"A coward is one who hides behind the strength of others yet choose to display foolishness in plain sight."

  —SIX YEARS AGO—

  In the hush of night, when the moon was a waning sliver and the sea whispered low against the dock, six figures cloaked in black silk stepped off a narrow sail boat. They moved like shadows—gliding from stone to step—the faint rustle of silk their only sound.

  Up the stairway to the first platform they climbed, blades drawn. A flicker of movement—then a flash of steel. A guard crumpled with a muted gasp. From the shadows, arrows flew—precise and merciless. Guards dropped silently, their deaths barely disturbing the wind.

  Platform by platform they advanced—second, third, fourth—clearing the dockyard like wraiths in the mist. At the towering red-steel door, they split—three to each side. Still and waiting.

  Behind the door came a series of clatters, a muffled thump, and a strange, electric crackle. Then, slowly, the door creaked open.

  They entered.

  A long, narrow passage stretched ahead. Four more cloaked figures waited—swords drawn, blades slick with blood. The floor was wet, bodies slumped in grim testament to their swiftness. The passage forked at the far end.

  One pointed right. “The palace hall lies that way,” he murmured. “Heavily guarded.”

  Another nodded. “You three—clean the trail. Make sure no one follows.” He turned to the first speaker. “Prince Elfic... lead on.”

  Elfic lowered his hood. His light-brown skin caught the torchlight briefly. Short, dark hair framed an oval face with a wide nose and warm-honey eyes, sharp with fury. Wordlessly, he turned and led them down a spiraling staircase into the stronghold’s depths.

  The descent was long. The air grew damp, the stone cold beneath their feet. At the bottom, the passage widened into a corridor. In its center sat a round wooden table surrounded by guards in gray leather armor and yellow tabards. The tabards bore a sigil dyed gray—a raging sea beneath a lone ship. They laughed, drank, played cards—oblivious.

  Elfic gave no warning.

  His sword slid free with a hiss. Two arrows whistled from the dark—two men fell before hands found hilts. Chaos erupted. Elfic charged, the others close behind. Steel rang. Cries echoed. The skirmish was swift, brutal. Only one guard remained—wounded.

  Elfic checked the six cells along the wall. None held his quarry. Within, prisoners cowered—battered, too weak to speak.

  He seized the last guard, slamming him against the bars, blade at his throat.

  “Where are they?” Elfic growled. “Where are my mother and sister?”

  The guard spat blood and grinned, teeth stained red. “The king cherished every night with your mother… and your sister’s starting to enjoy it too.”

  A flick of the wrist.

  Blood sprayed across the bars. The corpse slumped to the floor. Elfic bolted down a side corridor.

  “Elfic—wait!” one of the cloaked men called, but the prince was gone.

  The man turned. “Follow him. Caelum, Koril, Jusfy—go!”

  The three obeyed, sprinting through the narrow hall.

  At the base of another staircase, two fresh corpses lay—faces frozen in terror. The sound of blades clashing rang above.

  Caelum gritted his teeth. “Move!”

  They found Elfic locked in a frenzied fight. A squad of guards poured into the corridor. The trio fought like hounds—arrows flying, blades flashing, bodies dropping. They carved their way forward until the hallway opened into a wide passage, yellow-gray rugs muffling their steps.

  At the far end stood a lone door—and a final squad of guards.

  “I’ve got fifteen,” Jusfy said with a grin, large eyes glinting under his shaved head as he wiped blood from his cheek. “I’m winning this round.”

  “Right behind you, Jus,” Caelum muttered, flexing his grip.

  “Even now, you two bicker like children let loose,” Ryob Koril—the only lady among them—sighed, nocking another arrow.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Prince Elfic roared and surged forward. Caelum and Jusfy followed, Ryob laying down cover. The final clash was swift. They took cuts—none fatal—and the last enemy fell.

  Caelum turned to the door and kicked it open. Suddenly pushed to the side, he turned just in time.

  An arrow slammed into Jusfy’s throat.

  He choked, eyes wide in shock, and collapsed. “Jus!” Caelum screamed, dragging himself behind cover as did Ryob.

  Inside, a man stood with a blade to a young woman’s throat—she had a striking resemblance to Elfic, but with longer hair, though ruffled, spilling over her shoulders. A discarded crossbow lay at the man’s feet. The girl trembled, sunken eyes swollen, dressed in little more than a cream undergarment.

  The man sneered. “Drop your weapons—or the princess dies.”

  Caelum’s gaze flicked to Jusfy’s body, heart racing. That was meant to be him. Why?

  Elfic stepped forward. “It’s over, Uncle. The Valedrin army is inside your walls. Your men are dying. Your kingdom is lost.”

  "I'll be taking poor Esfis with me then." The man snarled.

  Caelum turned to Ryob. “Can you make the shot?”

  Ryob’s eyes darted from Jusfy’s corpse to Caelum. She nodded.

  “Take it,” Caelum said through gritted teeth.

  Ryob burst from cover. Her arrow flew—true and fast. It pierced the man’s shoulder. He screamed. Princess Esfis slammed her head back into his nose and dove to the floor.

  Elfic and Caelum were on him in an instant.

  Two blades struck deep. The man let out a final cry as he crumpled to the marbled floor.

  —————

  The crackle of the hearth did little to ease the tension in the war chamber. About the round table draped with a velvet map of the realm, voices clashed—commanders barking strategy, nobles offering cautious wisdom, the captain of the guard trying to keep order.

  Commander Caelum sat in silence, fingers laced beneath his chin. Eyes distant—lost in the past.

  Memories crept in like frost: firelit corridors, the cries of dying men, blood thick in the air… and the final breath of Prince Elfic’s mother—caught between words never spoken. And—Jusfy.

  A voice pulled him back.

  “Commander Caelum.”

  He blinked and looked up. King Isen’s eyes met his—stern, but not unkind.

  “What is your thought on the attack?”

  Caelum exhaled slowly. “It’s strange,” he said, glancing around the table. “Six years ago, we helped Lord Elfic reclaim Iskavell from his uncle. Good people died for that cause.”

  The room quieted.

  “He can’t even blame us for wrongdoing. Why attack a Valedrin settlement with mercenaries—and from the northern realm?”

  “You forget something, young commander,” said King Isen. “His wife is a noble from Cravharn. That complicates his position.”

  “You led us on that mission Captain Zenva," Caelum turned to him, "you know Elfic,” Caelum said. “He wouldn’t give that order. Something’s wrong. We should summon him—question him. And send spies into Iskavell. For all we know, Captain Nagor and his troop may have been wiped out, and someone’s taken his throne. Just like Brakhelm.”

  Silence lingered. The weight of his words hung over the room.

  "That's unlikely." Zenva broke the silence—his face fully bearded in dark auburn as his trimmed hair. Now in his mid-forties, his stern expression aged him further. "High-Ser Koril gives us weekly report—"

  Oh! Ryob, Caelum thought. She's the eye over in Iskavell.

  King Isen nodded. “For old time’s sake, we’ll send a royal summon. But until we know more, all trade with Iskavell halts.”

  Commander Raul Enez leaned forward. “Respectfully, Your majestic—perhaps trade should continue. Cutting it suddenly may raise suspicion.”

  He was a massive man, older than Caelum by a few years, though his clean-shaven jaw revealed little of his age.

  Zenva shook his head. “It’s too late for subtlety. The mercenaries—dead and captured—have already signaled that we’re aware.”

  Commander Uton Ional scoffed. “That hardly matters. Let them believe we think the mercenaries acted alone—rogue men, nothing more.”

  He was a short man in stature but not in hair or beard, both of which were thick and black. His cold gaze and furrowed brows betrayed his temper.

  The king inclined his head. “A fair point. We’ll go with that.”

  He turned to Caelum. “How goes the interrogation?”

  Caelum frowned. “No progress. We don’t recognize the tongue even with our prowess in local cravnal dialect—none of our linguists can place it.”

  A noble cleared his throat. “Send for Scholar Etan. He’s studied ten tongues across three realms. If anyone can decipher it—it’s him.”

  “Make it so,” said the king, gesturing to Acnal, the noble—a thin, elderly man with a cane carved from black oak and a sharp memory that made up for his fading hearing. He bowed once and limped from the chamber.

  “And protection?” the king asked, facing the captain of the guard—Hilfa.

  Captain Hilfa Turlu—just past mid-thirties, with cropped copper hair and a squared jaw—spoke with calm confidence. “The town guard is deployed across the capital and surrounding villages. Presence has doubled. The main army reinforces our borders.”

  They moved on—taxation, supply routes, scout reports. Hours passed. At last, King Isen stood and gave the Valedrin call.

  “Hail Valedrin.”

  The room answered as one. “In strength and wisdom we stand.”

  As they filed out, the king laid a hand on Caelum’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

  They passed beneath high archways into a quiet corridor lit by golden sconces. Outside, night had deepened, and a bitter chill clung to the stone.

  “You leave tomorrow,” said King Isen. “The princess is your charge. You’ll escort her to Eldrosmere.”

  Caelum’s brow furrowed. “Your majesty, is it wise to travel now? With unrest so close?”

  The king didn’t slow. “The summit with King Ashfort has been planned for months. Two Cravharn kingdoms will also be present. We cannot be seen as promise-breakers.”

  Caelum sighed. “It would look like weakness.”

  “Exactly.” The king stopped at a balcony overlooking the sleeping city. “This mission is vital. So is our image. If the realm of Cravharn begins to doubt our resolve, they’ll act without us. And if they act without us… we’ll be left behind.”

  Caelum joined him at the balcony’s edge, the cold wind brushing through his low cut hair. Below, torchlights flickered in the streets like restless fireflies. The city pulsed quietly, unaware of the storm gathering within.

  “I’ll see it done,” Caelum said after a pause. “But if anything happens in my absence…”

  The king turned, his eyes harder now. “I trust my captains. And I trust you to do what is necessary abroad. Keep the princess safe, Caelum. She is not only a symbol — she’s blood of the realm. Her survival matters more than she understands.”

  Caelum nodded once. “I’ll guard her with my life.”

  “Good.” The king’s tone softened. “Rest tonight. You ride before dawn.”