The fire between them had dwindled to embers, but the warmth of Elara's hand in his lingered long after their conversation faded. Priam sat beside her, acutely aware of how close their shoulders were, how the cold night seemed to retreat in the quiet space they shared. For the first time since he'd become Kael, he felt something like peace.
It didn't last.
A horn blared in the distance, sharp and urgent. Elara jerked upright, her hand slipping from his as she rose to her feet. "That's the alarm," she said, her voice tight. "We're under attack."
Priam stood, his heart pounding. "Your scouts said the border was secure—"
"Not from your side," she interrupted, her gaze turning icy. "From *yours*."
Before he could respond, the camp erupted into chaos. Shouts echoed through the darkness, and the clang of steel against steel pierced the air. Priam drew his sword instinctively, his mind racing. *This wasn't part of the plan.*
Elara grabbed a bow from her tent, her movements swift and precise. "If this is your idea of a truce—"
"It's not," he snapped, cutting her off. "I had no part in this."
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face. Then she nodded, though suspicion still shadowed her features. "Stay close."
They fought side by side, their movements synchronized as though they'd trained together for years. Priam's blade cut through the shadows, deflecting arrows and strikes from faceless assailants, while Elara's arrows found their marks with lethal accuracy. But the attackers kept coming, their armor bearing the insignia of the Obsidian Crown—Kael's own soldiers.
*Draven.* The realization struck Priam like a blow. The general had warned him, threatened him even. But he hadn't thought the man would go this far.
"Fall back!" Elara shouted to her troops, her voice cutting through the din. "To the eastern ridge!"
Priam followed her, his mind a storm of guilt and fury. They reached the ridge as dawn began to bleed into the horizon, the sky a sickly shade of gray. Below them, the camp burned, tendrils of smoke curling into the air like vengeful spirits.
Elara whirled on him, her bow still in hand. "Explain. *Now.*"
"This wasn't my doing," he said, his voice raw. "But I know who's responsible. Draven—my general—he's defied my orders."
Her eyes blazed. "And you expect me to believe you had no knowledge of this? That your own men turned on you?"
"Yes," he said, stepping closer. "Because I'm not *him*, Elara. Not anymore. But if you want me to prove it, let me end this. Let me face Draven myself."
She studied him, her chest heaving. Then she lowered her bow, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "You have until sunrise. If your general isn't dead or imprisoned by then, our truce is over. And so are you."
---
The ride back to Kael's fortress was a blur of rage and dread. Priam stormed into the council chamber, where Draven stood surrounded by loyalists, their faces smug with triumph.
"You disobeyed me," Priam said, his voice dangerously calm.
Draven smirked. "I saved you from your own weakness. That woman has clouded your judgment. The Obsidian Crown bows to no one—certainly not a sentimental fool."
Priam's sword was at the general's throat before anyone could react. "You attacked an unarmed camp. You betrayed *me*."
"I serve the crown," Draven spat. "Not the man who wears it."
The room tensed, soldiers shifting uneasily. Priam knew what Kael would have done—executed Draven on the spot, bathed in the loyalty of fear. But he wasn't Kael. Not entirely.
"Leave," he ordered the others. "Now."
When the room emptied, Priam lowered his blade. Draven's eyes widened in disbelief.
"You're sparing me?"
"No," Priam said coldly. "You'll face trial. Your fate will be decided by the people you've harmed. But if you ever raise a sword against Elara or her allies again, I'll kill you myself."
Draven's laughter was bitter. "You're a fool. She'll destroy you."
"Maybe," Priam said, turning away. "But I'd rather die by her hand than live as the monster you wanted me to be."
---
Elara was waiting at the ridge when he returned, her expression unreadable. The sunrise painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting her in an almost ethereal light.
"Draven is in chains," Priam said, dismounting. "His allies are disbanded. It's over."
She didn't move. "Why did you spare him?"
"Because killing him would have made me no better than the man I was," he said quietly. "And I'm trying… *I'm trying* to be better."
Elara closed the distance between them, her eyes searching his. Then, without warning, she kissed him.
It was fierce and desperate, a collision of longing and fear and hope. Priam's hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as if she were the only anchor in a storm. When they finally broke apart, her breath was unsteady, her forehead resting against his.
"I believe you," she whispered.
But as the words left her lips, a shadow passed over the sun. In the distance, a low, resonant bell began to toll—a sound Priam recognized from the novel. The Bell of Eurion, forged in an era when the Veil Between Worlds was thin.
Elara stiffened. "That's the bell from the Temple of Ashra. It hasn't sounded in centuries."
Priam's blood ran cold. In *Shadows of the Forgotten Queen*, the bell's toll heralded the awakening of an ancient curse—one that demanded a life to restore balance.
And suddenly, he remembered the locket.
Reaching into his cloak, he pulled it out. The runes etched into its surface were glowing faintly, pulsing in time with the bell's mournful chime. Elara's eyes locked onto it, her face paling.
"Where did you get that?" she demanded.
"It was with me when I woke in this world," he said. "Why?"
Her voice trembled. "That locket… it belonged to my mother. She died the day the Veil was shattered. The day Kael began his rise to power."
The pieces fell into place with terrible clarity. The locket wasn't just a token—it was a key. And the curse it carried was tied not just to Kael's sins, but to Elara's past.
"The bell," she said, her voice hollow. "It's calling for a sacrifice. Someone has to pay the price for what was broken."
Priam gripped the locket tighter, its edges biting into his palm. "What price?"
Elara met his gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. "A life for a life. To mend the Veil, someone anchored to both worlds must die."
*Anchored to both worlds.* Priam's breath caught. He wasn't just Kael. He was Priam, a man from another reality trapped in a story.
The curse wasn't calling for Elara.
It was calling for *him*.
---
**To Be Continued…**