"Loose," an archer captain lets an arrow fly as dozens of other archers follow him. "Quivers, aim, loose."
The high-walled city is built to keep invaders out, and it is solidly fulfilling its purpose. The irony is that it keeps its liberators out while the invaders are in. The moss-filled slippery cobblestone walls prevent infantry from scaling the city using ladders. Garrison tactics from the invaders on the ramparts are also making life difficult for the prince's forces.
The arrows that they let loose bounce against the walls, with a little or none reaching the top—some are missing their targets entirely and a few finding their flesh marks. The fight has been disadvantageous to Prince Julien's forces so far—the forests around Calcister made for great ambush sites, which they well received, the narrow forest roads make it difficult for their large numbers to pass through quickly, delaying their entire plan, and the difficulty of taking back Calcister from the enemy.
The Essenians themselves were not able to topple down Calcister easily. It was a long siege—waiting for the city's great coffers to dry out—that required the sacrifices of many soldiers. Creating a blockade and waiting for the city to starve out are simple tactics for Julien to employ, but time is against him. The Essenians poisoned the river flowing in and out of the city with dead bodies, but that tactic would harm the innocent lives in the city if they used it against them.
Gabriel's ploy and statements, including the queen, compel him to liberate the city in a matter of days.
Every night since his march, his thoughts linger on Gianni—his sweet smile while greeting him from morning to night, his sultry and mellow deep voice with which he commands words, his knowledge of medicine and herbology that always impresses him, his talent and skill—fixating on him that he is unable to sleep.
One fine morning, as he sat inside his tent, he gazed at the bottle of red wine and a slice of cheese on the table. It takes him back to the moment when Gianni was separated from him. That time, he cured his father and was appointed a royal physician. That time when he wrote a note saying, "To the greatest physician in the entire world, you are my inspiration."
Gianni's promotion is, after all, partly due to him. Louis begged him to heal his father, while he, as his master, permitted him to do so—and he healed the king with grace.
Looking back at that moment, his mind enters a tumultuous state like a raging storm. "Would things have been different if I forbade him from entering my father's chambers? Would he be by my side if he remained as my butler?" He rushes at the bottle of wine and the slice of cheese and wipes them off the table. The open bottle spills its contents on the ground watering it red.
He slaps the tent open, leaving the crimson red structure deserted. The soldiers stationed at the entrance stand at attention as he passes. He gazes at his army's array—camps surrounding the entire city with wet tents meant to prevent fire attacks, archers incessantly throwing arrows. Their siege weapons should come by any day, and he hopes fervently that they may be able to turn the tide of battle.
"Tell the archer captains to stop shooting," he orders a liaison who scrambles as he finishes giving the command. He also gave out special orders to other knights and soldiers, who carried them out swiftly. "We shall hold a feast tonight. We shall trick the enemy into giving the city voluntarily."
Prince Julien realizes that the operation requires finesse and tactics, not swords and bows. Later that night, multiple bonfires burned ablaze surrounding the city. They created a great red glare that the ramparts high up also burned red. The Essenians spied on them, curious about what they might be planning next. Instead, they heard laughter and cheers.
"Glory to Gallia," they hear soldiers shout in celebration. They also saw them burning and trampling on Essenian banners and insignias whose origin they do not know. The celebration lasted the entire night until midnight, when the prince's soldiers became dead silent. The bonfires have all burned out—nothing remained but crisp embers and ash from the glorious blaze. The cheering turned to snores and snoozes, sometimes the sound of breaking glass or the rare moans.
Slowly, the city's gates opened wide. Like ants crawling out of their mound, the Essenians scrambled to the slumbering camp—or they thought was slumbering. The emerging forces found themselves surrounded as loud blaring drums and fiery torches encircled them. The gate behind them floods with Gallians entering the city.
"Retreat," the enemy captain signals, but as he shouts the word, he falls to the ground. The prince's forces begin their attack, and their foes are bested in minutes.
Under cover of darkness, the Gallians liberate half of Calcister—whose size and population is comparable to that of a metropolis, but not so much that its total population is unequal to Magnolia's.
The prince enters the city hall, finding a civilian who carries with him white gloves. The sight of the gloves instantly takes him back to that evening in the chateau.
Julien places his hands on Gianni's neck. Gianni meets his gaze, his eyes trembling with confusion. The latter held the former's hands tightly. Gianni's hands were enveloped with fluffy white cotton gloves that tenderly caressed the prince's wrists. His heart pounded harder as their gaze met. He nudges his head closer, until he can smell and feel his breath.
A moment of ecstasy ensues as their lips touch. Gianni's hands surrendered over the prince's soldiers. Julien could feel the gloves resting on his clavicles as their passionate exchange blazed their chests. As he let go, Gianni's breath trembled and his hands even more so. Julien caught them and held them close to his heart.
Gianni's confused gaze becomes that of embarrassment. Julien reaffirms their contact giving a look of reassurance.
Don't be afraid. I'm right here to protect you—to hide you from all the suffering, Julien wanted to say as much, but his tongue got caught in the confusion that he himself felt.
"Can I have those gloves?" he approaches the individual. "They look like fine cotton."
"You have a great eye, your Highness," the civilian obliges, handing him the gloves. "Those are made from cotton imported from the empire."
Julien sheds tears as the soft fabric collides against his skin. His thoughts linger on Gianni.