The King, Miller, and a few loyal soldiers swiftly took the hidden escape route, galloping westward on horseback, their cloaks whipping in the wind.
Meanwhile, Borg veered off in another direction with a handful of men, creating a diversion to mislead any pursuers. They had planned to reunite later in the safety of the western domain.
As they rode, the heavens opened, rain pouring down as though the sky itself wept for their sorrow, the loss of a beloved queen and the shadow of war now looming over Seravelle.
Choosing stealth over speed, they navigated the treacherous mountain path, a narrow trail that snaked through rugged cliffs and misty
forests. This was the same secret route Craige once traveled, hidden behind cascading waterfalls, now serving as their only hope to escape unseen.
The storm raged harder as thunder rolled across the darkened sky. The King gripped the reins tightly, urging his horse forward, but before they could reach the narrow waterfall pass, shadows emerged from the mist,
enemy soldiers blocking their path.
Steel clashed in the rain as the King drew his sword, Miller and the loyal guards forming a defensive circle around him. Horses neighed and stomped, mud splattering as blades met in a brutal dance.
"Protect the King!" Miller roared, slashing down an assailant before an arrow grazed his shoulder. Blood seeped through his soaked tunic, but he fought on with gritted teeth.
The King parried a strike, countering with a swift slash that sent another foe sprawling, yet the ambush pressed harder. A sword sliced across the King's arm, pain searing like fire as he struggled to stay atop his
panicked horse.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating dozens more enemies emerging from the ridge above.
"Your Majesty, fall back!" Miller shouted, pushing two attackers away, his breath ragged.
But it was too late. A soldier's spear struck the King's horse, the beast rearing violently. The King tried to regain control, but with
a final, anguished neigh, the horse lost footing on the slippery rocks.
"Miller!" the King cried, reaching out as his steed toppled backward.
"NO!" Miller's voice tore through the storm as the King and his horse plunged off the cliff, disappearing into the roaring waterfalls
below.
Miller's sword grew heavy in his hand, blood dripping down his wounded arm, yet he refused to falter. Surrounded on all sides, the loyal soldiers fought fiercely but were badly outnumbered.
A blade slashed across Miller's side, forcing him to one knee. Just as an enemy raised his sword for the killing blow, a thunderous roar echoed through the mountains.
From the misty western trail, a column of soldiers clad in Seravelle's western colors charged forward, their banners whipping in the storm.
"FOR SERAVELLE!" their commander bellowed as arrows rained down, striking enemy riders. The clash of steel intensified as the western soldiers crashed into the ambush, cutting down foes with relentless precision.
Miller, breathing hard and barely standing, watched as their enemies broke formation. Some fled into the woods, others were cut down where they stood. Finally, silence fell, broken only by the pounding rain and the
distant roar of the waterfall.
"Where is the King?" a western soldier demanded, rushing to Miller's side.
Miller, drenched in rain and blood, staggered toward the cliff's edge. "He… he fell… The horse was struck, and they were thrown over," he said, his voice raw with anguish.
Several soldiers descended carefully to the riverbank below, but the water was raging, swollen from the storm. Broken branches floated past, yet no trace of the King or his horse remained.
One soldier returned, shaking his head grimly. "The current is too strong… it must have dragged them far downstream."
Miller clenched his fist, his face pale but determined. "We don't stop. We search every league of this river until we find him… dead or alive."
"Are you alright?" Borg asked with urgency, his face pale as Miller was carried in by western soldiers, bloodied and barely conscious.
"Take them inside, quickly!" the western butler ordered, his voice sharp with worry.
"The King… he's missing," one of the western soldiers reported, his voice trembling as he turned to Borg and the former Duke Castello.
Shock and dread washed over both men, their expressions tightening with fear for their sovereign.
"I'll send a messenger to Duke Craige at once," Borg said, his voice strained as he addressed the soldier.
Castello clenched his fists, his jaw set. "Gather every able soldier. Cassian will be arriving soon, and when he does, he'll need a full army behind him."
"Yes, my lord," the soldier replied, bowing deeply before hurrying off.
And so, while Miller and the others managed to reach the western domain, the King remained missing, swallowed by the raging waters and uncertainty of fate.
---
"The Queen is dead," Marchioness Atthalia announced, her lips curling into a wicked smile.
"Good… you've finally done it," Cedric replied, a dark grin spreading across his face.
A loud knock echoed against the door.
"Enter," Cedric commanded.
A soldier rushed in, bowing his head. "My Lord, I bring news, the King… he fell from the waterfall during battle. His body is missing."
Cedric's eyes widened, then a triumphant smile broke across his face. He let out a low, sinister laugh, which Atthalia joined, their
laughter filling the chamber.
"Finally!" Cedric exclaimed, pouring himself a generous glass of wine. "But we cannot rejoice yet… I must be certain he's truly dead."
"Don't celebrate too soon," a cold voice cut through the room. Deposed Duke Armond stepped inside, his gaze sharp. "With the King gone, his brother will claim the throne."
Cedric scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "The Velgarith soldiers will handle him. My task is to cast aside the King who destroyed us. Once he's gone, Velgarith will sweep in, conquer Seravelle, and finally face Craige."
Atthalia arched a brow. "And what of the omega? King Herald demanded Desmond deliver him as a condition for aiding you."
Cedric's smirk returned, more sinister than before. "He'll have him soon enough. Chaos already consumes the North… it's only a matter of time before Desmond drags that cursed Elarion prince out of hiding."
Meanwhile, in the North…
Every border was engulfed in relentless battles as opposing forces clashed. The four Generals of the North, stalwart protectors of the region, fought fiercely as the enemy swept across the frozen frontier.
"Ione, take Claren and the others to Gravehollow Woods, where the Borg clan resides," Craige ordered urgently. "The manor won't be safe, if they breach the border, it will be the first place they strike."
"Baby, go with them," Craige turned to Luren, his voice soft but laced with worry.
"I'll stay," Luren replied firmly. "I need to send supplies to the border if they're needed. It's the duty of the duchess, and I won't abandon it."
Craige let out a heavy sigh, knowing well how stubborn his beloved could be.
"Alright," he relented reluctantly, "Ione, take everyone who needs protection, Arabelle and the others as well."
"Yes, Your Grace," Ione bowed and hurried off.
"The war might last for a while," Craige said quietly once they were alone in his office. "I need to find the King and help the soldiers
fight… I won't be here to protect you."
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Luren said softly, cupping Craige's face with trembling hands filled with both love and fear. "Roan is here to watch over me, and I want to help you… the North needs me too."
Craige's chest tightened at his words. He pulled Luren into a desperate embrace, holding him as if the world outside could shatter at any moment. "Just… be careful. Don't push yourself, my love. You know you're three months pregnant now." His voice cracked as he hugged him tighter, finally guiding Luren to sit gently on his lap, unwilling to let go.
"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine, my love," Luren said softly, a warm smile gracing his lips as he planted a tender kiss on Craige's cheek.
"I love you, Luren," Craige confessed, his voice filled with deep affection as his eyes locked onto Luren's.
"I love you too, Craige… my Duke," Luren replied lovingly before their lips met in a passionate kiss, a brief escape from the looming storm of war.
Knock… knock… knock…
"Come in," Craige called out, reluctantly pulling away.
"Your Grace, everything is ready," Rolen said as he entered, his expression solemn. "We're prepared to depart in search of The King."
"Your Grace," Keith added as he stepped inside, "Duke Cassian and Cleven are waiting for you outside."
Craige took a steadying breath, turning to Keith with resolve. "Keith, I'm entrusting the Manor to you. Stand beside Luren and make
sure our soldiers receive every supply they need during this war."
Keith straightened, his voice unwavering but tinged with emotion. "Yes, Your Grace. I swear, I won't let you down."
"Karin, you're going with Cleven?" Luren asked, his voice tinged with concern as he spotted him preparing to leave.
"Yes, Luren," Karin replied firmly. "I heard that Lunathia is aiding Velgarith in this war. I need to speak to my brothers. Even if they
refuse to listen, I want Lunathia to know that I stand with Seravelle."
Luren slowly nodded, understanding yet unable to hide the worry in his eyes.
Cassian approached Ione, his face serious as he gently placed his child and niece into the carriage bound for Gravehollow Woods. The loyal grizzly stood ready beside it, prepared to protect them. "I'm leaving my
child and niece in your care," Cassian said with a heavy heart.
"Don't worry, Brother," Arabelle assured him softly. She turned to her husband, Matthew, hugging him tightly before whispering a tearful goodbye. Matthew stayed behind to help Cassian return to the capital.
"We'll be leaving now," Craige said, glancing at Luren.
Luren forced a small smile despite the ache in his chest. "Be safe," he whispered, his voice carrying both love and unspoken fear.
Craige nodded in silent understanding before mounting his horse. Together, they rode away from the manor, hooves pounding against the earth.
Luren and the others watched them disappear down the path, their eyes glistening with sadness and worry, hearts heavy with uncertainty.
Meanwhile, Arabelle, Axel's family, and several others departed in another carriage, heading toward the safety of Gravehollow Woods where Borg Clan awaited to shelter them.