A rose for the wargod

The first blade

---

*Chapter 6: The First Blade*

Night fell like a blade.

Lyra didn’t sleep. She couldn’t. Every creak of the fortress was a footstep. Every shadow was a knife.

“One hundred thousand gold,” she whispered to the dark ceiling. Enough to buy a small kingdom. Enough for any sellsword to kill her and run.

The door to her chamber opened without a knock.

Kael stepped in. Still in armor. Dirt on his cheek. He hadn’t changed since the gate.

“You should be resting,” Lyra said.

“You should be sleeping,” he countered. He didn’t sit. He stood by the window, back to her, watching the courtyard.

“You heard the bounty,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“I did.” A pause. “I doubled the guard. Put Riven on your door. No one enters without my mark.”

Lyra laughed once. Dry. “Gold makes men forget fear, Your Highness. Even of the War God.”

Kael turned. His eyes were tired. But sharp.

“Then let them try.”

He crossed the room. Pulled a dagger from his belt. Plain steel. Not his sword. He set it on her bedside table.

“If anyone comes through that door,” he said, “you don’t wait. You stab first. Ask later.”

Lyra stared at the dagger. Then at him. “You trust me with a blade in your fortress?”

“I trust you with my life,” Kael said simply. “A dagger is less.”

Before she could answer, the candlelight flickered.

Not from wind. From movement.

A shadow detached from the corner of the room. Silent. Fast. Blade already drawn.

Assassin. Black cloak. Face covered. Straight for Lyra’s throat.

Kael moved.

He didn’t draw his sword. He caught the assassin’s wrist mid-strike. Bone cracked. The man hissed.

Lyra grabbed the dagger from the table. Her shoulder screamed. She drove it into the assassin’s thigh anyway.

He went down. Screaming.

More shadows moved at the window. Three more. Slipping through the glass Kael had left open for air.

“Stay down,” Kael ordered her. He finally drew his sword.

Steel met steel. Sparks in the dark.

The War God fought like death incarnate. No wasted motion. No mercy. One assassin fell, throat opened. Another lost a hand. The third lunged at Lyra instead.

Kael was too far.

Lyra did what he told her. She stabbed first. Right into the man’s ribs. He staggered, surprise on his face.

Then Kael was there. Sword through the assassin’s chest.

Silence. Except for breathing. And blood on the floor.

Kael turned to her. Checked her with his eyes, hands hovering but not touching.

“Are you—”

The last assassin wasn’t dead.

He rose from the floor, knife in his good hand. Desperate. He threw it.

Not at Lyra.

At Kael’s back.

Lyra saw it. Time slowed. Her shoulder, her wounds, her fear — all gone.

She moved.

She threw herself between him and the blade.

Pain exploded in her side. Hot. Wet. The knife sank deep, right where her bandages were.

Kael caught her before she hit the floor.

The last assassin died on his sword a second later.

But Kael didn’t see it.

He saw only her. Blood on her lips again. Eyes half-closed.

“No,” he said. Voice breaking. “No, Lyra. Not again.”

He ripped off his cloak. Pressed it to her side. His hands were shaking worse than before.

“Medic! MEDIC!” The War God roared loud enough to shake stone.

He held her to his chest, armor digging into her skin, and didn’t care.

“Stay with me,” he whispered into her hair. “You took an arrow for Riven. Don’t you dare take a knife for me.”

Lyra smiled weakly. Blood on her teeth.

“Sanctuary law,” she breathed. “You… you said any blade… against me… is against you.”

“So why did you—”

“Because,” she whispered, “you’re mine too now.”

Her eyes closed.

Kael held her tighter. Like he could hold her life in with his hands.

Outside, the fortress woke. Guards running. Alarms blaring.

Inside, the War God Prince knelt on bloodied stone, cradling the girl who kept dying for him.

And for the first time in his life, Kael Veyne was afraid.

Not of war. Not of death.

Of losing her.

---