The coastal road stretched before them, pale cobblestones gleaming faintly in the moonlight, flanked on both sides by forest that pressed close like watching sentinels.
Alice adjusted her grip on her sword hilt as she marched in formation, her blonde braid tucked securely beneath her helmet, her face carefully composed into the expression of just another squire on routine patrol. Around her, nine other squires maintained their positions with varying degrees of confidence—some veterans of multiple patrols, others still nervous despite months of training.
At the head of their column rode Knight-Captain Thorne, his scarred plate armor bearing the marks of three decades of service, his presence alone enough to steady the younger members of the patrol. He sat his horse with the easy confidence of someone who'd survived more battles than most knights would ever see.
And always, never more than a few steps away, Mira Elbrecht kept pace with Alice's position. To the other squires, she was simply another member of the patrol—skilled, certainly, but not obviously different. Only Alice and Knight-Captain Thorne knew the truth: that Mira was her sworn guardian, that every position she took was calculated to intercept threats, that her entire purpose was Alice's survival.
The secret of Alice's identity weighed on her constantly—the knowledge that she walked among these squires not as their princess, but as their peer. That if they knew who she truly was, everything would change. The easy camaraderie would become deference. The honest feedback would become flattery. The genuine friendships would become calculated positioning.
So she kept the secret, and endured the loneliness that came with it.
"How much further?" one of the squires asked, a boy named Marcus whose nervous energy made him talk more than he should.
"Another mile to the rendezvous point," Knight-Captain Thorne replied without turning. "The merchant should be waiting there. Then we pick up Blackthorn's reinforcement squad and escort everyone back to the city. Simple, routine, done by midnight if we're lucky."
"If we're lucky," another squire muttered. "When are we ever lucky?"
Nervous laughter rippled through the group, tension breaking slightly.
Alice said nothing, her blue eyes scanning the forest on both sides. Something felt off—a wrongness she couldn't quite articulate. The night was too quiet. No owls calling, no small animals rustling through undergrowth. Just silence, heavy and watchful.
*Mira caught her eye, a slight tilt of her head asking the question: You feel it too?
*Alice gave the barest nod. Yes. Something's wrong.
But what could they do? Knight-Captain Thorne was in command. They were following orders. And perhaps she was just being paranoid, seeing threats that didn't exist because she'd been raised to see danger everywhere.
The road curved ahead, following the natural contours of the land. As they rounded the bend, torchlight appeared in the distance—a small campfire beside the road, a covered wagon, the silhouette of a man waiting patiently.
"There," Thorne said, raising his hand to signal a halt. "Marcus, stay with the main group. Mira, with me. We'll verify papers and inspect the cargo before we proceed."
Alice tensed slightly. Mira leaving her side, even for a few minutes, always made her nervous. But protocol demanded it—the patrol leader and a senior squire would verify the merchant's documentation while the others maintained position.
The merchant rose as they approached, bowing respectfully. He was an older man with thinning gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in quality traveling clothes. His smile was polite, his posture deferential.
"My lord knight," he said warmly. "I thank you for the escort. Faren, merchant of Port Eryl, at your service. These roads grow more dangerous by the season—I'm grateful for your protection."
"Papers," Thorne said curtly, though not unkindly.
The merchant produced a leather folder containing various documents—trade licenses, travel permits, customs stamps. Thorne reviewed them with practiced efficiency while Mira circled the wagon, her sharp eyes noting every detail.
"Cargo?" Thorne asked.
"Rare goods, my lord. Silks from the eastern provinces, spices from the southern kingdoms, and—" the merchant paused apologetically "—a small collection of exotic creatures for noble collectors. All properly bound and sedated, I assure you. Nothing dangerous."
Alice watched from her position with the main patrol, noting how Mira's hand never strayed far from her sword hilt, how her body language remained tense despite the merchant's friendly demeanor.
"Creatures?" Thorne frowned. "What kind?"
"Trophy beasts, curiosities. A few colorful birds from the jungle regions, some small reptiles prized for their unusual markings. Harmless, truly." The merchant gestured toward his wagon. "You're welcome to inspect, of course."
Thorne moved to the back of the wagon, lifting the canvas slightly. Darkness within, and... something. Movement. A sound that might have been animal restlessness or something else entirely.
"They're restless from the journey," the merchant explained quickly. "The sedation is wearing thin. I'd prefer to keep the canvas secured—light agitates them, you understand."
Thorne frowned but nodded, dropping the canvas back into place. "Very well. Papers are in order. We'll escort you to the western crossroads where we'll meet our reinforcement squad, then proceed to the city gates together."
"Most gracious, my lord."
The patrol reformed, the merchant's wagon taking position in the center, surrounded by squires on all sides. Mira returned to her position near Alice, and Alice saw the concern in her guardian's eyes.
"Something's wrong," Mira whispered, barely audible. "The wagon... I heard things moving. Scratching. Not like animals. Like..."
She didn't finish, but Alice understood. Like something intelligent. Like something waiting.
"Should we say something?" Alice whispered back.
"To whom? Based on what? A feeling?" Mira's jaw tightened. "Thorne checked the papers. He looked at the cargo. If we raise alarms without evidence, we undermine his authority. And if we're wrong..."
The unspoken conclusion hung between them. If they were wrong, they'd look like paranoid children jumping at shadows.
So they marched, and the wrongness grew with every step.
They'd traveled perhaps half a mile when the sounds began.
Faint at first—scratching from within the covered wagon. Then hissing. Then something that sounded almost like words, guttural and wrong, spoken in a language that made Alice's skin crawl.
"Sir?" Marcus called nervously from his position near the wagon. "The cargo... it sounds—"
"The creatures are restless," the merchant interrupted smoothly, his tone apologetic. "As I mentioned, the sedation wears thin. They'll settle once we reach the city and I can administer fresh doses. Please, pay it no mind."
But the sounds grew louder. The canvas bulged in places, as if something large pressed against it from within. The squires nearest the wagon edged away nervously, hands moving to sword hilts.
"Merchant," Thorne said, his voice hard. "Stop the wagon. Now."
"My lord?"
"STOP THE WAGON!"
The merchant pulled the reins, bringing the mules to a halt. In the sudden silence, the sounds from within the canvas were unmistakable—scratching, hissing, growling things that didn't sound remotely like tropical birds or decorative reptiles.
Thorne dismounted, his hand on his sword. "Open it. Show me what you're really carrying."
The merchant's polite smile never wavered, but something changed in his eyes. Something cold. Something hungry.
"As you wish, my lord."
He reached toward the canvas, then paused. His smile widened, showing too many teeth.
"But I should warn you—they're quite... hungry."
It happened so fast that most squires didn't even have time to draw their weapons.
The canvas exploded outward as clawed hands burst through the fabric, ripping it to shreds. Winged shapes surged into the air, their wingspans impossibly large, their eyes glowing crimson in the darkness. On the ground, more creatures poured from the wagon—demons in forms both humanoid and bestial, all teeth and claws and malice.
And the merchant... the merchant changed.
His body convulsed, bones cracking and reshaping with sounds that violated nature. His skin darkened to ash-gray, horns splitting through his skull in sprays of black blood. His face twisted, elongated, became something that had never been human. When he spoke, his voice was layered, guttural, mocking.
"So predictable. Knights and their honor. Their duty. Their foolish, fatal trust."
"DEMONS!" someone screamed.
The first wave struck before the patrol could properly react.
A winged demon swooped down, talons extended, and snatched Marcus from his position. The boy's scream cut short with a sickening snap as his neck broke. His body fell limp, discarded like trash.
Another squire barely got his sword halfway drawn before claws tore through his throat. Blood sprayed in a black fountain. He collapsed gurgling, drowning.
Chaos. Utter chaos.
But Alice didn't freeze.
Her training—years of preparation that went far beyond standard squire instruction—took over. Her sword came free of its sheath in one smooth motion, white flame kindling along its length automatically. Her stance was perfect, balanced, ready.
A demon lunged at her, claws extended. She sidestepped, parried, her blade cutting across its extended arm. Black ichor sprayed. The creature shrieked and recoiled.
*"HOLD THE LINE!" she shouted, her voice carrying command that no ordinary squire should possess. "STAY TOGETHER! DEFENSIVE FORMATION!"
Mira was already there, blade blazing with white flame as she cut down a demon that tried to flank Alice. Her movements were fluid, deadly, the product of years training specifically to protect her charge. "STAY TOGETHER!" she echoed. "PROTECT EACH OTHER'S BACKS!"
Knight-Captain Thorne roared, his greatsword erupting in brilliant white spirit flame. He cleaved through a winged demon, splitting it from shoulder to hip. Black blood rained down. "TO ME! REGROUP ON ME!"
But the ambush was too perfect, too sudden, too overwhelming.
Two more squires fell in rapid succession—one decapitated, his head rolling across blood-soaked cobblestones; another dragged screaming into the trees, his cries cutting off with sounds that suggested fates worse than death.
Alice fought with everything she had, her blade a blur of white flame and steel. She parried, struck, defended, constantly moving, never staying still long enough to be pinned down. Beside her, Mira moved in perfect synchronization, covering her angles, intercepting threats.
But they were losing. Five squires dead already. Three more wounded and faltering. The demons pressed from all sides, overwhelming them through sheer numbers and savage efficiency.
And the transformed merchant—now fully revealed as a demon—laughed from his position near the destroyed wagon, not even fighting, just enjoying the slaughter.
"Fresh meat," he hissed, his voice carrying across the carnage. "Royal blood and knight flesh. Such a feast we'll have tonight."
Alice's blood ran cold. Royal blood. He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew who she was.
This wasn't a random ambush. This was an assassination.
Mira heard it too, her eyes widening with horrified understanding. She pressed closer to Alice, her defensive stance becoming even more desperate, more absolute.
"They know," Mira breathed. "Alice, they know."
"I know," Alice said through gritted teeth, blocking another strike. "But we're not dying here. Hold the line. Reinforcements are coming."
"Are they?" Mira's voice carried doubt. "Or are we—"
A shriek from above. A winged demon diving straight at Alice, talons extended, moving too fast for Mira to intercept.
*Alice raised her blade, knowing she couldn't block it in time, knowing this might be her last moment—
Then suddenly the demon was falling, its wing severed, crashing to the ground in a spray of ichor and confusion.
And from the darkness of the road came voices—shouting, steel clashing, the sound of reinforcements charging into battle.
"FOR ARATHOR!"
Adrian's squad had arrived.