We stared at the headless body lying in the grass.
The armor was torn and soaked through with dried blood, the fabric beneath it shredded by what looked like multiple blows. Whoever this man had been, his end had not been clean or merciful. I crouched slightly, studying the crest on the breastplate. It belonged to a knight from one of the smaller allied kingdoms — not Yome's. A wave of relief moved through me before I could stop it, and I hated myself for it. One man was still dead. Relief had no place here.
But the unease inside me only grew stronger.
Aaswa stood beside me, his jaw tight, eyes already scanning the tree line ahead. He had barely glanced at the body.
"This isn't him," he said, his voice low and clipped. "Keep moving."
We pushed forward along the third path — the one Cretel had marked for us before we left. The forest changed around us as we went deeper. The trees grew taller and closer together, their canopies thickening until only thin fingers of light reached the ground. The air shifted too, carrying something heavier than the usual smell of moss and earth. Smoke. And beneath it, the sharp, unmistakable scent of blood.
The signs of a battle became impossible to miss. Broken branches hung at odd angles where something — or someone — had been thrown through them. Patches of earth were scorched black, the grass burned away in uneven circles where magic had detonated close to the ground. Long gouges ran through the soil, deep and jagged, the kind left behind when power is unleashed without restraint.
Whatever had happened here, it had been violent and desperate.
Then we heard it.
The sharp clash of steel, somewhere ahead. Short, labored grunts. The sound of someone fighting not to win, but simply to survive.
Aaswa and I broke into a run without exchanging a word.
The trees opened into a small clearing, and the scene that greeted us made my stomach drop. Yome was on his knees at the center of it, one arm pressed against his side where a deep gash had soaked his tunic dark red. His sword was still in his hand, but the blade was trembling. Four armed men stood around him in a loose circle, their weapons raised, their posture telling me everything — they were not here to capture him. They were here to finish the job.
Aaswa was already moving before I had fully processed what I was seeing.
He surged forward like a breaking wave, fast and relentless. His blade flashed once and two of the attackers lost their swords in the same motion, the weapons spinning away into the grass. A third man barely had time to turn before Aaswa's shoulder drove into him and sent him crashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with enough force to crack bark. The fourth raised his sword and opened his mouth, perhaps to shout, but Aaswa's fist connected with his jaw first. The man dropped without a sound.
The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.
Yome pitched forward, his remaining strength giving out all at once. Aaswa caught him before he reached the ground, one arm looping around his back to hold him upright.
"You're safe now," Aaswa said quietly. There was no triumph in his voice. Just calm, steady certainty.
Yome sagged against him, breathing in shallow, ragged pulls.
The four attackers had scrambled backward to the far edge of the clearing, all of them hunched and winded. Their leader was a tall man with a scarred face and sharp, angular features that suggested a life spent in hard places. He had one hand raised to call his men forward — and then his eyes found me, and his whole body went rigid.
His name was Fiwek. I did not know him. We had never met. And yet the moment his gaze locked onto mine, something moved across his expression in rapid succession — recognition, then confusion, then something that looked very much like pure, cold fear.
He dropped to his knees.
His men, reading him without needing to be told, followed a heartbeat later.
"Your Majesty." Fiwek's voice came out unsteady, rougher than he probably intended. He pressed his head low. "Forgive me. We were trying to leave — trying to get away from this entire region. But we crossed paths with this knight and… things got out of hand. It was not our intention to—"
I walked toward him slowly, letting the silence do some of the work.
"You drew a weapon against a knight of the Coressa Empire," I said. My voice came out colder than I planned it. "That carries a price."
Fiwek kept his forehead low, but his words continued, tumbling out of him as though he had been carrying them for some time and could no longer hold them back.
"I know what I am. I know what I was part of. We watched Luma Kingdom through magic — we were planning the attack on Coressa, and I was glad of it back then. I thought we would win." He paused, and when he spoke again, something in his tone had cracked open. "But then I saw you. Or rather… I saw what was inside you. The power you carry. The way it moved through you without hesitation. People died, Your Majesty. A great many of them. And I understood then that there is no fighting that. There never was."
I said nothing for a moment. I had expected resistance. Anger, perhaps, or the desperation of men with nothing left to lose. Not this — not a man on his knees confessing fear as readily as a priest confesses faith.
He is terrified because he witnessed something that left a great many people dead. Cretel's voice settled into my thoughts, calm and unhurried, the way it always did when she chose to speak. He knows what I am capable of. He has known for a long time.
I let the words sit, then set them aside for now.
I studied Fiwek and the men behind him. Frightened. Exhausted. Running from something they had chosen poorly to be part of. There were worse foundations to build loyalty on, I supposed, than honest regret.
If you wish, Cretel continued, her tone shifting into something more precise, I can offer you a new skill. A loyalty bond. You may use it to bind those who consent willingly — make them steady and faithful, like a personal guard. But they must choose it. You cannot force it.
I turned the idea over in my mind for a moment, then gave a small, inward nod.
I looked down at Fiwek.
"Would you and your men serve the Coressa Empire?" I asked. "Willingly. With full understanding of what that means."
Fiwek lifted his head. The fear was still there in his eyes, but layered beneath it now was something that looked almost like relief — the particular relief of a man who has been bracing for punishment and is offered a door instead.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, Your Majesty. We will serve."
I accepted Cretel's offering. The golden marks across my skin — the ones I had long since stopped flinching at — flared to life with a warm, steady light. I stepped forward and placed my hand on Fiwek's shoulder, feeling the skill move through me like water finding its level. I shaped it carefully, deliberately. Not just a bond to myself, but to my family — Aaswa, Saarna, Himel, Vanisha, Aerika, Lyla, and each of my wives. I wove Yome's name into it as well.
The light settled and softened.
Fiwek and his men rose. Their faces had changed — not emptied, not glazed, but quieter. Grounded. The restless, hunted look had gone out of their eyes.
"From this day," I told them, "you serve under Yome's command. You will guard him as you would guard me."
They bowed their heads as one. "As you command."
Yome, still pale and leaning on Aaswa's arm, managed a slow nod in their direction. It cost him some effort, but the gratitude in it was plain.
We helped him to his feet carefully, and together our strange, newly expanded group began the walk back toward the palace. The forest seemed lighter somehow as we retraced our steps — less oppressive, the trees thinning as we neared the main path, the afternoon sun beginning to find gaps in the canopy again.
After a while, Yome spoke. His voice was hoarse and strained, but steadier than it had any right to be.
"Your Majesty. Lord Aaswa." He paused to gather breath. "In a few days' time, I am to be married. I would be honored if you would both attend the ceremony."
Aaswa glanced across at me. I looked back at him. Something easy and genuine passed between us, and we both smiled at the same moment.
"Of course we will," Aaswa said, warmth filling his voice entirely.
I clapped Yome gently on the shoulder, careful of his wound. "We will be there. And I will bring my son and all my wives with me."
Yome's tired, blood-streaked face broke into a smile — real and unguarded, the first true smile I had seen from him all day. It looked good on him.
The walk back to the palace continued beneath the warm afternoon sun, the weight of the day lifting a little with every step we took.
But in the quieter corners of my mind, Cretel's presence remained — patient, watchful, and waiting.
To be continued…