Yuto had dreamt the same dream for years.
A lake. A forest. Silver light. And a hand on her shoulder that always woke her up before she could turn around.
But the night she had finally met a man, everything changed.
At first, it bothered her so much that she could not eat. She went to her mother. The concubine with beauty as sharp as a hunter's arrow and ambition even sharper. Her mother had listened. Her face had remained unreadable, carved from the same stone she used to hide everything that mattered.
"Perhaps one day you can be that woman," she said at last. "But until then, you serve the purpose I have forged for you. Do not forget."
Yuto never asked again.
She just let the dreams come.
She woke at dawn.
The room was cold. The fire had died hours ago, leaving only the memory of warmth. Yuto swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, breathing. Her ribs ached. Her neck still throbbed where Rhett's strike had landed. A bruise was already blooming, purple and black, spreading down her shoulder like a storm cloud.
I should be dead.
But she was not. So she got up.
She dressed quickly. Boots first, laced tight. Then tunic, soft from years of wear. Then the leather vest that flattened her chest just enough to pass, tight enough to make breathing shallow. Finally, the sword. She buckled it at her hip and felt the familiar weight settle against her thigh. It was the only comfort she had ever known.
A knock came at her door. Sharp. Insistent.
"I'm coming."
She walked unsteadily. Each step sent a dull pulse of pain through her leg, up her spine, behind her eyes. But when she opened the door and saw who was waiting, relief flooded her face.
The commander.
He stood in the doorway like a wall carved from stone. His arms were thick, crossed over his chest. His jaw was square, his eyes sharp. He was already scanning the hallway behind her before he even spoke. Old habit. Old survival.
"Serving your highness is an honor I cannot delay," he said with a huge grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Yuto snorted. "Commander, what brings you to my humble abode?"
"Rhett did a number on you, didn't he?" The commander nodded at her leg. "I saw him trying to break it."
Yuto straightened up. It hurt. She did not let it show. She had learned to hide pain before she learned to read.
"I wouldn't say that. He got lucky. I was tired. You know I was fasting the day before." She lifted her chin. "No trained soldier wins a fight on an empty stomach."
The commander tilted his head. His grin did not fade. "Let's just agree to disagree."
He stepped back and gestured toward the hallway.
"Anyway. I will be travelling with you to Valdoria. Everything is ready. We leave in ten."
Yuto's heart skipped. "I have to see his majesty before we depart."
"Not necessary." The commander's voice was flat. Final. "I already talked to him. He gave me all the details. I will fill you in along the journey."
She could not believe it.
The king. Her father. He did not wish to bid her farewell. Even when he knew she might not return. Even when he knew Valdoria was a graveyard for diplomats who made one wrong move, one wrong breath, one wrong glance.
Yuto swallowed the bitterness. It tasted like iron. She put on a tight smile.
"Alright then. Let's go. There is no time to waste."
The palace halls were alive with morning light.
Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, casting golden stripes across the polished floors. The walls were covered in tapestries that depicted centuries of his dynasty's victories. Kings on horses. Swords raised. Enemies kneeling. Blood sewn into thread.
Yuto had walked these halls her whole life. She barely noticed them anymore.
Servants and guards bowed automatically as she passed. Their whispered greetings faded into the rustle of her cloak against the stone walls. Some eyes flickered with curiosity. Some with admiration. A few with envy.
She did not care about any of them.
Her mind was already beyond the palace gates. Beyond the city. Beyond the road that led to Valdoria.
What kind of man waits for me there?
The commander walked beside her. His heavy steps were softened by years of training, years of learning to move without sound. Controlled strength. He did not look at her when he spoke.
"What about the route? Land or water?"
Yuto considered. "It takes twelve days on fast horses without rest. Five days by water."
"Sea it is, then. Time is essential." His jaw tightened. "We are not sure when the northerners might attack."
Yuto frowned. "But Sir Talon said a storm might hit soon."
The commander's jaw tightened further. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
"He might be wrong. We are taking that chance."
They descended a flight of stairs. Yuto's leg screamed. She did not slow down.
"Commander, the risk is too much. You know one out of ten ships survives a sea storm." Her voice was low. "At the very least, all ships get wrecked."
The commander paused for just a moment. Just long enough for her to see the weight on his shoulders.
Then he resumed walking as if nothing had happened.
"Then we die in honor."
Yuto stared at the back of his head.
He means it.
She had known the commander for years. He was not a man who said things he did not mean. If he was willing to die on that sea, he would. And he would expect her to do the same.
She said nothing.
They reached the courtyard.
Horses waited. Three soldiers in formation. A small cart of luggage, packed tight. And her mother.
Yuto's breath caught.
Her mother stood apart from the others, a figure carved from ice and silk. Her face was soft and delicate, the kind of face that made men lower their guards, lean closer, drop their weapons. But her eyes told a different story. Cold. Calculating. Always watching. Always waiting for someone to make a mistake.
Yuto realized she had been drifting. Lost in her own head again.
When did that start happening so often?
Her mother stepped close. Close enough that no one else could hear. Her perfume filled Yuto's nose, jasmine and something sharper, something that smelled like secrets.
"You are drifting again. Ground yourself."
Yuto nodded. Said nothing.
Her mother stepped back. Her face shifted, the mask sliding back into place. She faced the three soldiers.
"Protect your prince with your life." Her voice carried across the courtyard, sharp as a blade. "This is your number one priority."
The soldiers answered at once. "Yes, your highness."
Then her mother turned to Yuto.
Her cold eyes softened for just a moment. Just long enough for Yuto to see the woman beneath the mask. The woman who had held her through fevers. The woman who had taught her to survive.
She reached up and caressed Yuto's hair. Gentle. Almost warm.
"Take care," she murmured. "Remember. You hold the key to two lives. Mine and yours."
Then she turned.
She walked back toward the palace. Fast. Too fast. Her skirts whipped around her ankles. Her shoulders were stiff. She did not look back.
Like she was running from something she did not want to feel.
Yuto watched her go until the doors closed behind her.
Two lives.
The commander cleared his throat. Gestured toward the horse.
Yuto's horse was white as her hair. She had raised him from a foal, had fed him from her own hands, had whispered secrets into his ears that she had never told another soul. His name was Ash.
She rubbed his nose, let him breathe against her palm. His warmth grounded her.
Then she swung herself into the saddle.
The leather creaked beneath her weight. Ash shifted, eager to run, hooves stamping against the cobblestones.
"Let's go," the commander said.
Yuto spurred Ash forward.
She turned her head at the last moment. Took one last look at the palace. At the only home she had ever known. At the windows where her mother's silhouette had already disappeared.
The palace grew smaller with every step.
A cold knot of fear twisted in her chest. She had trained her whole life for battle. For pain. For loss. She had broken bones and kept fighting. She had gone hungry and kept standing. She had bled and refused to fall.
But nothing had prepared her for the name that waited at the end of this road.
Kaelith.
The tyrant king.
The monster in human form.
The man who had killed his own father at nineteen and painted the throne room in his blood.
Yuto faced forward. She did not look back again.
But her hand drifted to her chest. To the place where her heart hammered against her ribs.
Fear.
That was all it was.
Fear of him.
Fear of what waited in Valdoria.
Fear of the man who could destroy her kingdom with a single word.
Or so she told herself.
But beneath the fear, something else stirred.
Something that remembered the lake. The silver light. The stranger who had said, "Finally. We meet, my little warrior."
She pushed the thought away.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.