‎📖 Bound by Fate, Tied by Love
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‎🌹 Chapter 25: When the Serpent Strikes
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‎The dawn broke in muted gold, but it was not a gentle sunrise—it was the kind of morning that carried sharpness in the air, the kind of light that seemed to warn of blood yet to be spilled. The banners of House Valemont fluttered on the battlements, bold crimson against the pale sky. To Isabella, the colors no longer looked like mere fabric. They looked like a vow, soaked with the weight of every soul who now depended on them.
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‎From the high tower, she watched as soldiers gathered at the eastern wall. Shields gleamed dully in the morning haze, swords rested in scabbards worn with age and loyalty. The smell of smoke and oil clung to the air where cauldrons had been set for boiling pitch. The rhythm of preparation throbbed like a heartbeat across the estate.
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‎Adrian stood below, already armored, the plume of his helm stark as he issued his final commands. His voice carried with steady authority, and Isabella could see the way the soldiers straightened at the sound of it. They trusted him with their lives. And she… she trusted him with hers.
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‎But the unease that had prickled at her in the night did not fade with the dawn.
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‎The serpent strikes when prey believes itself safe.
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‎Chloe's words echoed like venom in her mind, though they had never been spoken aloud to her. She felt them, lingering in her bones like a chill.
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‎The warning horn split the air.
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‎From the distant hills, banners rose—dark, coiling, marked with the sigil of the serpent. Horses thundered, their riders clad in blackened steel. At their head rode a figure veiled in silver mask and cloak, faceless and commanding, a phantom given form.
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‎"The serpent faction comes," a scout cried from the wall.
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‎Isabella gripped the stone ledge. She had prepared herself for this moment, whispered courage to trembling soldiers, spoken of strength and unity. But nothing could soften the sight of death marching toward her home.
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‎The clash began with fire.
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‎Arrows, lit with flame, streaked the sky like falling stars. They struck the outer defenses, embedding in haystacks and wooden carts, erupting in sparks that licked across the courtyard. Cries went up, water buckets raced through lines, but the serpent's true strike came not from the sky.
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‎From the treeline to the north, hidden forces surged forth—saboteurs who had slipped past under the cover of night. They stormed the secondary gate, steel biting into unsuspecting guards.
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‎‎Isabella gasped as she saw the breach unfold. "Adrian!" she cried down.
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‎But Adrian was already moving, his sword flashing from its sheath. "Harrington! Seal the north gate!"
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‎He turned his horse toward the advancing riders. "Captain Rourke—hold the crossing! Not a single serpent crosses alive!"
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‎The field erupted into chaos.
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‎Steel rang on steel. War cries tore the air. The serpent faction pressed hard, their attack coordinated with frightening precision. Isabella's breath caught as she watched Adrian plunge into the thick of it, his blade carving arcs of silver and red. He was not only a commander; he was a storm incarnate, unyielding and relentless.
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‎But her fear did not ease. For every serpent he struck down, two more pressed forward.
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‎Isabella descended from the tower, skirts gathered in her fists as she raced to the courtyard. The air choked with smoke and the tang of blood. She found soldiers rallying around her presence, their gazes steadying at the sight of her.
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‎"Hold the walls!" she called, her voice cutting through the din. "This is your home, your families' safety—stand, and the serpent will break before your courage!"
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‎The words rippled outward like fire, steadying faltering hands. She moved among them, touching shoulders, speaking names, giving back to them the strength they had lent her in the quiet nights before.
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‎And yet, her heart pulled toward Adrian, always back to him.
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‎At the northern gate, Adrian's forces clashed with the infiltrators. The serpent riders fought with a fury that bordered on madness, their eyes wild, their strikes reckless yet deadly. Amid them, Adrian caught sight of a flash of sapphire—a rider whose hood slipped back for but a moment.
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‎Golden hair.
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‎Cold, pitiless eyes.
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‎Chloe.
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‎His chest tightened, rage flooding him. But before he could charge, she vanished into the swirl of her riders, her mocking smile seared into his vision.
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‎"Adrian!" Harrington shouted, pulling his horse alongside. "They're splitting our lines—she means to drive us into two fronts!"
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‎Adrian's jaw clenched. "Then we crush one before she can choke us with both. Drive them back to the river!"
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‎Isabella reached the chapel steps, where wounded already lay in hurried rows. She knelt beside the first boy, no older than sixteen, blood pooling at his side. His lips trembled as he tried to speak.
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‎"Hush," Isabella whispered, pressing her hands to his wound, steadying him. "You are not alone. Breathe with me."
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‎Her dress stained crimson, but she did not move. She gave him her presence, her voice, until healers came. Only when his breathing steadied did she rise and move to the next.
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‎Her power was not in steel but in spirit—and here, amid blood and despair, she was unbreakable.
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‎The tide shifted with a roar.
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‎Adrian and his knights drove the serpent forces back across the field, their line unyielding. The clash by the river grew brutal, but inch by inch, the Valemont banners pressed forward. Adrian's blade cut down another rider, his armor drenched, his breaths ragged.
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‎For a moment, it seemed the serpent would falter.
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‎But then—a horn sounded, low and cruel.
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‎From the eastern ridge, a second wave poured down. Reinforcements, hidden until now. The serpent had been waiting for them to overextend.
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‎Adrian's gut clenched. He had seen this trap before, in battlefields long past. And Chloe—damn her—she knew his tactics too well.
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‎"Fall back to the walls!" he roared. "Regroup!"
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‎The retreat was brutal. Riders slashed at fleeing soldiers, arrows rained down, and the river crossing turned slick with blood. Adrian fought tooth and nail to cover his men, his arm heavy, his muscles burning.
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‎Isabella, from the courtyard, saw the banners retreating. Panic surged among the men on the walls.
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‎"They return!" someone cried. "The serpent overwhelms them!"
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‎"No," Isabella shouted, stepping forward, her voice sharp as steel. "They return because Adrian commands it. He brings them home to strike again, stronger. Do not falter—this is not defeat!"
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‎Her words steadied them, held the line of fear from shattering.
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‎By the time the gates slammed shut, the courtyard was chaos once more. Soldiers staggered in, wounded and weary, their eyes shadowed with loss. Adrian rode in last, his horse lathered, his sword dripping red.
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‎Their gazes found one another across the smoke-filled air.
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‎Isabella rushed to him, but before she could speak, he caught her in his arms. His forehead pressed to hers, his breath harsh. "They were ready for us. Chloe was there. She knows my every move."
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‎"Then she underestimates mine," Isabella whispered fiercely. "Let her know your strength. I will remind her of mine."
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‎For a heartbeat, warrior and lady stood as equals, bound by something fiercer than strategy.
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‎The serpent had struck. The storm had begun. And though the walls still held, the war was far from over.
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