📖 Bound by Fate, Tied by Love
🌹 Chapter 30: Whispers of Treachery
The morning after the council felt sharper than a blade's edge.
The estate of House Valemont stirred under a pale dawn, its courtyards alive with the scrape of armor and the guttural commands of drill sergeants. From above, banners still clung stubbornly to their poles, crimson and silver defying the heavy gray skies. Yet beneath their colors, the spirit of the men had not risen with the sun.
Isabella saw it in their eyes as she walked the barracks halls—the hollow stare of those who expected another grave before dusk. She smelled it in the air, not just the stench of sweat and steel but the cloying rot of fear that no amount of incense or herbs could cleanse.
Fear was not silent. It whispered.
She passed two soldiers hunched over their morning rations, their voices low but urgent.
"They say Captain Dorne still breathes," one muttered, his spoon clattering against the tin.
"Aye," said the other. "And breathing men talk. What if he spoke truth? What if Chloe's already here?"
The first soldier swallowed hard. "What if it's her?" His eyes flicked toward Isabella as she moved past.
She felt their gaze burn into her back, though she did not falter. She had learned long ago to walk as if the weight of stares meant nothing. But inside, the words coiled like serpents.
They see me as the crack. The weakness.
When she stepped into the courtyard, the clang of steel filled the air. Dozens of men trained beneath the eyes of Captain Rourke. His barked commands were harsh, his presence unforgiving. Rourke believed in discipline carved as deep as scars—and the men obeyed, though their strikes were sluggish, their shields raised more out of duty than fire.
Adrian stood at the far side of the yard, his arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. He wore no armor, only a simple tunic, but even stripped of steel, he looked every bit the Alpha Prince. Isabella could see the tautness in his shoulders, the silent calculation in his gaze. He was not just watching his men spar; he was weighing the fragile thread of loyalty that bound them still.
When their eyes met across the yard, something passed unspoken between them. She inclined her head, just slightly, an anchor in the storm. His lips parted, the ghost of breath escaping, before he turned away.
---
That evening, the war table once again bore witness to Valemont's fragile unity.
Maps lay unrolled, markers spread like drops of blood upon parchment. Torches flickered, their smoke curling into shadows that seemed to crawl across the stone walls.
Lord Harrington paced as always, his jeweled rings clinking when he gestured too sharply. "Supplies dwindle by the hour. If we bleed more men on these raids Adrian suggests, we'll have no one left to guard the gates, let alone march beyond them."
Rourke slammed his fist onto the table. "Better to bleed chasing her throat than sitting like fattened pigs for slaughter!"
"Pigs or corpses, it makes no difference if Chloe burns the valley!" Harrington spat back.
Adrian's storm-gray eyes cut through their argument. He had not spoken yet, but when he did, silence snapped like a whip.
"We do not have the luxury of safety," he said, voice low but laced with steel. "Every choice is risk. Every path forward leads through blood. But I will not see Valemont starve, nor will I cower behind these walls while Chloe poisons the land."
His hand swept across the map, landing on the valley roads. "Her supplies come from the east. If we strike there, her raids falter. If we burn her stores, her men go hungry. And a hungry wolf does not bite as deep."
Murmurs rippled. Some nods, some scowls.
Isabella leaned forward, her voice soft but steady. "If we strike, we must do so with precision. A small force, swift and unseen. Enough to wound her, not to fall into another trap."
Adrian's gaze flicked to her, holding for a breath too long. "Agreed."
But Harrington narrowed his eyes, his lip curling with disdain. "And shall she ride with you as well, Prince? Will you carry your healer into battle so she may whisper courage into your ear? Perhaps Chloe will spare us the fight and laugh herself to death."
The words struck like a lash. The room stilled, tension coiling like a drawn bow.
Adrian's eyes darkened, but Isabella placed a hand on the table before he could speak. Her voice, though quiet, sliced sharper than Harrington's sneer.
"If my presence unnerves you, my lord, it is because you mistake devotion for weakness. I do not ride to shield Adrian from fear. I ride to ensure he rises again when fear strikes him down. That is not weakness. That is strength."
A hush fell. Harrington faltered, caught off guard by the steel in her tone.
Rourke chuckled, a low rumble. "Spoken like a Valemont wolf."
Adrian's lips curved, just barely, into something that might have been pride. "Then it's settled. We strike east. Tomorrow night."
The decision spread through the estate like wildfire, and with it, more whispers.
"They march again."
"Another slaughter."
"She rides with him—why?"
In the dungeons, Captain Dorne heard the stir of activity above and laughed until his chains rattled.
When the guard approached, he leaned forward, his grin cracked but sharp. "Do you hear it? The mutters? The doubt? They already gnaw at each other like rats in a grain sack. Chloe need not lift a blade—she is already inside their hearts."
The guard spat at his feet, muttering a curse. But later, when he stood his watch in silence, Dorne's words coiled around his mind like a noose.
---
The night before the raid, Isabella found herself once more in the chapel.
The candles burned low, casting trembling halos of light across the stone. She knelt, her hands folded tight, not in prayer but in desperate stillness.
Let me not falter. Let me not be the weight that drags him under.
The door creaked, and footsteps echoed behind her. She knew them before he spoke.
"You carry their words like chains," Adrian said softly.
She turned, her breath catching. He leaned against the doorway, the shadows painting hollows beneath his eyes. He looked every inch the Alpha Prince—and every inch a man worn thin.
"They think I weaken you," she whispered.
He crossed the room, kneeling before her so their eyes were level. His hand brushed against hers, rough and calloused yet tender.
"They think much," he murmured. "They think me reckless. They think me cursed. But I am still here. Because of you."
Her throat tightened. "And if they are right?"
His storm-gray gaze burned, fierce and unyielding. "Then let them choke on their words. I will not cast aside the only light that cuts through this darkness."
Her tears threatened, but she swallowed them down. Instead, she gripped his hand. "Then let me ride with you tomorrow. Not behind you. At your side."
He hesitated—just long enough for her to see the fear he would never admit aloud. Then he nodded. "At my side."
---
The next night, the raid began.
The company was small—fifty riders, cloaked in black, their armor muffled with strips of cloth to silence the clink of steel. The moon hid behind clouds, blessing them with shadow.
Isabella rode near Adrian, her cloak whipping in the wind, her hands tight around the reins. The air was cold, sharp with the promise of blood.
They descended into the valley, the road twisting like a serpent through the dark. Ahead, the faint glow of fire marked Chloe's supply camp.
Adrian raised his fist, signaling the halt. The riders fanned out, silent as wolves in the grass. His eyes scanned the camp, measuring, calculating.
"Rourke takes the left flank," he whispered. "Harrington, the right. We burn their stores and vanish before the serpent coils."
The men nodded, tension like drawn bows.
But as they moved, Isabella's heart stuttered. Something was wrong.
Too few guards. Too quiet. The glow of fire too steady, too controlled.
A trap.
She turned sharply to Adrian, her whisper urgent. "It's bait."
Even as the words left her lips, the shadows stirred. Figures rose from the dark—dozens, scores, more than their number could match. Arrows gleamed in the firelight, already nocked.
Chloe's laughter carried across the night, cold and cruel.
"Welcome, Prince," she called. "I was wondering how long before you'd bite."
The riders froze, caught between retreat and ruin. Adrian's jaw tightened, his hand on his sword.
Isabella's pulse thundered in her ears. The trap had sprung, but it had not yet closed.
And in that heartbeat of choice, everything balanced on the edge of Adrian's resolve.