The Iron Serpent carved its path through the Andalusian hills like a blade of judgment—steam hissing through pine-covered ridges, signal flags fluttering from its flanks. It had not yet entered Granada, but word of its approach had. Telegraph wires, horse messengers, and fearful whispers moved faster than iron.
Inside the command car, Prince Lancelot reviewed a fresh dispatch. Juliette stood across the table, flanked by Bellido and two newly promoted Civic Brigade officers from Carmona.
"Granada's nobility has sealed the Alhambra," Lancelot said, voice low. "They've requisitioned old cannon from their family arsenals. Artillery from another century—but with powder, still deadly."
"They intend to make a last stand," Bellido said grimly. "A symbol. Hold the palace, hold the past."
Juliette crossed her arms. "Then we tear down the symbol without destroying the city. We won't become what they accuse us of."
Easier said than done.
