Rhett moved cautiously through the thick forest, carefully examining the snow-covered ground for any signs of traps. Large pine trees covered in a layer of frost surrounded him, blocking out chunks of sunlight. The king would glance up every few feet, looking ahead for any unusual shadows or people. His right hand never left the hilt of his sword, ready to draw his weapon at a moment’s notice.

  For a day and a half, Rhett and his army had been marching through the kingdom of Drurus. They moved quickly, stopping only when necessary. However, with each hour that passed, it seemed as though Arnav’s forces were getting further and further away. Worse still, the enemy had left behind a trail of crude traps and distractions—snares, rusted bear traps, shallow holes with spikes, anything to slow Rhett’s men down.

  However, after hours of continuous marching, the soldiers were becoming weary. Even Rhett’s legs ached, trembling every time he had to step over a fallen tree.

  As Rhett pushed forward, looking through the distant tree line for any signs of danger, something unusual caught his eye. A shadow—thin and swaying—moved unnaturally among the branches. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, half-convinced it was just his exhaustion playing tricks on him. But when he looked again, it was still there, twisting slightly in the wind.

  Lifting his left arm, he clenched his fist, signaling the army to halt. The sound of boots and clanking armor suddenly stopped, replaced by only the sounds of the woods. Rhett remained still, staring at the distant shadow as Tristan, Jadiel, and several of his captains hurried to his side.

  “What is it?” Jadiel questioned, straining to see past the dense trees. “Another pit?”

  Rhett didn’t respond immediately as he narrowed his gaze.

  “I see something hanging from a tree,” he murmured at last.

  “A branch, maybe?” Tristan suggested, wincing as he shifted his weight to relieve the ache in his knee.

  “Or something worse,” Rhett replied as he tightened his grip on his sword. “We’re checking it out. Tristan, Jadiel, you’re with me. The rest of you, tell the men to rest and drink some water.”

  “Should we send word to Prince Jesup’s group?” One of the captains inquired.

  “No need,” Rhett shook his head. “This won’t take long. We’ll be back on the march soon.”

  “Great,” Tristan muttered. “More walking.”

  “I’m twice your age and still keeping pace,” Jadiel scoffed. “Yet you complain like an old man.”

  “Well, excuse me if—”

  “Enough,” Rhett snapped, shooting them both a glare. His patience was already thin, and hearing them bicker only wore it down even further. “Stay alert.”

  Tristan huffed but drew his weapon, following behind Rhett. Jadiel pulled his cloak aside and slipped a dagger from his belt before stepping forward.

  The three men walked through the snow in silence, putting distance between themselves and the army. The wind blew through the trees, biting at their exposed skin, but none of them spoke of the cold. Tristan’s eyes darted warily through the forest, his gut telling him this was an ambush waiting to happen.

  Minutes passed, and everything was eerily quiet until the wind shifted. The shadow ahead swayed once more, twisting just enough for Rhett to finally see it clearly.

  A body… hanging from a rope.

  He held his breath a second before he moved, shoving his sword into the sheath and rushing forward without a word.

  “Rhett!” Tristan called out, startled by his sudden departure.

  Jadiel barely had time to react before chasing after them. But as they neared the shadow, they soon realized what Rhett saw.

  A young woman, swinging lifelessly from a branch. Her head tilted to one side, and through the strands of her dark, frozen hair, they could see her bruised, bloodied face.

  Tristan clenched his jaw and stepped forward, raising his sword. In one slice, he cut through the rope. The body dropped, but Rhett caught her before she could crumple into the snow. He laid her down gently before looking over her broken body.

  “Avion’s blessing…” Jadiel muttered, kneeling beside the corpse. “What happened here?”

  Rhett reached out, wrapping his fingers around her cold hand. There was no warmth, no hint of life. She had clearly been here a while.

  “I wonder if she was a criminal,” Tristan murmured, glancing up at the branch where half the rope remained. “But if she was, why leave her out in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Exactly,” Jadiel exhaled loudly, waving a hand at the empty woods around them. “If this was meant to be some execution, why not do it in a village or city square?”

  Rhett didn’t add to the conversation, but instead looked around at the surrounding trees, following the shifting wind—until he saw it.

  Another shadow. Further ahead, swaying just like the first one.

  “It’s a trail,” Rhett finally said as he rose to his feet. His face darkened as he pointed to the north. “There’s more that way.”

  Tristan turned, following his gaze.

  “If this is a trail…” he hesitated, swallowing hard. “Where is it leading us?”

  Jadiel pressed his lips into a thin line.

  “Sounds like a trap,” he murmured, finally tucking his dagger away. “We should keep moving and not waste time on this.”

  “Go fetch some of our men,” Rhett ordered Tristan, ignoring the naval commander. “See if we have any shovels.”

  “Shovels?” Tristan repeated.

  “You can’t be serious,” Jadiel said as he turned to Rhett in disbelief. “You want to bury them? These aren’t even your people. Not only that, but Arnav’s army is getting farther away with every second we waste here.”

  “Do you think the Drurus soldiers did this to their own people to distract us?” Tristan questioned.

  “Who else would do this?” Jadiel scoffed. “With how corrupt Arnav is, I wouldn’t put it past his men to be degenerate criminals.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Go, Tristan!” Rhett snapped, stepping between the two before their argument could escalate.

  Tristan tensed up but gave a quick nod.

  “Right… sorry,” he muttered before turning on his heels and sprinting back toward the army.

  Rhett watched him disappear into the trees before shifting his attention back to the dead woman. Slowly, he knelt beside her, brushing some of her hair from her face before taking her stiff hands and placing them over her stomach.

  Jadiel exhaled dramatically, crossing his arms as he watched the young king.

  “You realize we’re walking straight into a trap if we follow this trail of bodies,” he said dryly. “So why are you willingly stepping into it?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Rhett took a deep breath before finally looking up at the naval commander.

  “Because these people were innocent,” he said firmly. “They probably didn’t even know their kingdom was at war with mine. The least we can do is give them a proper burial—make sure their souls return to the Creators.”

  “Your heart’s in the right place, I’ll give you that,” Jadiel muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “But we’re losing daylight. By the time we finish digging graves for every body along this cursed path, it’ll be nightfall.”

  “Then we’ll make camp,” Rhett said simply, rising to his feet.

  “Then we’ll lose track of Drurus’s army,” Jadiel snapped, throwing his arms up in frustration. “We’re already lagging behind them, and now you want to stop for the night? We’ll never catch up!”

  “Then go ahead,” Rhett shrugged calmly. “Take your men and continue.”

  Jadiel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

  “Oh yes, because me and my two hundred men would definitely stand a chance if Drurus’s army decided to turn around and wipe us out,” he muttered. “Brilliant strategy.”

  “Those are your options,” Rhett stated matter-of-factly.

  Jadiel opened his mouth to argue further, but Rhett had already turned around, looking south as a company of soldiers emerged through the trees, led by Tristan.

  “You can stay and help bury the dead,” Rhett continued. “Or you can take your men and march ahead alone. But my army is staying. We’ll figure out what happened here, and if that slows us down, then so be it.”

  Jadiel turned away, watching as the others approached, followed closely by a horse-drawn cart. Once they reached the body, Tristan motioned for two men to step forward.

  “Gather her up and place her on the cart,” he ordered. “The rest of you, follow me.”

  As the soldiers moved, Rhett watched with a raised brow, falling into step beside Tristan as they began heading north.

  “Why so many men?” He questioned, glancing back at the sizeable force behind them. “And what’s with the wagon?”

  “Some of the captains thought it best if you had at least a company of men with you,” Tristan explained. “If Jadiel is right and this is a trap, we stand a better chance with nearly a hundred men rather than just twelve.”

  “Fair enough,” Rhett nodded.

  “And the wagon is so we can take these people back to wherever their village is,” Tristan continued. “If we’re going to bury them, it should be at their home.”

  Behind them, Jadiel muttered something under his breath, clearly frustrated. Tristan glanced at him, but Rhett waved it off.

  “Don’t mind him,” he said as they approached the next hanging body.

  This one was an old man. A pool of blood had gathered beneath his swaying body, and Rhett knelt down, touching the frozen liquid.

  “Cut him down,” Tristan commanded.

  Two soldiers stepped forward, gripping the body gently as one of them sliced through the rope. They eased him down rather than letting him drop, and carried him carefully over to the wagon. After he was placed beside the young woman, they moved on to the next body.

  The further they went into the forest, the more bodies they found. Men, women, and elders, but the worst was when they found children. Rhett and Tristan cut the little ones down themselves. Their arms trembled slightly each time they had to carry a small body to the wagon.

  By the time they had cut down sixteen bodies, they finally found where the trail was leading them. It was to a village—or what was left of it.

  All of the homes had been set on fire, with many of them now just dying embers. The ground was littered with more bodies, innocent people who had been slaughtered before they could attempt to escape. In the middle of the ruined village was a Pheena’s Grove, where unity trees once stood. Now, even they were reduced to blackened ash.

  The soldiers spread out, searching through the debris for any survivors. But there was nothing—only death.

  Rhett exhaled through his nose before finally turning to his men.

  “We’ll bury them. Find an unburnt clearing to the east. That will be their resting place.”

  The soldiers nodded, moving quickly to gather their shovels before locating a site. Rhett then turned to Tristan.

  “Take the rest of the army and set up camp about half a mile away, in the woods. We’ll regroup there after this is done.”

  Tristan hesitated, but eventually nodded.

  “And send word to Jesup,” Rhett added. “Tell his men to make camp as well.”

  As Tristan walked away, Jadiel stepped up beside Rhett. The Riven commander had been unusually silent since the company of soldiers joined them—watching but never offering to help. He had been frustrated, not just by the slow pace, but by Rhett’s lack of urgency in closing the distance between them and the Drurus army. Every delay lessened their chances of catching the enemy.

  But now, as Jadiel looked over the burnt remains of the village, the broken bodies, and the ruined grove, his frustration gave way to anger. Not at Rhett… No, it was directed at the ones who had done this—the ones who had betrayed their own people.

  “In all my years of war,” Jadiel murmured, his voice so low only Rhett could hear. “I have never seen an army turn against its own people.”

  “It’s heartbreaking and disgusting all at once,” Rhett replied, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “I just hope these people’s souls can find peace in their next life.”

  Jadiel let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dreadlocks. His gaze shifted to where the soldiers were preparing the graves.

  “I suppose I’ll go assist with the digging,” he said, almost to himself. “Maybe my heart will feel lighter afterward.”

  “You think it’ll help?” Rhett inquired with a raised brow.

  “No…” Jadiel shook his head before stepping away.

  With an exhale, Rhett followed.

  After several hours, the graves had been dug and the people had been carefully placed inside. No one spoke as the dirt was shoveled back over them. When the last grave had been sealed, the soldiers stepped back with grim, weary expressions.

  Then, one by one, they placed offerings for the gods. One soldier dug through the remains of the village and placed toys on the graves of the children. Others placed scraps of cloth, beads, coins—whatever they could spare or find.

  As the prayers ended, the men turned and headed toward the glow of their campfires.

  The army had set up just outside the ruined village, stretching out across the woods. Many tents were already constructed, and meals were being prepared for dinner. Rhett went straight to his tent, feeling both physically and mentally exhausted.

  Inside, as expected, Jesup, Ashur, and Tristan were waiting.

  Tristan motioned toward the corner of the tent, where a pot of steaming water sat.

  “I figured you would want to clean yourself off,” he said. “After digging all afternoon.”

  Rhett only nodded, reaching for the clasp of his cloak. As he slid it off, he reached into his shirt for Amara’s note. Carefully, he pulled it free and placed it on the table. Without a word, he removed his weapons belt, setting it on the note before pulling off his tunic.

  The other men spoke about the ruined village, but Rhett didn’t join in the conversation. Instead, he moved to the pot, scooping water into his hands and splashing it over his face, arms, and chest. When he had scrubbed himself as clean as he could, he grabbed a cloth and dried off.

  “You should eat something,” Jesup suggested, motioning to a plate of dried meat on the table. But Rhett only shook his head.

  “After today…” he exhaled. “After burying that many people, I don’t think I can muster up much of an appetite.”

  Jesup and Tristan exchanged glances, but neither argued. They understood… None of them were eager to eat after what had happened that day.

  Instead, they distracted themselves with other topics—scouting reports or supply lines from Vespera. Then suddenly, a horn blew through the camp. There were three short bursts.

  The signal for a dragon.

  Instantly, Rhett was on his feet, grabbing his sword. The others were right behind him as they rushed out of the tent. The camp had come alive with chaos as soldiers scrambled for their weapons.

  “Ready the crossbows!” Rhett shouted as he looked at the dark sky.

  Then he saw it—the dragon as it flew just over the trees. But as it passed, the light from their campfires reflected off its golden wings.

  Noah…

  Rhett cursed to himself as he handed his sword off to Tristan.

  “Stand down!” He commanded. “Hold your fire!”

  The soldiers quickly obeyed, lowering their weapons. The dragon circled once before landing just beyond the camp. Rhett clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt as he stormed toward the beast. Behind him, Jesup was cursing under his breath.

  “I swear to the Creators, I’m going to rip that foolish boy a new one for leaving his post in Jux. He had one job!”

  Once they located the dragon, it began to vanish, revealing Noah. The youngest Vespera prince shivered in the cold, but Rhett didn’t care about that. He grabbed Noah by the arms, yanking him up with enough force to startle the prince.

  “Are you insane?!” Rhett bellowed, shaking him. “You just gave away our position! Why the hell did you fly here? Why didn’t you send a damn messenger? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Noah barely had time to catch his breath, let alone respond, before Rhett yelled again.

  “We’re in the middle of a war, and you—” Rhett jabbed a finger into Noah’s bare chest. “—decide to make a grand entrance like some reckless fool?! You could have—”

  “Amara was attacked!”

  Those words made Rhett stop, and he stared at Noah, wondering if he had misheard.

  “What?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Amara was attacked,” Noah repeated. “Five days ago. And it was serious.”

  Rhett’s grip on him loosened. His stomach dropped, and his heart pounded against his ribs, feeling as if at any moment it would stop.

  Five days ago… Five days without him knowing. Five days where anything could have happened.

  He started to panic as his chest tightened painfully. His vision blurred, and his entire body started to tremble. But then, when a hand suddenly touched his shoulder, Rhett flinched, snapping his head around. Tristan stood there, looking uncharacteristically serious.

  “Go,” he said firmly. “We have things handled here. Just go.”

  Rhett barely hesitated. He gave a quick nod before kicking off his boots, tossing them to Tristan before yanking off his pants. Without another word, he turned and sprinted toward the spot where Noah had landed.

  But there was a problem.

  Noah’s dragon was smaller than Silas. So, as Rhett shifted into his dragon, he ended up knocking over several trees. Jesup, Ashur, Noah, and Tristan barely managed to get out of the way in time. Thankfully, they were far enough away from the camp that no soldiers were harmed.

  With a single beat of his wings, Silas pushed himself into the air, heading east.

  Toward Amara…