Chapter 3: Blades Beneath Rosesd
754 Words
The weeks following the revelation were a whirlwind of caution, whispers, and hidden meetings. Kael and Elira—once Kael and Lira—no longer lived in blissful ignorance. Every touch between them now bore the weight of kingdoms. Every glance was laced with fear of discovery.
Kael returned to the palace cloaked in silence, his mind churning. The walls of his gilded home, once merely stifling, now felt like a prison. Every time his father spoke of Seravelle with disdain, Kael clenched his jaw. Every time Lord Marrow, the king’s chief advisor, warned of spies and plots, Kael's chest tightened.
Elira, too, had vanished from the streets.
He saw her only in secret now—in abandoned clock towers, through tunnel entrances only she seemed to know, or under the veil of midnight fog. Her face had changed. She no longer laughed as freely. The world had tilted under their feet, and they walked on blades.
One such night, she arrived with urgency burning in her eyes.
"They’re planning something," she whispered, sitting beside him beneath the ruined chapel near the eastern wall. "My brother’s court intercepted a letter. An Eldorian general—Vaelor—is planning a provocation at the border. A false-flag attack to justify war."
Kael froze. "That would give Father reason to mobilize."
"Which he already wants. If it happens, everything we’ve fought for—everything we feel—it dies."
Kael clenched his fists. "We have to stop him."
"I was hoping you’d say that."
---
The journey to the southern border took three days. Kael lied to the court, claiming a retreat for religious reflection at the monastery of Flameveil. He rode with Sir Brenn, loyal and silent, both cloaked as wandering scribes. Elira traveled separately, using a path only smugglers and ghosts knew.
They reunited at dusk in a clearing outside Raventhorn—a fortified encampment Vaelor had claimed as his personal bastion.
Kael’s heart ached at the sight of her—mud on her boots, daggers at her hips, a quiet fire behind her eyes.
"You don’t have to come inside," she told him.
"I’m not leaving your side again."
She smiled, just a little. "Then let’s do something foolish together."
---
Under cover of night, they approached the camp disguised as mercenaries seeking coin. Elira’s accent shifted into border slang. Kael slouched like a weary blade-for-hire.
They were allowed entry.
Inside, tents formed a grim maze. Soldiers sharpened weapons. Banners bearing the phoenix of Eldoria flapped in the wind. In the command tent, they overheard the plan.
Vaelor intended to burn a Seravellian village at dawn, leave survivors, then blame it on rogue Seravellian rebels. A m******e, spun into a rallying cry for conquest.
Kael’s blood ran cold.
"We can’t let this happen," he whispered.
"We won’t," Elira replied.
They returned after midnight, but were stopped by a guard who grew suspicious of Kael’s voice and bearing. The confrontation escalated.
Blades were drawn.
Kael fought with the grace of a prince trained since childhood—but now with a fury born of purpose. Elira moved beside him like a tempest, her daggers flashing in the moonlight. Together they danced a bloody waltz.
When it was over, two guards lay still. Kael bled from a gash on his shoulder.
They stole away into the woods, the warning horn blaring behind them.
---
At dawn, they reached the village.
Elira’s old allies—remnants of her father's personal guard—had already arrived by secret signal. Together, they intercepted Vaelor’s troops just as the first fires were lit.
The battle was brief, fierce. Kael faced Vaelor himself in the square.
"You are your father's shame," Vaelor sneered. "Bending the knee to a foreign whore."
Kael’s blade rang in the morning air.
"I bend to no one—but I rise for peace."
They clashed, steel meeting steel, until Kael disarmed him.
"Go back to Eldoria," Kael growled, blade at his throat. "Or don’t go back at all."
Vaelor fled.
---
Exhausted, Kael collapsed beneath an olive tree outside the village. Elira knelt beside him, pressing herbs into his wound.
"You’re bleeding for me again," she murmured.
"I’d bleed for peace. For you. There’s no difference anymore."
She kissed him then—bloody, breathless, burning with gratitude and grief.
"What now?" she asked.
He looked up at the rising sun.
"Now… we show both our kingdoms that we won’t be their pawns."
She nodded, determination etched into her face.
"Then let’s turn this war into a wedding."
- Writer
