Silas flew silently through the night sky. He stayed high up, attempting to blend with the clouds. Below him was the city of Jux and the lights of torches and fires. For the past three nights, he had patrolled the skies of Walford, Jux, and the surrounding areas, watching for any sign that Drurus’s army had crossed into his kingdom. And tonight, at last, he saw it.

  Scattered across the land and beyond the outskirts of Jux, hundreds of torches burned—far more than usual. Not only that, but there were sporadic bits of light within the forests between the city and the Burna River.

  Looks like they might be setting up for an ambush, Silas remarked as he looked at the lights hidden among the trees.

  So it seems, Rhett hummed in agreement. It just means there will be fewer soldiers in Jux when we push our way north from Walford.

  Silas nodded slightly, careful not to disturb the air too much as he silently flew between the clouds. He had to remain unseen, acting as nothing more than a shadow against the sky.

  I think we’ve seen enough, Rhett stated after a long pause. Let’s go home.

  Silas tilted his wings back without hesitation, changing his course to the southeast. The cold air rushed past him as he gained speed, and the light from the torches below soon faded away. Crossing over the northern stretch of the Nocktal Mountains, he descended toward Casshire. But even as he neared home, the dragon remained cautious.

  Though Drurus was nowhere near Casshire, there was still a chance that spies were watching them, waiting to report the dragon’s movements. So, instead of approaching the city itself, he flew directly to the palace grounds, where torches lit up a small clearing in the north.

  As soon as Silas finished shifting into Rhett, Tristan, Ashur, and Noah stepped outside. Despite being told countless times that they didn’t need to, the trio always waited up for Rhett to return from his nightly scouting flights.

  As usual, Tristan and Ashur appeared more worried, while Noah was barely keeping his eyes open, rubbing them as if forcing himself to stay awake.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see you,” the younger prince mumbled through a yawn. “I’m so ready to go to bed.”

  “No one is forcing you to stay awake,” Ashur grumbled, elbowing his brother in the side. Noah groaned, swatting at Ashur’s arm but missing.

  “Yeah, yeah. But I’d never hear the end of it if I wasn’t here.”

  Rhett smirked, shaking his head as he pulled on the clothes they had brought him.

  “Go get some rest while you can, Noah,” he advised, rolling his shoulders to ease his tense muscles. “In a few hours, we’re heading south to Estoneshire.”

  “Wait—” Noah cut in, trying to focus. “Drurus’s army finally crossed the border?”

  “How many men?” Tristan questioned with a frown.

  “I couldn’t get an exact count from the height I had to fly,” Rhett admitted, ushering the group inside and shutting the doors behind them. “But there were hundreds of torches and campfires spread out around Jux. If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say there were at least six hundred soldiers.”

  “By the Gods…” Tristan muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair. He clenched his jaw as he considered the number. But then, as he looked at Rhett, he noticed the smile on the king’s face. “Why do you look so happy about it?”

  “Because they fell for it,” Rhett replied simply as he climbed a set of stairs.

  Ashur and Tristan exchanged surprised glances before rushing after him.

  “You’re kidding,” Ashur gasped.

  “They actually fell for the fake orders?” Tristan questioned.

  “I saw torches scattered through the woods between Jux and the Burna River,” Rhett nodded. “They’re sending men east, trying to intercept the soldiers they think are heading to Jux.”

  “That means they split their forces,” Ashur remarked with a raised brow.

  “Exactly,” Rhett confirmed as they walked into his study. “And, from what I saw, it doesn’t look like they sent any additional numbers toward Walford. If that’s the case, we won’t encounter many forces when we march into the city.”

  While the Vespera princes were silently celebrating the news, Tristan, however, wasn’t as optimistic. As he leaned against a wall, he crossed his arms.

  “If what you say is true, and Drurus brought in six hundred soldiers, then we may not have enough men to fight against them.”

  Rhett exhaled heavily, rubbing his hand over his face before walking to his desk. He reached for a sheet of parchment detailing their numbers. At that moment, 175 soldiers from Apathle and Greenatch were waiting for them in Estoneshire. Another hundred had been confirmed from Portyngton, and with any luck, the farmlands might send another fifty. That brought their total to only 325 soldiers—at best. Against Drurus’s estimated numbers, it wasn’t enough.

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  “Have we received any word from Ruggeweyn?” He inquired, turning to Tristan. The region had anywhere between two to three hundred soldiers, numbers they would desperately need.

  Tristan shook his head.

  “We’ve sent two messenger pigeons, and neither have returned.”

  “Do you think they’ve sided with Drurus?” Ashur questioned hesitantly.

  “Viscount Quinn and his family have been loyal to Sylvaris for generations,” Rhett frowned, shaking his head.

  “Not to mention Walden already fought alongside Rhett during the People’s Rebellion,” Tristan added. “Even if Quinn refused to send his men, Walden wouldn’t pass up a good fight.”

  “Then why haven’t we heard from them?” Ashur pressed, narrowing his eyes. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  Rhett sighed, considering the possibilities.

  “It could be that the pigeons never arrived—either there or back. It’s a long flight, and there’s no telling what might have happened.”

  “Or,” Tristan interjected. “They’re already marching to Odlare and haven’t had time to respond.”

  Rhett ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the clock on the wall.

  “Well, if they aren’t in Odlare when we arrive, I’ll fly down to Ruggeweyn myself and see what’s going on. But… enough of that for now. It’s two in the morning. Let’s try to get at least five hours of sleep. We have a long day of riding ahead of us.”

  “Except for me,” Noah said with a smug smile, sleepily flexing his arms. “I get to fly.”

  Rhett instantly turned to him with a stern expression.

  “Remember, you go straight to Onlon, relay the news to our soldiers, then—”

  “Follow your soldiers into Vespera. Then, continue at least 100 miles to the north before turning west to Jesup. Yes, I remember,” Noah interrupted with an exaggerated nod.

  “I’m serious,” Rhett growled. “If you fly too close to the border, you might be spotted and give away our positions.”

  “I know. I get it,” Noah murmured as he dropped his smile. “You, Tristan, and Ashur have drilled the plan into me over and over again. I won’t mess it up.”

  Ashur crossed his arms before turning to Rhett.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go instead?”

  “No,” Rhett shook his head. “Noah is faster, and his dragon is a lighter blue, which will help him blend into the sky during the day. It’s too risky to change plans now.”

  Ashur sighed but nodded, accepting the decision.

  “Since I’ll be heading to Onlon, do you have a message you want me to give to Amara?” Noah inquired.

  Rhett stiffened and looked at the prince with a harsh glare, not saying a word. Noah furrowed his brows, shifting awkwardly in the uncomfortable silence.

  He had no idea Rhett had been distancing himself from his wife. To him—and likely to others—it seemed logical that with a war about to start, Rhett had been too preoccupied to write or visit Amara's. Or, perhaps, he was simply putting on a brave face despite her absence. But the way Rhett reacted now, stiff and angry, made Noah second-guess his assumption.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Tristan interjected quickly, placing a firm hand on Noah’s arm and steering him toward the door. “I have a message you can deliver to Molly Rose.”

  “But wait, doesn’t he—”

  Before Noah could finish his sentence, Tristan had already dragged him into the corridor, closing the door behind them.

  The room went quiet, leaving Rhett alone with Ashur. The older prince remained still, his arms crossed as he studied the young king. However, Rhett ignored him, walking over to the couch and collapsing onto it.

  “Unless you plan on reading me a bedtime story, you can leave too,” Rhett muttered, draping an arm over his eyes to block out the candlelight.

  Ashur merely grunted, too exhausted to push the matter further—though Rhett knew he wouldn’t let it go forever. With a shrug, the prince turned and exited the study.

  Rhett sighed heavily, shifting slightly but making no effort to extinguish the candles. What was the point? Darkness wouldn’t help him sleep better. It wouldn’t silence the thoughts that clawed at his mind, nor would it stop Silas from altering his dreams and inserting Amara into every single one of them.

  At first, it had felt like a cruel form of torture. But now… now those fleeting glimpses of her were the only things that filled the aching void in his chest. Since his talk with Kenna—or, more accurately, since he had broken down in front of her like a child—there had been a hollowness inside him that nothing could quite fill—nothing except Amara.

  Thinking of her, seeing past moments or future glimpses were the only things that lessened the pain—if only for a little while. But by morning, the emptiness always returned, hurting like an open wound.

  “Show me the one where she gives birth,” he whispered to his dragon. “I liked that one.”

  Rhett was jolted awake by a sudden shaking. As his eyes flew open, he sat up, startled to notice Tristan standing beside the couch. Rhett groaned, ran a hand over his face, and glanced toward the clock.

  “What time is it? Did I oversleep?”

  “It’s barely after six,” Tristan replied, tossing a rolled letter onto Rhett’s lap. “But this came in, and I figured you’d want to read it now rather than later.”

  Rhett furrowed his brows, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before picking up the letter. Even though the wax seal was broken, he recognized the crest immediately—Ruggeweyn. His shoulders relaxed in relief, thinking this was the confirmation he had been waiting for, that Quinn had finally mobilized their forces.

  But the relief disappeared as he unrolled the parchment, and his eyes skimmed over the words.

  Ruggeweyn was refusing to fight…

  His grip on the letter tightened as he reread the words, ensuring he hadn’t misunderstood. Quinn and Walden stated plainly that their men would not march for Sylvaris, that they would not fight for a kingdom that didn’t care about them. Rhett frowned, lifting his gaze to Tristan.

  “What do they mean the Kingdom doesn’t care about them?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Tristan shrugged, crossing his arms.

  Rhett exhaled loudly, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. Something wasn’t right. If they were unwilling to fight, that meant someone had turned them against him. He couldn’t help but wonder if Drurus was behind this. Though Ruggeweyn hadn’t declared allegiance to the enemy, their refusal to aid the rest of the kingdom raised too many questions. Why else would they suddenly deny his call to arms?

  “What do you want us to do?” Tristan questioned with a worried expression. “Do we need a new plan for reaching Jux?”

  “No,” Rhett said, shaking his head as he pushed the blankets off and sat up on the couch. “I want you and Ashur to still head down to the army in Estoneshire. From here, move toward Odlare. If I haven’t caught up with you by the time you arrive, wait for me.”

  “Where are you going?” Tristan frowned.

  “Ruggeweyn,” Rhett answered curtly, reaching for his boots. “I want to know why they’re turning their backs on the rest of the kingdom.”