" The command cracked like a whip, desperation bleeding through it. "If anything happens to you—to our child—" His voice faltered. "I couldn't bear it." I've lost too much already.
Gently—but firmly—he pulled her hands from him. Then forced himself to stand. Pain lanced through him, but he ignored it, turning toward the soldiers gathered at the back of the tent.
"You two," he ordered, his voice hardening again. "Ride ahead. Prepare an escort. She leaves immediately."
The men hesitated. "Send word to hold the northern ridge," Tirian continued. "I don't care if we're left with ten men—the Queen returns unharmed."
"But, my lord—"
"That's an order!" His voice thundered through the tent. He swayed slightly, catching himself, his hands tightening at his sides.
Pearl stepped in again, more urgent now. "Tirian—it's the prophecy. She thought—"
"I don't care about that damned prophecy!" he snapped, fear overtaking the anger now. The prophecy isn't what matters right now.
He looked back at Orielle. "You can't stay," he said more quietly. "Not here. Not when they're hunting this camp… when they want me dead."
His voice dropped further. "And would destroy everything I love to get to me."
Orielle's hand found his, trembling, her tears spilling freely now. "You're sending me away… when you can barely stand?"
The scent of iodine and sweat thickened the air between them. Tirian's hand shook where it rested against his bandaged leg before he reached for her wrist, gripping it firmly. Why is she so stubborn…? "Orielle, plea—"
"No," she cut in. Her voice broke but didn't falter. "You're coming with me," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm not leaving unless you—"
A sob caught in her throat, cutting her off. Tirian's expression softened. Please… just listen to me…
He reached up, cupping her cheek, lowering himself just enough so their foreheads touched. There was only shaky breath between them.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow, his thumb brushing away her tears. "Please," he murmured. "Go home."
A faint, tired smile touched his lips. "I'll be fine. Those men aren't strong enough to kill me."
Orielle clung to him tighter, her hands gripping his tunic. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice unraveling. "I saw you—" Her breath hitched sharply. "I saw you die."
The words struck him like stone. For a moment, Tirian didn't move. The faint smile on his lips faded, replaced by something quieter—something far more uncertain.
"Saw me… die?" he asked, his voice low now, careful, as if speaking too loudly might make it real. He held his breath "The prophecy… you mean the vision from the basin?"
His gaze searched hers. "Do you remember everything?"
Orielle hesitated. Her lip trembled beneath her teeth as she tried to hold herself together. "No," she said at last, her voice unsteady. "Not everything…"
Her fingers tightened slightly against him. "But yesterday—after your message—I remembered part of it."
Her breath hitched. "I saw you," she whispered. "You were lying in my arms… asking me to run."
The words came apart as she forced them out.
"And… and then there were coffins." Her voice cracked. "Two." Her hands dropped instinctively to her stomach, trembling.
"I think…" she swallowed hard, "the other one was for our child."
Tirian's breath caught. The world around him seemed to narrow, collapsing inward until there was nothing but her words, and the life she held beneath her hands. Two coffins…?
A cold weight settled in his chest, and all he could do is draw her near to him "Why…" he started, his voice tightening as he tried to steady himself, "why would coming here change that?"
His brow furrowed, searching for something—anything—to anchor to. "Are you certain?" he pressed. "Was there nothing else? No detail we can use—no way to—"
"I don't know!" Orielle broke pushing herself to look into his eyes, her voice shaking as tears spilled freely now. "I only remember that!"
She pressed her forehead against his chest, her body trembling against him. "I felt it," she whispered, raw and broken. "I felt you die… like it had already happened. Like I was already there…"
Can this be stopped…?The question lingered Is there a way it can be avoided?
Tirian closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, something had changed. "All right," he said quietly. "I'll leave with you."
He swallowed, forcing the decision into something real. "I'll prepare the men. We'll move before anything else can reach us."
His hand came to rest over hers, over the child. "I'll stay with you." I'll protect you both.
Let the prince take the throne. Let the gods do as they please. He was done paying their price. "We'll go somewhere they can't find us," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost distant. "Somewhere quiet."
Somewhere normal. His forehead rested gently on hers. "Let's run," he whispered, the faintest ghost of a sad smile returning. "My little fox."
Orielle held onto him, thankful but still terrified that the vision will still take hold of reality.
*****
Later, Tirian stepped out into the open air. The sounds of the camp carried around him—low voices, distant movement, the clink of armor—but none of it settled. Not in his mind.
Beararn stood waiting nearby, Tirian approached him. This will be my last order… The thought settled heavily in his chest. But before we run—this ends.
He drew Beararn aside, his voice low enough that no one else would hear. "Gather the men," he said. "We move on the prince."
Beararn's gaze sharpened. "With the Queen here," Tirian continued, "he won't expect us to act." he looked around, to make sure no one was around. "Do it quietly. I want him taken before he understands what's happening."
His jaw tightened. "Bring him to me bound—" He stopped, and his words hardened "No," he said flatly. "Kill him where he stands."
Beararn didn't respond immediately. But something in his expression changed. "The Queen…" he said carefully. "She won't take that well."
"If you kill her father—"
Tirian's eyes snapped to him. Sharp and knowing, for a moment, something dark flickered there—
Then it faltered. His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, back toward the tent behind him. Toward Orielle.
"I know," he said quietly. The words carried weight. "But this is the only way."
Beararn followed his line of sight. Then looked back at him. There was hesitation now—rare, but present. "My king…" he said, measured, choosing each word. "Forgive me—but are we certain she doesn't know?"
A pause.
"That she isn't… part of this?" The question lingered in the space between them.
Tirian didn't react with anger. Didn't lash out but instead he only seemed to sink and deflate further.
He looked back at Beararn, his voice quieter now. "Even if she is…" he said. The words were steady. "I won't doubt her." he looked back up with determination. "But I will not let her father live."
Beararn studied him for a moment longer. And saw it clearly— the conflict and the finality of his orders. Wait... this... he's leaving after this isn't he? He wanted to argue, to push back, to tell him that the kingdom still needs him.
But he didn't. Because he understood something just as important. This wasn't about the throne anymore, his was about the last thing his king had left.
Beararn bowed deeply. "Understood."
Tirian exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. For a moment, the weight of it all threatened to crush him. One last act… To keep them safe.
He straightened, forcing his shoulders back into place. Then turned and walked off to marshal his men.