“General Alaric!” A collective gasp cut through the foliage.
General Alaric drew his sword and spun on his heel.
His eyes widened in shock as the world seemed to freeze around him.
An arrow was already halfway to Alaric’s throat when time snapped back into motion.
A blur of black and gold sliced through the air—King Zareth’s blade met the incoming projectile mid-flight, shattering the wooden shaft into splinters.
The useless arrowhead dropped dead onto the damp leaves at Alaric’s boots.
Without missing a beat, Zareth hurled his secondary sword, impaling a red-clad soldier who was sprinting up from behind to blindside his general.
“Get your grip together, General,” Zareth said, his voice low and lethal.
He turned his cold gaze onto the next wave of men charging through the brush.
“Yes, my King,” Alaric answered, his knuckles whitening as he re-steaded his blade.
Then, they moved as one.
Steel met steel, and the quiet forest exploded into a storm of chaos.
Zareth fought just as the legends claimed—no wasted movement, no hesitation, no mercy.
Wherever his blade struck, men crumpled.
Beside him, Alaric matched him blow for blow, his fleeting shock instantly burned away into cold, focused fury.
“Left!” Alaric roared.
Zareth spun on his heel, driving his blade straight into an attacker’s ribs before the enemy could bring down his battleaxe.
“Right!” Zareth countered.
Alaric’s sword swept down, sending another red-clad body crashing to the forest floor.
Years of shared blood and war had forged their movements into a seamless, deadly rhythm.
Inside the carriage, Elira and the handmaidens clutched one another, their bodies trembling at every clash of steel.
Suddenly, a man in stained red armor lunged toward the carriage door, blood smeared across his teeth and madness gleaming in his eyes.
Seeing the royal guards occupied with the main force, he seized his chance.
“Don’t you dare touch her!” Rosa hissed, shielding Elira behind her back.
The man ignored her, charging blindly inside.
But before Rosa could even scream, a lethal arc of silver flashed through the dim cabin.
Nasha.
She stood poised in the doorway as if she had been waiting there all along—calm, ready.
With a single fluid strike, the attacker collapsed without making a sound.
Three more men rushed the steps.
Nasha moved without a wasted step, a heavy dagger in one hand and a short sword in the other.
She didn’t hesitate; she fought like someone protecting the only thing left in the world that mattered.
“Stay behind me, my Lady,” Nasha commanded quietly, even as she drove her dagger deep into another enemy’s chest.
Elira clutched her stomach, nodding frantically.
Her hands shook violently, but she pressed her lips together and refused to cry.
Within minutes, the ambush was brought to a brutal end.
As the last attacker hit the dirt, a heavy silence rushed over the clearing, broken only by ragged breathing and the drip of fresh blood onto the fallen leaves.
“I feel refreshed!” Zareth’s booming voice shattered the quiet.
He inspected the crimson slicking his broadsword before wiping it clean against a patch of moss.
“Good thing you wiped that off—I certainly wouldn’t kiss you if I were your bride,” General Alaric remarked, scrunching his nose.
“I had no intention of doing that,” Zareth scoffed, flicking away the residue.
“Their blood isn’t even worth inhaling.
But the King of Eldarsh…
he is on my list.” He turned and began walking away.
Alaric shook his head with a tired sigh.
‘The man is utterly insane’ King Zareth approached the carriage.
Though he had seen the Eldarsh men rush it during the fray, he hadn’t feared for its occupants; he knew Nasha’s lethal capabilities, and she had not disappointed.
Stopping at the open door, his eyes met Elira’s, and the battle-hardened monarch softened instantly.
She looked like a frightened rabbit trying to hold itself together.
He climbed inside and carefully lifted her into his arms, stepping out so the men could repair the damaged axle before they resumed the journey.
“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he whispered near her ear.
“You don’t have to apologize, my King,” Elira murmured softly.
“Thank you for protecting me.” “Protecting you became my vow the day I chose you to be my wife,” he said softly, carrying her toward a clearing.
“No one will ever harm you so long as I draw breath.” He gently set her down on a mossy rock and knelt in the dirt to massage her cramped, aching feet.
Elira remained silent, her gaze locked onto Zareth’s face.
She hadn’t realized how overwhelmed she was until Zareth looked up, catching the glistening unshed tears in her eyes.
“Are you crying?” he asked, his expression softening as his thumb wiped away a stray tear.
“You have cared for me from the very moment we left Elarion,” she choked out.
“You protected me when I wasn’t even worthy.
I…” “Shhh,” Zareth interrupted gently.
“Worth is earned, not begged for.
And you have always been worthy to me.” Elira nodded, pressing her lips together.
“Now, dry those tears,” he added with a wicked smirk, “or I’ll start treating you like a giant baby who needs her mother!” A startled laugh escaped Elira’s lips, breaking the lingering tension.
— Once the area was secured and the carriage repaired, General Alaric walked over to the King, wiping sweat and grime from his forehead.
“We lost sixteen soldiers, my King,” Alaric reported grimly.
“The rest of the dead are Eldarsh.
But we managed to keep one alive.” “He looks like he holds a rank,” Zareth noted, eyeing a figure bound in chains nearby.
“He does,” Alaric confirmed.
“Eldarsh fields more than one general, and we were fortunate enough to take this one down.
Our men snapped his leg to keep him from running…
for now.” Two guards dragged the captured general forward by his collar.
Though his armor was shattered and his lip split wide, he still managed a sneer.
Zareth crouched down to eye level.
“You look terrible.” The man spat a mouthful of blood at Zareth’s boots.
Without breaking eye contact, Zareth delivered a backhand that snapped the man’s head sideways.
“Don’t test me.
My men are itching to tear you apart, and the only thing keeping you breathing right now is my patience.
Give me one wrong look, and I’ll let them roast you over an open fire.” The Eldarsh general stilled, the bravado fading from his eyes.
“Your bride…” the prisoner choked out, struggling for air.
“The King of Eldarsh wants her head.
He says she is the key to breaking you.” Zareth’s slight smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he scoffed and stood to his full height.
“Bind him tightly.
We’ll break him properly in Nebuzza.” Turning to Alaric, his tone shifted to solemn authority.
“Prepare a carriage for our fallen.
Let them ride ahead under full escort.
The road will be smooth from here on out.
No son of Nebuzza gets left behind, no matter how far from home we are.” “At once, my King,” Alaric replied, turning to organize the men.
By the time the fallen were honored and the convoy was reordered, dusk had settled into deep night.
The soldiers lit heavy iron torches, casting long shadows across the dark mountain pass.
“Move out!” Alaric’s command echoed through the woods.
Inside the carriage, Elira fought against the exhaustion pulling at her eyelids, but her battered body pleaded for rest.
The curtains were drawn, and the windows remained tightly shut.
Elira rested her left arm protectively across her stomach, while her right hand held tightly onto Nasha’s arm.
Nasha’s knuckles remained white around the hilt of her blade.
She hadn’t missed the way Elira instinctively shielded her stomach at every bump in the road, but she said nothing, keeping her watchful guard in silence.
At midnight, the procession reached the grand border—crossing into the land of unwavering greatness.
Towering before them stood Nebuzza’s colossal stone gates, draped in massive black-and-gold banners snapping in the night wind.
The heavy gates groaned open, and the convoy swept through without slowing down.
Nasha considered waking Elira, but seeing the deep lines of exhaustion smoothed over her sleeping face, she let her rest.
They pressed on through the darkness, navigating winding mountain passes, rushing rivers, and crisp, alpine air that tasted entirely new.
**** By the time dawn broke, the convoy was entering the heart of Nebuzza.
Elira stirred as the light shifted, opening her eyes to a serene stillness.
“We are in Nebuzza, my Lady,” Nasha whispered softly.
Elira pushed back the curtain and peered out the window.
Her eyes immediately caught King Zareth riding alongside her carriage.
He offered a warm smile and a nod, which she reflexively returned before drinking in her surroundings.
She pressed her palm against the glass.
Nebuzza was nothing like Elarion, nor did it resemble Herbendnez.
Where Elarion buried its grandeur deep within the palace walls, Nebuzza radiated light from every corner.
White marble roads stretched through the metropolis.
Soaring towers caught the morning sun and reflected brilliant gold light across the bustling squares.
Markets were already bursting with life, draped in black and gold.
As the royal procession passed, citizens paused their morning routines, bowing low in deep reverence.
It was a realm of splendor—not a kingdom battered by endless war.
The carriage rolled up a sweeping incline, passing shimmering fountains and terraced gardens sparkling with morning dew.
They paused briefly near the central market square, where Nasha stepped out to procure fresh baked bread and fruits for Elira.
“Why wouldn’t the merchant accept any coin?” Elira asked in awe as Nasha returned with the loaded basket.
Nasha chuckled, handing her a piece of fruit.
“Perhaps she thought your beauty was payment enough, my Lady.” They continued upward until they crossed the majestic inner palace gates.
By the time they drew up to the main courtyard, dusk was settling once more.
The palace was a marvel of white stone and gilded domes, with grand arches that looked as though they were sculpted to hold up the sky itself.
Royal guards lined the sweeping steps in immaculate armor, their spears held upright, faces impassive.
A long avenue of colossal statues depicting ancient heroes led to the primary entrance—and at the very end stood a towering statue of King Zareth himself, resolute and unchallenged.
Elira stared with her mouth parted in sheer wonder, a genuine spark of excitement racing through her chest.
As the carriage finally rattled to a halt, Nasha reached over and gently closed the velvet curtain.
“Let them wait to see you until you step down, my Lady.” “This doesn’t look like a palace,” Elira murmured, bewildered.
“It is a fortress and a palace merged into one,” Nasha laughed softly.
Outside, King Zareth was already dismounting.
Behind him, General Alaric stood with the elite guard, while ranks of servants bowed low to welcome their sovereign home.
It was a breathtaking display of power and loyalty.
Zareth stepped up to the carriage door, opening it himself, and extended an open hand.
Elira took a deep, steadying breath, placing her small fingers in his broad palm.
He guided her down effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing at all.
“Welcome home,” he said, his voice low and warm for her ears alone.
“Welcome to Nebuzza, my Lady!” the surrounding household servants chorused in unison, bowing deeply.
Overwhelmed, Elira stood speechless.
Zareth didn’t glance at the crowd; keeping his hand wrapped firmly around hers, he began leading her up the grand staircase.
Elira held her head high, her heart hammering against her ribs, and walked proudly at his side.
At the crest of the steps stood an imposing older woman draped in deep blue velvet robes, a silver circlet resting atop her graying hair.
The Queen Dowager.
Her sharp eyes scanned Zareth first, melting with immediate relief.
“Welcome home, my boy.
I was beginning to worry.” “You are always worrying, Mother,” Zareth replied, rolling his eyes playful.
A few nearby servants muffled quiet laughs.
The Queen Dowager’s gaze then shifted to Elira—taking in the mud-stained hem of her dress, her scuffed shoes, and the glass bottle of glittering butterflies clutched tightly in her free hand.
“Mother, this is Princess Elira of Elarion,” Zareth announced formally.
Elira dipped her head in a graceful bow.
“Your Majesty.” The Queen Dowager studied the young woman for a long, silent moment.
Then, her expression softened into a gentle smile.
She stepped forward and cupped Elira’s cheeks with warm hands.
“Did my ill-mannered son mistreat you on the journey?
You look as though you’ve been dragged through hell and back.” “Because we were,” Zareth interjected dryly.
“Then bring her inside before she catches a chill!” the Queen Dowager instructed, turning Elira gently toward the entrance.
“The servants will prepare a hot bath while I personally show you to your chambers.” Inside, the palace breathed warmth, scented rich with cedarwood and sweet citrus.
Servants lined the vaulted corridors with bowed heads, while massive oil portraits of past kings looked down from high stone walls.
They proceeded into the grand hall, where high ceilings opened up to a imposing throne sculpted from dark stone and dragon motifs.
Zareth reluctantly released Elira’s hand.
“My mother will see you settled.” Elira offered a polite bow to the King before following the Queen Dowager deeper into the royal wing.
Once the women were out of sight, Zareth’s warm demeanor vanished, replaced by the cool authority of a ruler.
“Take the prisoner to the deepest dungeon,” he ordered the guards.
“I will handle his interrogation personally.” “Yes, my King!” The soldiers hauled the bound general away.
Alaric lingered, crossing his arms with an amused grin.
“You look like you’re about to drop dead on the floor.” Zareth scoffed, looking over his shoulder.
“Coming from the man who nearly fainted at the sight of a single stray arrow?” Alaric cleared his throat awkwardly, entirely unprepared for the comeback.
“You are truly evil, you know that?” “Don’t forget, General, you’ll be required to find a bride of your own soon enough,” Zareth teased with a smirking glance.
Alaric shuddered violently.
“Never!
A woman would be the death of me.” “It would certainly be a shame,” Zareth laughed, “but it would be immensely entertaining to watch.” Alaric threw his hands up in defeat.
“Hilarious.
So, what is the agenda now, Your Majesty?
Planning our next march against Eldarsh, or investigating the reports of illicit trade on the city’s east side?” Zareth paused, considering the options for a moment before folding his arms.
“General Alaric, a trade dispute can easily be handled by my top commander.
Why bother me with it?” “Because the petition was brought directly to your throne, not mine,” Alaric countered smoothly.
“Well, that is a conversation for tomorrow,” Zareth declared, turning toward his private quarters with a satisfied smirk.
“Right now, I need to wash off this trail dust so I can join my bride.
I have a feeling she misses me terribly…
and I know for a fact that I miss her.” As the King strode down the hall, Alaric rolled his eyes toward the grand ceiling.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered to himself.
“The man is completely unpredictable.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Mickeywrite Creation is hard, cheer me up!
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