Chapter 97 – The Prince's Weakness
The rain lingered long after dawn, falling in soft drizzles that soaked the earth and turned the camp paths into winding veins of mud. Soldiers moved slower, their cloaks drawn tight, their voices hushed. The storm had cooled the air—but not the tension.
Inside the command tent, Lucien stood in full armor, staring at a parchment-covered board pinned with war markers. The Black Thorn's presence had altered everything. Their unpredictability made strategy difficult, and their cruelty made retreat a deadly option.
Zara entered the tent quietly, her boots squelching slightly from the soaked ground. She held a bundle wrapped in linen—a fresh bandage roll, boiled and dried by the healers.
"You didn't come to bed last night," she said gently.
Lucien turned, his jaw clenched. "I couldn't sleep. Reports kept coming in. More sightings. Fires in the nearby village. They're pushing in."
Zara crossed the room and placed the bandages on the table beside him. "And what did the king say in his letter?"
Lucien gave a mirthless laugh. "He said we're authorized to act as we see fit—but warned me not to be rash. Typical of him. He wants victory without blood."
"He wants peace," Zara corrected softly.
"He wants control," Lucien said bitterly.
Zara studied him. He looked tired. Not just from sleepless nights, but from carrying the weight of a thousand lives on his shoulders. She stepped closer, placing a hand over his.
"You're not alone, Lucien."
He looked at her, and for a brief second, his pride cracked.
"I don't know if I can protect them all," he whispered. "Not when they keep coming, and not when they know my weakness."
Zara blinked. "What weakness?"
"You," he said without hesitation. "They know I'd burn the world to keep you safe. They know that if they can't defeat me by sword, they'll go after my heart."
Zara's throat tightened. "Then I'll be stronger than their arrows. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing you falter."
He kissed her then, fiercely. "You already are. But that doesn't mean I won't die trying to shield you."
---
Later that afternoon, a scout arrived at full gallop. Mud flew from his horse's hooves as he dismounted and rushed straight into the command tent, barely pausing to bow.
"Your Highness—urgent news. The Black Thorn has taken Hillcrest Village. It's burned. Survivors say they used gas and fire. No soldiers were spared. Civilians too."
Lucien's fists tightened around the hilt of his sword. "How many dead?"
"Over a hundred."
Zara stepped back in horror.
"Any taken?" Lucien asked.
"Three girls. Young. The rest were left for the vultures."
Lucien's eyes turned to stone. "Send word to General Halden. We march in two hours."
Zara touched his arm. "Lucien—"
He looked at her, pain blazing behind his fury. "I will not let another village fall."
---
The camp turned into a flurry of motion. Soldiers strapped on gear, packed weapons, and loaded wagons with rations. The storm had passed, but the clouds remained low, heavy with threat.
Zara remained at the edge of the courtyard, watching them prepare.
She knew Lucien didn't want her on the battlefield—but how could she stay behind when her heart walked into danger?
Sir Edric approached, his cloak soaked and sword belted tight. "You're not planning to come with us, are you?"
"I am," she said, without hesitation.
He raised an eyebrow. "You'll slow the men."
"I'll ride behind the medics. I won't interfere."
He studied her a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. "Then ride near me. The mercenaries don't honor white flags."
---
The march began at dusk.
Hundreds of soldiers moved through the woods, torches held high, boots crushing the softened earth. Zara rode on a gray mare behind the rear line, close to the wagon carrying supplies and herbs.
The journey to Hillcrest was grim. The trees grew blackened with soot, and the air stank of scorched flesh.
When they arrived, silence met them.
Hillcrest was no longer a village.
It was a graveyard.
Charred remains of cottages lined the hill like broken teeth. Ash floated through the air like black snow. The well in the center of the village was cracked open, stained with blood.
Zara dismounted slowly, her stomach twisting.
Lucien was already at the center, surveying the destruction. His eyes looked like steel, but his hand trembled slightly at his side.
One of the healers ran to him. "We found one survivor—barely breathing."
Zara followed as Lucien knelt beside the child. A girl, no older than ten, covered in soot and burn marks. She didn't speak. She only trembled, clinging to a wooden doll with one missing eye.
Zara knelt beside her and gently touched the girl's arm.
"You're safe now," she whispered. "No one will hurt you again."
The girl didn't respond.
Lucien stood. "We'll bury the dead before sunrise. Every single one."
---
That night, Lucien sat alone atop the hill.
The flames of the burial pyres lit the horizon, painting the sky crimson and orange. Ash blew like feathers on the wind. The scent was unbearable.
Zara climbed the hill to find him sitting on a rock, his cloak draped around his shoulders, face shadowed.
He didn't speak as she approached.
She sat beside him in silence.
Finally, he said, "This… this is what I'm fighting. Not just war—but monsters. Creatures who wear men's faces."
Zara rested her head on his shoulder. "And yet you still fight with honor."
He didn't answer immediately.
"I want to kill them all," he confessed. "I want to burn their camps, hang their leaders, make them *feel* this grief."
Zara took his hand. "Then do it. But don't lose yourself in the fire. Promise me that."
He looked at her, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. "You're the only reason I haven't."
Zara leaned in and kissed him—slowly, sweetly, like a balm to his soul.
"You are more than a sword, Lucien."
"And you are more than my weakness," he murmured. "You're my anchor."
They sat together, unmoving, as the last of the pyres turned to smoke.
And in the silence that followed, they made a vow—not just to survive the war, but to win it together.
---
End of Chapter 97