The battle for Walford had ended in a matter of hours, and now the city stood still in an uneasy peace. The morning light came over the mountain peaks, illuminating the damage left behind—splintered wood, broken weapons, and the faint smoke trails from fires that had been burning. Now came the hardest part of war: restoring order and making things right.

  Rhett stood near the northern gate, resting his back against a post. His body ached with exhaustion, but he ignored his weariness. Instead, his gaze looked out to the other side of the gate, where Ashur’s dragon stood. Rhett’s jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed.

  Eventually, he was pulled from his thoughts as his captains gathered around him. Some were bloodied and battered, but all were visibly drained, though none complained. Instead, they stood at attention, awaiting orders.

  “Spread out,” Rhett commanded as he looked them over. “I want a full report on any structural damage sent to the Earl’s manor by sundown. Count the dead—our and theirs. Identify as many as possible so their families can be informed.”

  Three of the captains nodded, accepting their tasks without hesitation before turning to depart. The remaining two men lingered, waiting for the king to continue.

  “Speak to the locals,” Rhett instructed them. “Find out where they stand—whether they’ll be trouble. I doubt most of them even knew Walford was standing against the kingdom, so tread lightly.”

  He paused, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, smoothing it back.

  “Ask about their supplies—food, firewood, anything critical. If they have enough, leave them be. If they’re short, I want to know immediately. If the city has reserves to spare, make sure they are distributed. If not, report to me, and I’ll handle it personally.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the two captains replied in unison before turning to relay his orders to their men.

  As they departed, Rhett exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness in his joints. He looked out over the city, watching as his soldiers moved around.

  “You alright?”

  Rhett turned his head at the sound of the familiar voice, noticing Tristan as he approached.

  “Yeah,” Rhett nodded. “Couple of scrapes, nothing Silas can’t handle. What about you? I haven’t seen you since we entered the city. Where were you?”

  “My men and I held the southern gate, making sure no one slipped away,” Tristan replied, glancing past Rhett toward the northern gate. His brows furrowed as he noticed the dragon standing just beyond it. “What in Eena’s name is Ashur doing out there?”

  “Trying to test my patience,” Rhett growled, pushing himself off the post. He stormed toward the gate without another word, locking his glare onto the dragon.

  When he saw Rhett and Tristan walking toward him, Ashur shifted back into his human form, standing naked in the middle of the dirt road. The cold morning air bit at his skin, though it wasn’t long before he felt the heat coming from Rhett. A sheepish smile grew across the prince’s face, but it quickly faltered at the fury burning in the King’s eyes. Ashur raised both hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender.

  “Before you say anything—”

  He didn’t get the chance to finish before Rhett’s fist connected with his jaw. Ashur staggered back, cradling his face with one hand as he rapidly blinked in shock.

  “Yeah… I deserved that,” the prince muttered, wincing as he flexed his jaw.

  But before he could fully recover, Rhett grabbed him—though instead of hitting him again, he pulled Ashur into a tight, crushing embrace. The unexpected hug nearly knocked the breath from the prince’s lungs.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Rhett muttered as his arms tightened. “I can’t lose another brother.”

  Ashur stiffened at first, tensing up at the thought of Emmett being gone. He held his breath momentarily, regretting his actions and the worry he caused Rhett. After a few seconds, the prince finally exhaled, relaxing into the embrace. With a soft chuckle, he patted Rhett’s back.

  “You’re getting too sentimental,” Ashur murmured, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Shut up,” Rhett growled, pulling back just enough to glare at him.

  Tristan, who had been watching, stepped closer and threw an arm around both men.

  “It’s alright,” he said lightly. “The Creators tend to bless stupid fools, so Ashur is sure to live a long, happy life.”

  “Not if my mother hears about this,” Ashur grumbled, rubbing his sore jaw before glancing at Rhett warily. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  “And risk being punished along with you?” Rhett scoffed. “No, thank you.”

  With that, the king reached over, tugging Tristan’s cloak off his shoulders before tossing it at Ashur. The prince barely caught it in time before quickly wrapping it over his body.

  “Now go find yourself some proper clothes,” Rhett ordered. “I want to check Reece’s manor and see if he left behind anything useful we can use against Drurus.”

  “Great. Back to work already. Don’t we need to rest or something first?” Ashur groaned.

  “Be happy I’m not sending you home,” Rhett said dryly as he walked past the prince, heading toward the city.

  “Come on,” Tristan sighed, patting Ashur’s back gently. “Best not to delay.”

  The three men walked through the northern part of Walford, and Rhett paused to speak with his soldiers every so often. The townsfolk watched them warily, not daring to approach the strangers. Eventually, an older woman waved them over to a group of Walford soldiers, who were kneeling with their hands tied behind their backs.

  “My lords!” She called out, reaching for Rhett’s sleeve once the men were close enough. “What’s happening? The Earl’s men told us raiders were at the gates, but now our own soldiers are being bound like criminals.”

  Rhett glanced at the restrained soldiers before turning back to the woman.

  “The truth is, your city was never defending itself against raiders,” he explained to her in a calm voice. “The Earl locked this city down and cut you off from the rest of the kingdom. Your soldiers—your sons and brothers—weren’t fighting for Walford or even Sylvaris. They were fighting for the kingdom of Drurus.”

  A murmur went through the growing crowd. One of the bound soldiers—who still wore Walford’s crest on his tattered cloak—stiffened at Rhett’s words.

  “That can’t be right…” he said with a pale face. “We were told to defend our home, to keep the city safe from foreign raiders.”

  “You were lied to,” Tristan scoffed.

  At that moment, one of Rhett’s captains approached, bowing slightly before addressing him.

  “Your Majesty, what shall we do with them?”

  At hearing the title, much of the crowd gasped in horror, not realizing that a dragon shifter was standing among them. Many, like the older woman beside Rhett, took several steps back. Meanwhile, some of the tied men struggled against the rope, not in defiance but in desperation.

  “Y-Your Majesty,” one of them stammered. “We… we didn’t know. If we had known we were fighting against Sylvaris, against our own people, we never would have taken up arms. Please, we were only doing what we were told!”

  Rhett looked at the men carefully, staring at each one for any signs of deception. But all he found was regret and fear. After a moment, he turned to the captain standing nearby.

  “Release them.”

  As soon as the ropes were cut, several of the soldiers remained on their knees and instead looked at Rhett while pressing their fists over their hearts.

  “I want to swear service to you, my king,” one declared. “Give me the chance to right this wrong.”

  Rhett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “There’s no need for this,” he muttered, waving them off, but they didn’t move.

  “If we can’t take back the time we’ve lost, let us at least fight for you,” another insisted.

  After a few seconds, the young king relented with a nod.

  “If you wish to fight for your kingdom, who am I to stop you?” He turned to the captain before motioning to the men. “Take responsibility for them. Have them distribute supplies to the people first, then have them lead you to any hidden weapon caches or stockpiles we can use for the march to Jux.”

  The men eagerly accepted their orders, ready to assist Rhett and his army. Just as the young king was about to continue toward the Earl’s manor, he stopped in front of Ashur, who still stood in the cold morning air without a stitch of clothing beyond Tristan’s cloak. Rhett scowled before turning to one of the newly freed soldiers.

  “You,” Rhett said, pointing between the man and Ashur. “Take the prince and find him something suitable to wear.”

  The man’s brows shot up, shocked to discover that there wasn’t just one dragon shifter.

  “Prince?” He echoed in awe. Ashur only gave a simple nod of his head in response. The soldier looked back to Rhett. “Would you like him to be given armor as well, Your Majesty? I know a blacksmith who could adjust a set to fit him, considering he’s… ah… a bit larger than most.”

  “No need,” Rhett scoffed. “He’s a glorified messenger pigeon. He won’t be seeing any more fighting.”

  Ashur bit the inside of his cheek, saying nothing. He knew better than to argue after what had happened. Without a word, he followed the soldier through the streets, disappearing into the crowd.

  After finishing with the soldiers, Rhett and Tristan resumed their walk toward the Earl’s manor. Rhett had expected the grounds to be quiet, given that no fighting had taken place there. But as they approached, the sounds of a scuffle and shouting filled the air.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  His soldiers were dragging servants from the manor, shoving them to their knees in the courtyard before binding their hands with rope. Some of the servants whimpered, others cursed, but all of them looked terrified.

  “What in Eena’s wrath is this?!” Rhett bellowed. “Stop all this nonsense at once!”

  The soldiers hesitated, still gripping onto their captives, shifting uncomfortably as they glanced at one another. None of them let the servants go, though a few men stepped back slightly.

  Just then, Alric, one of Rhett’s captains, walked out of the manor. He walked toward them, bowing his head in greeting before speaking.

  “We caught them burning documents,” Alric explained. “We believe they were trying to destroy evidence that could incriminate Lord Reece.”

  “I knew I should have sent men to secure the manor sooner,” Rhett muttered under his breath.

  “We didn’t have the numbers,” Tristan pointed out with a shake of his head. “The manor wasn’t a priority. The city and its people were.”

  Rhett clenched his jaw but knew Tristan was right. Still, the damage had been done. He turned to one of the servants, narrowing his eyes as he stepped forward.

  “What was on those documents?”

  The servants remained silently, though they averted their gazes. Tristan, however, let out an impatient sigh.

  “You stand before the King of Sylvaris,” he snapped, knowing that would get at least a few of them to talk. “You would do well to show him the respect he is due.”

  Several of the servants stiffened at that, and their eyes went wide. One of them, a man with graying hair and soot on his hands, shook his head frantically.

  “None of us can read, Your Majesty. We were only told that if the city was ever attacked, we had to burn everything in the Earl’s office.”

  Rhett’s scowl deepened. Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked past them, pushing open the manor doors and stepping inside. The interior was in disarray. Ash and scraps of half-burned parchment littered the floors. Rhett walked toward one of the large hearths, kneeling down to sift through the blackened remains. He picked up a charred piece of paper, only to watch it crumble between his fingers.

  Tristan stepped beside him, looking around at the mess before letting out a dry chuckle.

  “Well… at least they’re reliable servants.”

  Rhett shot him an unimpressed look before rising to his feet.

  “How long has it been since Noah left Casshire?”

  “Eight days,” Tristan answered. “Give or take.”

  Rhett dragged a hand through his hair as he thought to himself. The plan had been for Noah to fly to Onlon first before following those soldiers up to Vespera, where Jesup’s forces waited. After taking a day to rest, he would avoid Drurus by flying along the eastern side of Sylvaris before turning west toward Odlem. From there, he would head north to Walford, assuming Rhett and his men had secured the city by then.

  The original estimate was seven to ten days. If everything went according to plan, Noah could arrive at any moment or within the next two days. This meant they had almost no time left to prepare for the march to Jux.

  “Gather the captains and the maps,” Rhett ordered Tristan. “Have them come here. I’ll set up a war room for us. We need a plan and we need it fast.”

  Tristan nodded, already moving toward the door before Rhett even finished speaking.

  It took about an hour, but soon, all the captains had gathered around the long dining table in the manor. Rhett stood at the center, with Tristan on his right and Ashur on his left. Scattered across the table were several maps, along with red and blue painted wooden soldiers—something Rhett had found while searching the manor. Though it was meant to be a child’s toy, it would serve well for planning and strategy.

  Reaching for the red pieces first, Rhett placed them around Jux, trying to recall what he had seen from the skies over a week ago.

  “Most of Drurus’s forces are camped just outside the city walls,” he said, tapping his fingers against the map. “Smaller groups are positioned between Jux and the Burna River—likely in anticipation of us coming from the east.”

  “They expected an attack from that direction,” Tristan nodded as he crossed his arms. “Those men not being there will work to our advantage for the initial push, but it won’t take long before they rush back to reinforce the main Drurus army.”

  Rhett hummed in agreement before placing additional red pieces further north, marking villages and smaller cities leading up to the Vespera border. Next, he took the blue pieces, starting with the farthest point on the map, where the borders of Vespera, Drurus, and Sylvaris met.

  “Jesup’s camp holds just over nine hundred men,” he explained. “Onlon’s four hundred should be making their way down toward Jux—assuming they haven’t already begun their march.”

  He then placed two small clusters of blue soldiers southwest of their position along the northern border of Riven.

  “Riven is sending the bulk of their men deeper into Drurus to attack from the south, but they’ve spared two hundred men to help us take back Jux. They’re currently waiting in the mountain pass.”

  With a pause, the young king turned to Ashur.

  “Once we’re ready to move, you’ll fly out to signal them and remain behind their forces in human form, ready to fly at a moment’s notice if needed.”

  Ashur nodded briefly as he looked down at the map, memorizing its location. Finally, Rhett placed the last of the blue pieces in Walford.

  “Our ultimate goal is for these three groups—Onlon’s group, Riven’s spare men, and our own forces—to converge on Jux simultaneously. But… I fully anticipate the first phase of the battle to begin with just us.”

  There was silence in the room as everyone looked down at the maps. Their forces in Walford were just over three hundred men. Meanwhile, hundreds of Drurus soldiers surrounded Jux. Worse still, the path from Walford to Jux led them through a narrow valley—the perfect place for Drurus scouts to spot them before they even got close to the city.

  “Do you want to move at night?” Tristan inquired as he leaned forward. “Or just before dawn like we did today? The darkness would give us the element of surprise.”

  Rhett hesitated before shaking his head.

  “We got lucky today. The fog covered our approach to Walford. But if there’s no fog—or worse, if the skies are clear—the moonlight will reflect off our armor. We’d be easy targets.”

  Some of the captains muttered among themselves before one of them spoke up.

  “Traveling at night might be our best option,” he said. “If we move carefully, avoid open ground, and keep our armor covered, we could minimize our visibility.”

  Several others agreed, arguing that the risk of the scouts in the mountains made traveling by daylight even more dangerous. After listening to their reasoning, Rhett exhaled through his nose before nodding.

  “Fine. Since we don’t have many other choices, we’ll move under the cover of darkness. For now, until Prince Noah arrives, I want our men to rest and get food in their bellies. They’ll need their strength.”

  With that, Rhett dismissed the meeting. As the captains began to leave, some stopped beside him to deliver their reports and updates on supplies, as well as the lists of the dead and wounded from the battle for the city.

  Once all the captains had left the dining room, Rhett grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the table, sinking into the seat with a tired sigh. He ran a hand over his face before looking down at the scattered reports. After a moment, he glanced up at Tristan and Ashur, who had remained behind.

  “You both should go rest,” he said. “There should be plenty of rooms in the manor. Find a bed and get some sleep.”

  Tristan folded his arms and leaned against the table, watching Rhett closely.

  “And what about you?” He inquired. “Are you going to rest, too?”

  “Not yet,” Rhett shook his head. “While we have downtime, I want to write letters to the families of the soldiers who died.”

  He tapped his fingers against the table, already planning what he wanted to say in each one.

  “When was the last time you slept?” Ashur scowled.

  Rhett shrugged, trying to downplay the truth.

  “I got an hour or so the other day.”

  “That’s not enough!” Ashur snapped. “You’re running yourself into the ground. You can’t lead if you’re half-dead from exhaustion.”

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful and find me some paper and ink,” Rhett murmured, waving a hand at the prince. “It’s better than listening to you nag as if you were my mother.”

  Ashur’s jaw tensed up, but after a moment, he stormed from the room, muttering under his breath. Tristan stayed, still watching Rhett with a concerned expression.

  “You’re not going to be any use to us if you collapse from lack of sleep,” Tristan pointed out.

  Rhett ignored him, picking up the reports again, as if that was enough to end the conversation. Not long after, Ashur returned, slamming a stack of paper and a small inkwell onto the table.

  “There, do what you want,” he muttered before turning to Tristan. “Come on. Talking to him is like talking to a wall. No point in wasting our breath.”

  Tristan hesitated, but after another glance at Rhett, he sighed and followed Ashur out of the room. Finally alone, Rhett took up the quill and began writing. He told the families he was sorry for their loss, acknowledging their pain and sacrifice. For those whose names he recognized, he added personal touches—a mention of bravery or a memory that he had of the soldier. Despite the ache in his body, Rhett forced himself to write, not wanting to stop until all were done.

  But as the hours stretched on, his vision blurred, and his head grew heavy. His writing hand slowed down, and the ink smudged on the page. After a while, his eyes fluttered shut, and before Rhett even realized it, he had drifted off to sleep.

  But with the sleep came the nightmare.

  Rhett found himself back in the bed at Apathle, with Amara curled up beside him. He could hear her soft breathing and feel the warmth of her body against his, as if it were real. But the nightmare was always the same—she would wake, teasing him endlessly until he finally reached out to touch her. But that was when Amara would suddenly vanish, leaving him grasping at empty sheets.

  When the dream shifted, Rhett found himself inside Amara’s bedchambers in Onlon. He clenched his fists, counting to ten in his head. And right on cue, Amara walked into the room. She stretched, rolling her shoulders.

  “My hips ache,” she murmured, as she always did in this nightmare. “I think I’ll take a bath.”

  She disappeared into the bathing chamber, but Rhett didn’t follow. Even when he heard the splash of her falling into the tub, he knew she wasn’t there. Instead, he turned toward the nursery doors. His heart pounded as he approached. He knew what waited for him on the other side. The bloodied remains of the twins…

  The nightmare would end the same way it always did—with him holding a tiny, lifeless body as Amara’s screams filled the air.

  But when he pushed open the doors, it wasn’t Amara standing there. Another woman stood in the center of the room. Middle-aged, with graying hair and bright, violet eyes. A witch…

  “Are you the one tormenting me with these nightmares?” Rhett demanded with a low growl.

  The witch didn’t speak. Instead, she simply stared at him with an unreadable expression.

  “Why do you keep showing me Amara disappearing? The children dying? Is this some kind of punishment?!” He shouted as he clenched his fists. “Is this because I haven’t seen her in weeks? Is that what this is about?”

  The witch remained silent, but as Rhett glared at her, something finally clicked for him.

  “You’re the one who told Amara to name me king, aren’t you?”

  At this, the witch finally nodded. Rhett felt his fiery anger turn cold at her answer.

  “If you want me to go back to Amara, you’re wasting your time!” He snapped. “I can’t. I won’t. This war came to my kingdom because of you—because of the choice you forced on Amara. I have to stay here. I have to fight. So stop… stop giving me these nightmares because I am not going to Onlon. Not now. Not anytime soon.”

  For the first time, the witch’s expression fell as her shoulders sagged. Finally, she spoke.

  “If that is how you feel,” she said softly. “Then I won’t return to your dreams again.”

  And with that, she faded away. The nightmare came to an end, giving Rhett some much-needed, undisturbed sleep.

  Hours later, Rhett finally stirred from his restless sleep. His mouth was dry, and his body was stiff from sleeping in the chair. He licked his lips and sat back, groaning as he stretched. Blinking away the remaining drowsiness, he glanced down at the table and scowled.

  Sometime during the night, he had knocked over the inkwell, spilling ink across the letters he had written. The black liquid had bled into the parchment, rendering it all unreadable. He exhaled loudly, irritated with himself, before pushing the ruined pages aside. But when Rhett noticed ink stains on his tunic, he started to panic.

  With his heart pounding, he reached quickly into his shirt, grabbing the small, folded letter he had tucked away. Pulling it out, he held his breath, looking over the parchment for any damage. Thankfully, he was relieved to see that there was none.

  Slowly, his fingers traced the edges of the letter, stopping when he got to his name scribbled across the front. Amara had left it for him before departing for Onlon, and though two weeks had passed, it still had the faintest trace of her honeyed scent. He hadn’t yet found the courage to read it, but he cherished it all the same. After smelling it softly, he slipped it back into the hidden pocket in his shirt and patted it gently to ensure it was safe.

  Running a hand over his face, Rhett turned toward the window. It was dark outside, but he saw something flickering in the distance. At first, he thought it was a building on fire or some disaster spreading through the city.

  With a deep frown, he pushed himself up from the chair and hurried toward the door. However, as he ran through the courtyard toward the source of the fire, he soon realized it was just a massive bonfire.

  A group of soldiers stood around the flames, tossing various items into the fire—cloaks, banners, armor—each piece bearing the Walford crest.

  “What’s going on here?” Rhett questioned as he approached one of the soldiers.

  “We’re burning anything with the Earl’s sigil, sire. Cloaks, armor—anything that ties this place to the Earl. The men don’t want to see his crest anymore.”

  Rhett nodded in understanding as he glanced back toward the fire. But as he stood there, staring at the remnants of Reece’s house, an idea sparked in Rhett’s mind. His gaze snapped back to the men, and he abruptly raised his hands.

  “Stop!” He ordered.

  The soldiers hesitated, with some freezing mid-motion. One of them frowned as they stepped forward.

  “Why, Your Majesty? What’s wrong?”

  Rhett’s mind raced as the pieces of his plan came together in his mind.

  “Don’t burn the armor and cloaks just yet,” he commanded. “We might be able to use them to our advantage.”

  The men exchanged glances, clearly confused. But Rhett didn’t waste time explaining. Instead, he turned to one of his own soldiers.

  “Gather all the captains and send them to the manor. Immediately.”