Evelynn stood just outside her tent, watching the camp come alive with uneasy energy. Eric was beside her, his jaw tight, his gaze scanning the outskirts as if expecting an attack at any moment. Callum and Rowan were already deep in discussion near the war tent, their expressions grim. Axel, ever distant, lingered by Jasmine’s side, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
The camp was holding together, but barely.
A sudden cry rang out from the watchtower.
“Rider approaching! White flag!”
The camp froze. Hands instinctively gripped weapons, eyes turned toward the eastern ridge, where a lone rider crested the hill. The banner of King Harold fluttered from his saddle.
Evelynn’s pulse quickened. The king never sent messengers. He sent soldiers.
The rider made his way down the slop
