‎📖 Bound by Fate, Tied by Love
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‎🌹 Chapter 28: Siege of Shadows
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‎The dungeon beneath House Valemont stank of damp stone and betrayal.
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‎Captain Dorne sat chained to the wall, his once-proud armor stripped away, leaving him in little more than rags. The torchlight flickered across his face, casting shadows that twisted his smile into something grotesque. He had not begged when the irons closed around his wrists. He had not wept when soldiers spat at his feet. Instead, he had laughed.
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‎A laugh that still haunted Adrian's ears.
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‎"You think me the only one," Dorne had sneered as they dragged him below. "But the serpent slithers in every shadow. Cut me down, and ten more will rise."
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‎Those words had settled like poison in the estate.
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‎In the courtyard, the men trained harder than ever, swords clashing against shields with desperate urgency. Yet suspicion lingered in every glance, every hesitation before a sparring blow. Who could be trusted, when even a captain had proved false?
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‎Isabella watched from the steps, her heart heavy. She moved among them, offering words of reassurance, small smiles to steady shaking hands. But she saw the truth in their eyes: courage frayed by fear, loyalty cracked by doubt.
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‎She found Adrian near the stables, speaking with Captain Rourke. His storm-gray eyes were sharper than ever, but beneath them, weariness carved new lines in his face.
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‎"Supplies are thinning," Rourke reported grimly. "If the serpent cuts another road, we'll be starving by month's end."
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‎"Then we raid their caravans," Adrian snapped. "We strike before they choke us dry."
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‎"Raiding is risky," Rourke warned. "One misstep and we bleed men we cannot spare."
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‎Adrian's fists tightened. "We bleed either way if we sit idle."
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‎Isabella stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Adrian. The men need to see you lead with strength, yes—but also with hope. If you push them to their breaking point now, Chloe will win without lifting her blade."
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‎He turned, the storm in his eyes softening only for her. "And if I show too much mercy, Isabella, she will devour us whole. Tell me—where is the balance, when every choice leads to blood?"
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‎Her hand brushed his arm, steadying him. "Perhaps the balance lies not in choosing which battle to fight, but in making sure they believe every battle is worth fighting."
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‎Adrian held her gaze, the weight of command pressing between them. Then he exhaled slowly, nodding once.
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‎"Very well. We fight—but we fight smart."
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‎The next dawn brought smoke on the horizon.
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‎Scouts returned breathless, reporting serpent riders torching farms at the valley's edge. Families fled toward the estate, clutching what little they could carry. Their cries echoed against the walls as the gates opened to swallow them.
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‎Among them came whispers. Chloe's name hissed like a curse. Some swore they had seen her black horse leading the charge, though others claimed it was only a shadow in the smoke.
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‎By evening, the great hall was crowded with frightened villagers. Children clung to mothers, elders muttered prayers. The air was thick with fear.
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‎Isabella moved among them, speaking gently, binding wounds, easing fears. To each she gave a fragment of herself—a word, a smile, a promise. But with every soul she comforted, she felt her own strength drain further.
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‎At last, she stood before them all, her voice carrying across the hall.
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‎"Chloe seeks to frighten you. She burns our fields not because she is strong, but because she is afraid. She knows House Valemont will not break. Not as long as we stand together."
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‎The words steadied some, sparked faint hope in others. Yet Isabella felt the hollowness in her chest. Was hope enough against fire and steel?
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‎That night, Adrian convened the council once more.
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‎"Chloe tests our defenses," he said grimly. "She wants us rattled before she makes her true move."
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‎"And she'll keep bleeding us dry until she starves us," Harrington added. "The serpent waits for weakness."
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‎"Then we show her none," Adrian growled. "Tomorrow, I ride with a company of men. We cut down her raiders before they strike again."
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‎Isabella's eyes widened. "Adrian, it's what she wants. She's drawing you out."
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‎"Then let her," he snapped. "I'll not sit idle while she burns my lands and slaughters my people."
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‎The council murmured uneasily.
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‎At last, Captain Rourke spoke. "If you ride, my lord, we ride with you. Better to meet her in the field than wait for the walls to fall."
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‎Adrian's gaze swept the table. "So be it. At dawn, we ride."
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‎The morning came cold and sharp.
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‎Adrian mounted his black steed, armor gleaming beneath the pale sun. Isabella stood at the gates, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She tried to keep her face calm, but her heart hammered in her chest.
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‎"Promise me you will return," she whispered as he leaned close.
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‎He brushed his hand against her cheek, the storm in his eyes softening. "Always."
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‎Then he rode, the thunder of hooves shaking the earth as a hundred men followed.
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‎The thunder of hooves carried Adrian and his company through the frost-laced fields. The morning air bit at their faces, the silence broken only by the creak of leather and the dull rhythm of armor shifting with each stride. Shadows stretched long across the valley, and with them came the heavy weight of anticipation.
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‎Captain Rourke rode close at Adrian's side, his scarred hand resting on his sword hilt. "Scouts say the raiders head toward the eastern farms. If we ride hard, we'll intercept before they reach the river."
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‎Adrian gave a curt nod, his jaw tight. Each plume of his horse's breath rose like smoke, vanishing into the cold sky. He could not afford doubt—not now, not in front of his men. Yet Isabella's voice lingered in his mind, soft but steady: She's drawing you out.
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‎For every beat of his horse's stride, the truth of her warning weighed heavier.
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‎They crested the ridge before noon. Below, the valley rolled wide and scarred. Smoke curled from scattered homesteads, the ruins still smoldering where Chloe's riders had struck. Blackened earth stretched where wheat once swayed golden.
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‎Adrian's chest tightened. This was more than a raid—it was desecration. Chloe meant to strip not only their food but their spirit.
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‎Rourke raised a fist, signaling the column to halt. The company slowed, horses stamping nervously as the smell of ash reached them.
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‎From the treeline across the valley, shadows stirred. Riders emerged—serpent banners snapping in the wind, their horses armored in black. At their head, a figure rode tall and commanding. Her cloak streamed behind her, dark as a storm cloud.
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‎Chloe.
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‎Her laughter carried across the valley, sharp as steel. "Adrian Valemont! At last, you come crawling from your walls."
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‎Adrian urged his horse forward a pace. His men tensed, hands gripping sword hilts, shields lifting instinctively.
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‎"Face me, if you dare!" Chloe called. Her voice was laced with venom, yet underneath it was calculation. She wanted him angry. She wanted him reckless.
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‎Adrian's gaze swept her riders. Twice their number, and yet too disciplined for mere raiders. This was no strike for supplies. This was bait.
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‎He tightened his reins. "Shields up. We hold the line!"
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‎The clash was sudden and brutal.
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‎Chloe's riders charged, black horses pounding the earth like thunder. Adrian's men braced, shields locking, spears angled forward. The first impact rang like a storm breaking—the crash of steel, the screams of horses, the raw fury of men fighting for survival.
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‎Adrian's sword flashed, cutting through the chaos. He fought not only with strength but with desperation, every strike meant to protect the men beside him. His storm-gray eyes locked once on Chloe's distant form, watching her ride along the flank, directing her serpents like a conductor leading death itself.
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‎But the longer the battle raged, the clearer it became: this was not meant to be won. Chloe's forces pressed just hard enough to wound, just long enough to bleed them, then retreated into the smoke.
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‎A feint. A game of shadows.
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‎"Hold the line!" Adrian roared, cutting down another rider. His arm burned, his breath ragged, but he would not falter. Not while his people watched.
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‎At last, Chloe raised her blade high. With a sharp whistle, her riders wheeled back, retreating into the hills like serpents into grass. The field fell silent save for the cries of the wounded and the crackle of fire.
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‎Adrian sat astride his steed, blood spattering his armor, his chest heaving. He could still hear Chloe's laughter echoing, carried on the wind.
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‎She had tested him. And worse—she had marked him.
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‎By the time they limped back to House Valemont, the cost was plain. Dozens wounded. Too many dead. Supplies barely recovered, and morale splintered further.
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‎Isabella met them at the gates, her breath catching when she saw Adrian's bloodied figure dismount. She rushed to him, hands trembling as they touched his armor, searching for wounds.
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‎"It's not mine," he murmured, voice raw. "Most of it isn't mine."
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‎But the hollowness in his eyes told her enough.
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‎She led him inside, the halls heavy with silence broken only by distant weeping as villagers tended to the injured. Adrian said nothing, but his silence was a storm barely contained.
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‎At last, when they were alone in the war chamber, he struck the table with his fist. Maps and markers scattered.
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‎"She's bleeding us one wound at a time. And we—" His voice cracked with fury. "We let her."
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‎Isabella stepped close, her voice low but fierce. "No, Adrian. You stood. You fought. And you returned."
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‎His storm-gray eyes met hers, shadows swirling within. "But for how long, Isabella? How many more can I lead to slaughter before there's nothing left to return to?"
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‎She touched his cheek, grounding him. "As long as it takes. Because you are not alone in this fight."
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‎The silence that followed was heavy, but not hopeless. For though Chloe's shadow pressed closer, though the walls of House Valemont trembled under the siege of fear, a spark still burned.
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‎And Adrian knew—one day soon—he would have to face Chloe not on a field of raids and shadows, but blade to blade.
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‎The storm was coming.
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