The remnants of my guard surrounded me, their hands rough but steady as they seized my arms.
"Forgive us, my lord," one murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of fear and duty, "but the heir must endure."
Each step away from the front lines felt like a betrayal, not just to the men who had fallen but to the very blood that ran through my veins. Marcia had stood unyielding in the face of death, never retreating, never faltering, no matter the odds till death. To abandon the fight, to leave the bodies of marcia, of my men behind, was to spit on the legacy of my family. The sharp agony of my wounds was nothing compared to the unbearable weight of that betrayal, the searing shame that clawed at my heart.
