As Lysandra stepped back into the camp, the cool night air brushing against her skin, she was greeted by the familiar sight of Kellan and Donall lounging near one of the low fires. Kellan was leaning back on his elbows, a smirk already forming on his face as she approached, while Donall sat cross-legged, absently polishing his sword.
"Well, look who's back," Kellan drawled, straightening as Lysandra neared. "You missed the big news."
Lysandra arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What news?"
Donall glanced up, his grin more subdued but no less amused. "The council's made their decision. We're accepting the prince's proposal."
Her expression remained unreadable, but her lips pressed into a thin line. "That fast? Roderic doesn't usually rush into things."
Kellan chuckled, tapping the side of his head. "Ah, but there's a catch. It's not a done deal yet."
Donall sheathed his sword with a quiet shhkt and leaned forward. "The condition is that the agreement has to be signed and sealed by the king himself. No royal crest, no alliance."
Lysandra let out a low whistle. "So, we're not just signing up for battle. We're taking a detour to court first?"
"Looks that way," Kellan said with a shrug, his grin widening. "Bet they'll love us in the royal halls."
Lysandra couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips. "Oh, I'm sure we'll be the talk of the court. Nothing like a band of mercenaries to liven up the palace."
Donall snorted. "Talk all you want, but you know what this means. We're going to be rubbing elbows with knights, lords, and ladies. And you"—he pointed his sword hilt at her—"are going to have to keep your temper in check."
Kellan laughed. "Yeah, no knocking princes off their feet this time."
Lysandra rolled her eyes, brushing past them toward the fire. "Don't worry. I'll behave... as long as they do."
Her friends exchanged knowing looks, their laughter trailing after her as she settled by the fire. "Going to court before battle," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. "This should be interesting."
The first light of dawn crept over the jagged horizon, bathing the camp in a muted glow. The Shadow Blades were already stirring, their movements efficient and purposeful as they prepared to take down the camp. Smokeless fires were extinguished, tents collapsed and packed, and supplies loaded onto sturdy pack horses.
Lysandra pulled on her gloves, her breath visible in the crisp morning air as she secured her satchel to her horse. The black rune stone rested safely within, tucked between spare daggers and trail rations. Around her, the quiet hum of activity echoed through the hollow—the clinking of armor, the soft grunts of effort, and the occasional barked order from Roderic.
"Make it quick," the captain growled as he strode through the camp. "We've got a long road ahead, and I don't plan on dawdling."
Kellan sidled up next to Lysandra, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. "Two weeks to the castle, huh? Maybe one if we push. Think the prince is ready to see how mercenaries travel?"
She smirked, tightening the strap on her saddle. "He'll figure it out fast enough. Royal or not, he's on our timetable now."
Donall joined them, hefting his pack onto his shoulders. "Yeah, but let's not pretend this is going to be easy. We're traveling with knights. You know how those shiny types like to slow things down with their pomp and ceremony."
"Not if Roderic has anything to say about it," Lysandra muttered, glancing toward the captain, who was already deep in conversation with the prince.
Alaric stood at the edge of the camp, his polished armor gleaming faintly in the morning light. He seemed out of place among the rugged mercenaries, but his stance was confident, his expression composed. A group of his knights gathered nearby, their movements slower, less practiced than those of the Shadow Blades.
As the last of the supplies were loaded, Roderic's voice rang out. "Move it, people! We're leaving in ten."
Lysandra swung up onto her horse, her movements fluid and practiced. Kellan and Donall followed suit, their expressions a mix of anticipation and skepticism.
"You think the knights are going to make it a week without whining?" Kellan asked, leaning forward on his saddle.
"They'll have to," Lysandra replied, tugging her hood up against the morning chill. "Roderic won't let them slow us down. And if they try…" Her smirk returned. "Well, it might be fun to watch."
By the time the sun fully crested the horizon, the combined forces of the Shadow Blades and Prince Alaric's knights were moving out. The mercenaries took the lead, their horses moving at a brisk pace, while the knights followed in tighter formation. The prince rode near the center of the group, his gaze scanning the landscape with a practiced eye.
As they left the hollow behind and began their journey toward the royal castle, Lysandra couldn't help but glance back at the camp, now reduced to a memory.
The first stretch of the journey was grueling, the terrain as unforgiving as the cold morning winds that howled through the jagged hills. The narrow paths forced the group to travel in single file at times, the steep climbs testing the endurance of both horses and riders. Rocks shifted beneath hooves, and every misstep threatened a fall into the ravines below.
Tensions simmered between the knights and the Shadow Blades. The knights grumbled about the rough conditions, their polished armor clinking noisily as they struggled to keep pace. The mercenaries, far more accustomed to such terrain, snickered and made no effort to hide their disdain.
"This is ridiculous," one knight muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "What kind of soldiers travel like this?"
"Ones who know how to survive," Kellan quipped from ahead, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You might want to take notes."
A few of the knights bristled their hands twitching toward their sword hilts. Captain Roderic barked an order to keep moving, his sharp tone quelling the brewing argument. Still, the air was thick with unspoken hostility, the divide between the groups growing wider with every mile.
At the center of it all rode Prince Alaric, his posture straight despite the uneven ground. He didn't seem bothered by the terrain, his focus shifting between the path ahead and the dynamics of the two groups. His piercing blue eyes occasionally lingered on the Shadow Blades, especially on one figure riding near the back.
"Lysandra," he called out, his voice cutting through the noise of the group. Heads turned, mercenaries and knights alike curious at the prince singling her out.
She slowed her horse, her expression guarded as she met his gaze. "What?"
"Ride next to me," he said, his tone firm but devoid of hostility. "We might as well get used to being in closer company."
Her lips twitched into a smirk, though her eyes held a flicker of defiance. "Is that an order, Your Highness?"
"Yes," he replied simply, unfazed by her tone. "If I must, I'll make it one."
Murmurs rippled through the group as Lysandra clicked her tongue and guided her horse forward, ignoring the raised eyebrows and knowing smirks from her fellow mercenaries. When she reached his side, she glanced at him briefly, her expression a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
"You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?" she said after a moment of silence.
Alaric chuckled softly. "I wasn't planning to make conversation."
She arched an eyebrow. "Then why make me ride up here?"
His gaze flicked to hers, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Let's just say your presence is easier on the eyes than the rest of this company."
Lysandra's smirk returned, sharper this time. "Careful, Your Highness. Flattery might get you into trouble."
"I'll take my chances," he replied lightly, turning his attention back to the trail ahead.
Despite herself, Lysandra found her gaze lingering on him, studying the angles of his profile and the way he carried himself with an air of quiet authority. She had to admit, for a prince, he didn't look entirely out of place in the wilderness. Not that she'd tell him that.
As they rode on, the tension in her chest eased slightly. She didn't mind riding next to him as much as she thought she would. After all, if the prince wanted a distraction from the rocky terrain and grumbling knights, well… she supposed she didn't mind having one too.
The jagged hills finally gave way to the open expanse of flatlands, a vast stretch of grassy plains bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. The horses, though tired from the grueling climb and descent, moved with renewed energy now that the footing was level. The tension among the group eased slightly as the mercenaries and knights alike saw the flat land as a reprieve.
Roderic rode to the front, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. "We'll make camp here," he announced, motioning toward a small grove of trees near a shallow stream. The sound of flowing water and the sight of soft, green grass brought a collective sigh of relief from the company.
As the group dismounted, the practiced efficiency of the Shadow Blades became evident. Within minutes, they had set to work unpacking supplies, building fire pits, and setting up tents. The knights, meanwhile, worked at a slower pace, some grumbling under their breath as they struggled to adjust to the demands of travel.
Lysandra tied her horse to a nearby tree and stretched, her muscles sore from the day's ride. The cool breeze carried the scent of earth and grass, a welcome change from the rocky dust of the hills. She glanced around the camp, her sharp eyes taking in the dynamics between the knights and mercenaries. The earlier tension had dulled, but it wasn't gone. It lingered, simmering beneath the surface.
"Not bad for rough terrain," Kellan said as he walked past, dropping his pack beside a tree. "Think the knights will survive the night without complaining?"
Lysandra smirked, shaking her head. "Doubt it. They'll probably find something to gripe about before dinner."
Nearby, Prince Alaric stood with his knights, speaking in low tones as they unloaded supplies. Despite the rough day, his posture remained upright, his armor still polished enough to catch the fading sunlight. His presence radiated calm authority, though Lysandra noticed the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes.
"Your Highness," one of the knights said, his voice hesitant, "do we really need to camp with… them?"
Alaric's gaze shifted to the knight, his expression cool. "Yes. They're our allies now. The faster you accept that, the smoother this journey will go."
The knight gave a stiff nod but didn't look convinced.
As the camp came to life with the crackle of fires and the clatter of pots, Lysandra found herself wandering toward the stream. The water was clear and cool as she knelt, splashing her face and letting the tension of the day drain away. The rhythmic sounds of the camp behind her provided a strange sense of comfort—order amid chaos.
"Not hiding from me, are you?" a familiar voice broke the quiet.
She looked up to see Alaric standing a few feet away, his arms crossed but his tone light. He wasn't wearing his armor, and his blonde hair was tousled slightly by the breeze.
"Hardly," Lysandra replied, rising to her feet. "Just enjoying the quiet. Something tells me you don't get much of that, Your Highness."
Alaric chuckled softly. "You're not wrong. Though I could say the same for you."
She tilted her head, her smirk returning. "You'd be surprised how much quiet I've had to endure."
He didn't press further, his gaze drifting to the stream. "The flatlands should make for easier travel tomorrow. If the knights don't slow us down."
Lysandra laughed, the sound low and sharp. "They'll slow us down. It's what they're good at."
Alaric smiled faintly, his eyes flicking back to hers. For a moment, the tension between them softened, the lines of royalty and mercenary blurring just enough to feel almost… natural.
"I should get back to camp," she said abruptly, breaking the silence. "Don't want anyone thinking I'm shirking my duties."
"Of course," Alaric said, stepping aside to let her pass. "But for what it's worth, Lysandra, you handled yourself well today... On the road."
She paused, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Thanks," she replied, her voice softer than usual. Then, with a nod, she turned and headed back to the campfires, leaving the prince by the stream.
As the camp settled in for the night, the tension from earlier began to dissipate, replaced by the hum of camaraderie and the promise of easier days ahead. But even as Lysandra sat by the fire with her fellow mercenaries, her thoughts lingered on the prince.
The next morning dawned with a muted golden light spilling over the flatlands, casting long shadows from the trees and tents. The camp stirred to life slowly at first, with the mercenaries rising from their bedrolls and the knights shaking off the stiffness of sleep. The air was crisp and filled with the mingling sounds of hooves, clinking armor, and the faint crackle of fires as breakfast was prepared.
Lysandra was one of the first to be up, as usual. She moved with purpose, checking her gear and ensuring her horse was ready for another long day of travel. She worked efficiently, her sharp eyes scanning the camp as she noticed the usual split—mercenaries bustling with ease while the knights fumbled awkwardly through the process of breaking down their part of the camp.
Kellan strolled up to her with a steaming mug of something that passed for coffee, his grin wide and lazy. "Ready for another day of fun and games?" he asked, handing her the mug.
She smirked, taking the mug and sipping the bitter brew. "Oh, I'm thrilled," she replied dryly. "Let's hope the knights don't trip over their swords before we make it to the next camp."
"Speaking of knights," Kellan said, nodding toward the other side of the camp. "Your favorite one's heading this way."
Lysandra glanced over and saw Prince Alaric walking toward her, his polished armor catching the morning light. She sighed and handed the mug back to Kellan. "Fantastic."
"Try to play nice," Kellan teased as he walked off, leaving her to face the approaching prince.
"Lysandra," Alaric greeted as he reached her, his tone calm and formal. "I trust you're ready for the road?"
"Always," she replied, adjusting her saddle straps. "You might want to check on your knights, though. They look like they're still figuring out how to pack a tent."
Alaric's lips curved into a faint smile. "They'll manage. Eventually." He paused, studying her for a moment before continuing. "I wanted to thank you for yesterday. Riding beside me—it may not have been your preference, but it helped keep the group together."
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "You're welcome, I suppose. Though I hope you're not expecting me to be your riding companion for the rest of the trip."
He chuckled softly. "Not unless you want to volunteer."
"Not likely," she replied, mounting her horse with practiced ease. "But I'll let you know if I change my mind."
The prince stepped back, watching her with an amused expression as the rest of the group prepared to move out. Captain Roderic barked orders from the center of the camp, his voice cutting through the morning air. The knights, though slower than the mercenaries, finally managed to assemble, and the company began to move.
The flatlands stretched endlessly before them, the open expanse of grass rippling gently in the breeze. The pace was steady but brisk, the trail easy compared to the rocky terrain they had left behind. The knights rode in neat formation, their polished armor gleaming in the sunlight, while the Shadow Blades moved with a looser, more fluid rhythm, their practical gear blending into the landscape.
As they rode, Lysandra found herself stealing occasional glances at the prince. Despite his royal upbringing, he handled himself well on the journey, his posture confident, his gaze sharp. She hated to admit it, but he wasn't entirely useless. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself, focusing instead on the road ahead.
The day passed uneventfully, the group covering miles of ground as the sun climbed higher in the sky. By midday, they stopped to rest near a grove of trees, letting the horses graze while they ate. The tension between the knights and mercenaries seemed to ease slightly as the shared fatigue of the journey began to bind them in quiet camaraderie.
Lysandra sat beneath a tree, her dagger in hand as she carved patterns into a small piece of wood, her thoughts wandering. The journey was far from over, and the road ahead promised challenges she could only begin to guess at. But for now, the sun was warm, the air was clear, and the tension of the morning had faded into a rare moment of calm.
She glanced up briefly, catching Alaric's gaze from across the grove. He offered her a small nod, which she returned after a moment's hesitation. Perhaps, she thought, this journey would be more interesting than she'd anticipated.
The next few days passed with a rhythm of quiet endurance. The flatlands stretched endlessly before them, broken only by the occasional cluster of trees or a meandering stream. The Shadow Blades and knights continued to keep an uneasy truce, their occasional barbs fading into silence as the monotony of the journey settled over the group. Even Lysandra found herself lulled into a rare sense of calm, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon more out of habit than anticipation.But on the fifth night, that calm was shattered.
The camp was quiet, the fires reduced to low embers as most of the company settled in for sleep. A faint mist clung to the ground, twisting through the shadows cast by the moonlight. Lysandra, ever the light sleeper, stirred at the faintest sound of movement outside her tent. She reached for her dagger, her instincts on edge.
A guttural growl echoed through the still night, low and menacing, sending a chill down her spine. It was followed by another, closer this time, accompanied by the unmistakable crunch of something heavy stepping on gravel.
She was on her feet in an instant, pulling her hood over her head and slipping outside. The camp was eerily still, but the tension in the air was palpable. Kellan was already awake, his sword in hand, his face pale but alert.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Lysandra nodded, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond the camp's edge. "Something's out there."
Before Kellan could respond, a bloodcurdling howl tore through the night, freezing every soul in the camp. The knights and mercenaries sprang into action, grabbing weapons and forming defensive lines. The sound of growling grew louder, more guttural, as glowing eyes appeared in the shadows just beyond the campfires.
"Werewolves," Donall muttered, his voice grim as he joined Lysandra and Kellan. "Of course it had to be werewolves."
The creatures emerged from the darkness; their hulking forms illuminated by the flickering light of the fires. Their fur was matted, their claws glinting like daggers, and their glowing eyes burned with primal fury. They moved as a pack, coordinated and predatory.
Prince Alaric stepped into the fray, his sword drawn, his expression sharp and focused. "Defensive positions!" he barked to his knights. "Protect the horses and the supplies!"
Captain Roderic shouted similar orders to the Shadow Blades, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Spread out! Don't let them flank us!"
The werewolves charged, their snarls filling the air as they closed the distance with terrifying speed. Lysandra moved instinctively, her dagger flashing as she darted into the fight. She ducked under a swipe from one of the creatures, slashing at its side and drawing a line of blood that seemed to anger it more than injure it.
Kellan and Donall fought nearby, their weapons clashing against claws and teeth as they tried to hold the line. The knights, though well-trained, struggled against the raw power of the beasts. Their polished armor offered little protection against the werewolves' sheer ferocity.
Lysandra's sharp eyes caught movement near the horses, where a smaller group of werewolves was attempting to scatter the animals. She cursed under her breath and sprinted toward them, her focus narrowing to the task at hand.
As she reached the cluster of beasts, one of them lunged at her, its claws aimed for her chest. She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike, and drove her dagger into its flank. The creature let out a pained howl, but it wasn't enough to take it down.
"Lysandra!" Alaric's voice called out sharply.
She turned just in time to see another werewolf lunging at her from behind. Before she could react, Alaric was there, his sword arcing through the air in a deadly strike that sent the beast sprawling.
"I had it!" she said, her tone sharp despite the chaos.
"I'm sure you did," he replied, his lips quirking into a faint smirk before he turned back to the fight.
The battle raged on, the camp a cacophony of snarls, shouts, and the clash of steel. Despite the odds, the combined efforts of the Shadow Blades and knights began to turn the tide. The werewolves, though fierce, were eventually outmaneuvered and driven back into the shadows.
As the last of the werewolves retreated into the shadows, the camp fell into a tense, heavy silence. The fires burned low, casting flickering light over the bloodstained ground and the battered survivors. Lysandra stood near the horses, her dagger still clutched in her hand, its blade slick with blood. Her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, her muscles taut and her mind still buzzing with the adrenaline of the fight.
She turned sharply as Prince Alaric approached, his sword lowered but still in hand. His armor was scratched and dented, and blood—likely not his own—streaked his gauntlets. Despite his disheveled state, his posture remained upright, and there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his tired eyes.
"Not exactly the peaceful journey I'd hoped for," he said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor.
Lysandra's eyes narrowed, her exhaustion doing little to blunt her sharp tone. "And not exactly the fight I wanted to be interrupted in."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, his faint smile faltering. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she snapped, sliding her dagger into its sheath. "I had it handled."
His expression hardened, but he held his ground. "You were about to get ripped apart. Forgive me for stepping in."
"I didn't need you to save me, Your Highness," she shot back, taking a step closer, her voice low and brimming with anger. "I've been fighting my own battles long before you ever come along. Next time, stay out of my way."
Alaric's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked as though he might argue. Instead, he took a deep breath, his voice measured when he replied. "You're welcome, Lysandra," he said evenly, before turning and walking away, his shoulders stiff.
She watched him go, her heart still pounding from more than just the fight. The nerve of him—thinking she needed his help, as if she were some damsel in need of resuce. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as she turned her attention back to the camp.
Nearby, Captain Roderic was barking orders, his voice cutting through the tense quiet. "Secure the perimeter! See to the wounded! I want scouts out to make sure those beasts don't come back."
The mercenaries and knights moved to carry out his commands, their earlier tensions momentarily forgotten in the aftermath of the attack. Lysandra moved toward the grove where the horses had scattered during the attack, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of movement. The adrenaline from the battle still hummed in her veins, her grip tight on the reins of the horse she'd just caught. Kellan and Donall were already there, working together to gather the rest of the animals, their conversation low but punctuated by the occasional laugh.
"About time," Kellan said as she approached, giving her a lopsided grin. "Thought you might've decided to stick around the prince a little longer."
Lysandra's glare was sharp enough to cut, but it only made Kellan laugh harder. "Not in the mood, Kellan," she muttered, tying the reins to a low-hanging branch.
"That obvious, huh?" Donall asked, his tone more subdued as he returned with another horse in tow. His gaze flicked between her and the direction of the campfire where Alaric stood speaking with his knights. "What's going on between you two?"
"Nothing," Lysandra snapped, brushing past them to check the nearby brush. "And it's going to stay that way."
Kellan and Donall exchanged a look, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. Kellan leaned against the trunk of a tree, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, he sure seemed invested when he came running to save you back there."
"I didn't need him to save me," Lysandra shot back, spinning around to face them. "I had it under control."
"Sure, you did," Kellan said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you can't blame the guy for trying. Looked like he was ready to take on the whole pack for you."
"More like he was trying to prove something," she said, her voice laced with irritation.
Donall tilted his head, studying her carefully. "You sure about that? Because from where I was standing, it looked like he was more concerned about you than anyone else."
Kellan grinned. "Yeah. Almost like he cares...Imagine that."
Lysandra shot them both a warning glare. "He's a prince. All he cares about is appearances."
"Uh-huh," Kellan drawled, his grin widening. "And yet, here you are, snapping at us like we're the ones who swung in to save the day."
"I'm snapping at you because you don't know when to shut up," she retorted, turning back to her search. " There's nothing between me and Alaric."
"Whatever you say, Lys," Kellan said with a laugh, giving Donall a conspiratorial nudge. "But don't be surprised if His Highness decides to ride next to you again tomorrow."
Lysandra ignored them, she didn't need their teasing or their assumptions. Alaric might have helped her in the fight, but that didn't mean anything. He was just a prince playing hero, nothing more.
Still, as she worked, the memory of his sharp gaze and steady hands lingered at the edge of her thoughts, refusing to be ignored. And no matter how much she tried to shake it, she couldn't deny the flicker of frustration, curiosity, or something else—that sparked every time their paths crossed.
As she worked, her mind replayed the fight over and over, each memory tinged with frustration. She didn't want Alaric's protection. The prince could keep his chivalry. She didn't need it.