The war tent loomed large against the night sky, its canvas stretched taut like the nerves of the soldiers inside. The scent of leather, smoke, and damp earth mingled with the sharp tension hanging in the air. Inside, the flickering lanterns cast long, wavering shadows over a table laden with maps, reports, and the bloodied echoes of decisions made too late.
Victor stood near the table, his uniform still bearing the grime of the day's battle. The cuts on his face stung, a sharp reminder of how close the enemy had come. His men had held the line, but the cost was steep. Victory had felt like survival, nothing more.
The flaps of the tent rustled, and Victor's eyes widened as his father, Duke Arenthis, stepped inside, his presence a cold wind sweeping through the room. Beside him, the tall and regal figure of Prince Darius Ebonmere followed, a shadow of arrogance etched across his features. They shouldn't be here—not on the front lines.
Victor's surprise was mirrored in the low murmurs of the other commanders, their eyes flickering between the duke and the prince. Maelis leaned closer to Victor and whispered, "Didn't think they'd show their faces here."
Victor nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Neither did I."
The duke's piercing gaze swept over the room, pausing briefly on Victor. "Report."
Victor straightened instinctively, his tone even but edged with the day's exhaustion. "We held the ridge. Barely. The enemy committed their strongest forces to the assault, but we stopped them. Casualties were heavy, though, and the men were nearing their limits. Reinforcements are critical."
Commander Ferren, a grizzled veteran whose face was marred by years of war, spoke up. "We're bleeding out there. Another push like that, and our line breaks for good. We should consider falling back to fortify the valley."
Victor turned sharply, his expression resolute. "If we retreat now, the enemy will gain the high ground and crush us in the valley. There's no defensive position strong enough to hold if they get above us."
The room stirred, voices low and tense. It was then that Darius stepped forward, his tone smooth and measured. "It's always inspiring to hear the courage of the front lines, Commander Arenthis. But courage is not a strategy. Pushing forward in such a state would be a disaster."
Victor's jaw tightened. "You weren't on that ridge. You didn't see how hard they pushed or what it took to hold them back. My men fought for every inch of that ground. If we abandon it now, their sacrifices will mean nothing."
Darius's smile was faint but unmistakably condescending. "And yet if you exhaust your forces in another reckless counterattack, you'll have no men left to hold anything."
Victor felt his chest tighten, not with anger but with the suffocating weight of the truth Darius's words carried. The prince's calm unravelling of his resolve infuriated him, yet the reality of their losses gnawed at his confidence.
Duke Arenthis raised a hand, his voice cutting through the rising tension like a blade. "Enough. This isn't a debate; it's a council of war. If you cannot contain your tempers, you are of no use here."
The commanders fell into an uneasy silence, though the charged atmosphere remained. Maelis, ever the pragmatist, broke it with a suggestion. "If we're to hold, we need to keep them on their heels. A flanking manoeuvre could hit them where it hurts, disrupt their ability to regroup and press another attack."
Victor nodded thoughtfully, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. "Their formations are heavy on the western front. If we strike their eastern flank, it could force them to shift their weight and create an opening."
Ferren, sceptical as always, interjected. "That depends on timing. If we move too late, they'll have already entrenched. Too early, and we'll expose ourselves before we're ready to reinforce."
Darius leaned over the map, his gloved hand tracing the enemy's reported positions. "And what makes you think they won't see it coming? You might as well announce your intentions with a trumpet fanfare. You'd be marching into a slaughter."
Victor's hands curled into fists. "We're already in a slaughter. You're suggesting we do nothing and let them regain their strength? That's not a strategy; that's surrender."
The duke's cold gaze settled on his son, and his voice was like a winter gale. "Watch your tone, Victor. This is not your battlefield alone. We need a solution, not posturing."
Victor's breath hitched, his eyes darting back to the map. He hated the feeling of the room closing in around him, the weight of expectation crushing his shoulders. His men were out there, battered and exhausted. The thought of pushing them further into harm's way made his stomach twist. But retreat wasn't an option—not with what they were defending.
Maelis cleared his throat. "Perhaps we split the forces. A smaller, faster unit could execute the flank while the main force fortifies the ridge."
Victor nodded reluctantly. "It's a risk, but it might buy us the time we need to regroup."
Darius folded his arms, his voice cutting through the fragile consensus. "And who do you propose leads this flank? Your 'small, fast unit' is a death sentence for whoever takes it."
Victor looked up sharply, his resolve hardening. "I'll lead it."
The room fell silent again, the weight of his words settling over the commanders. The duke's expression didn't change, but the slightest flicker of something—disapproval or perhaps resignation—crossed his eyes.
"We'll discuss this further tomorrow," the duke said finally, his tone brooking no argument. "For now, rest. The dawn will bring clarity."
The council dispersed, each commander carrying the weight of their assigned roles. Victor stepped outside, his thoughts as chaotic as the battlefields he had just left. He needed some air, some space to collect himself before returning to the weight of the war and his father's expectations.
The sound of footsteps broke through his solitude, slow and deliberate. He turned sharply, finding himself face-to-face with none other than Darius.
Victor's jaw tightened. He didn't need this—especially not after the council. "What do you want?"
Darius's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "I think we need to talk, Victor."
Victor felt his irritation flare. "Now is not the time, Darius."
Darius took a step closer, his gaze cool and unnerving. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. After all, I've been waiting to have this conversation for a while."
Victor's eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"
"Verina."
Victor's heart skipped, a flash of panic coursing through him. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. "What…What do you know about her?"
Darius studied him for a moment, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Oh, I know enough." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a more intimate, calculated tone. "I didn't think it would be this quick. But then again, I underestimated you."
Darius's smirk widened, and he stepped even closer, his presence suffocating. "I never thought you'd be so careless, but you've made quite the impression on her. A few letters here and there, a few secret meetings, and suddenly… she's yours, isn't she?"
Victor's entire body stiffened. "What did you say?"
Darius's voice was smooth, almost taunting, as if savouring the knowledge he held over Victor. "I've been speaking with her while you've been off playing soldier. And I must say, I'm surprised. It didn't take long for her to open up to me, did it?" He chuckled darkly. "Tell me, Victor, how does it feel to know that while you're away fighting for your family's name, someone else is getting closer to her?"
Victor's breath caught in his chest. His vision blurred with rage. "You—" The words died in his throat as his mind struggled to comprehend the depth of Darius's betrayal.
"You should be more careful, my friend," Darius continued, his voice growing more sinister. "You think she's untouchable, but I've had no trouble gaining her trust. She's a lonely girl, Victor, desperate for attention. It didn't take much to make her see me as someone she could confide in. And the best part?" Darius leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming. "It's almost too easy."
Victor's entire body vibrated with fury. His chest heaved, his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to break something, anything.
"You... don't touch her," he spat, his voice low, menacing.
Darius raised a brow, completely unfazed. "Oh, I won't, not unless you push me to it. But it's clear she's taken a shine to you, and that will cloud your judgement. In war, there's no room for distractions. Do you think you can afford to be so... sentimental?"
Victor's fury boiled over, and in a blur of motion, his hand shot out toward Darius, fingers curled into a fist. His body screamed to strike him, to make Darius pay for even suggesting that he would use Verina like that.
But before he could reach him, a moment of hesitation pierced through his rage—Darius's status, his power. Victor's hand froze in mid-air, his knuckles aching with the need to strike.
Darius, ever the predator, took a step back, eyes cold as steel. "Careful, Victor. If you lay a finger on me, you'll lose everything you've fought for. You'll lose your command. Your family's standing. All for a girl you can't even control."
Victor's chest heaved with the force of his anger, and the words barely escaped his lips. "You don't know anything about her," he hissed.
Darius's smirk remained, wicked and unyielding. "Oh, I know enough to see through this charade. She's nothing more than a weakness. And the sooner you accept it, the better."
For a long, silent moment, they stood face to face. Victor's body trembled with barely restrained fury, every part of him aching to lash out. But the harsh reality of Darius's threat held him back, like a shackle on his very soul.
Darius turned, his cloak swirling around him as he began to walk away. "Think carefully, Victor. I'll be watching. And I suggest you stop pretending that she's the one thing worth fighting for."
Victor's fists clenched tighter, blood pounding in his ears. As Darius's figure receded into the shadows, all Victor could feel was the overwhelming urge to break something—anything—to release the fury that burned through his veins. The urge to tear Darius down was so fierce that it was almost a physical pain. Verina wasn't just a distraction, wasn't just some fleeting thing to be tossed aside. She meant more.
Darius knows my weakness. And worse… he's right.