The Alliance

Chapter 38: A Narrow escape

The smell of roasted venison and fresh bread drifts through the cold morning air as Mercian soldiers break their fast. Inside the grand command tent, the Lord Commander of Mercia’s army sits at the long wooden table alongside his knights. Plates of steaming food are spread before them, yet their movements are slow, weariness still heavy in their limbs after weeks of battle.

King Maises enters, his heavy boots pressing against the dirt floor, his presence demanding instant attention. The knights rise slightly in their seats in respect before easing back down at his silent nod. He takes his place at the head of the table, waving off a servant as he reaches for his own goblet of spiced ale.

“We have won this war,” Maises begins, his voice deep and commanding. “Eldermere stands, and Vynra has been reduced to cinders. However, war does not end when the last sword is sheathed. It ends when we have ensured our victory lasts.” He leans forward, pinning the Lord Commander with a hard stare. “When the time is right, we ride for Mercia. My promise to your queen will be honored—land, food, iron ore, wealth. We will take back all that we agreed upon, and more.”

The Lord Commander nods, though his expression remains measured. “And what of King Erdling?”

Maises smirks. “He rots in my dungeons. Perhaps I will allow your queen to decide his fate.”

The men share a low chuckle, though there is an edge of tension to it. War is not as simple as it seems, and they all know it.

Maises drinks deeply from his goblet. “For now, your men should rest. But remain prepared. When I give the word, we ride.”

The knights murmur in agreement, and talk shifts to the logistics of departure, but Maises’ mind is already elsewhere. The war is won—but there are still loose ends to tie.

—-

The heavy curtains in Queen Elenna’s chamber remain drawn, casting the grand room in shadows. The once vibrant queen sits at the edge of her bed, dressed in a simple nightgown, her hair loose around her shoulders. She has refused to leave these chambers since the day Bianca was stolen, her grief weighing down upon her like an iron chain.

Princess Aurora stands beside her, her arms crossed as she watches her mother with a mixture of pity and frustration.

“Mother, you cannot continue like this,” Aurora says softly, sitting beside her. “You are still queen. Eldermere needs you.”

Elenna does not respond, simply staring at the cold fireplace across the room.

Aurora exhales sharply, reaching for her mother’s hand. “We will find Bianca. We will bring her back. But we must be strong now. If we fall apart, our enemies will see it as weakness.”

Still, no response.

Aurora’s jaw tightens. “I have already taken steps to ensure we have leverage,” she continues. “Jasmine—she is growing more comfortable in Mercia. And I have no doubt she will soon see herself as part of that kingdom.”

At this, Elenna finally looks at her daughter, suspicion flickering in her tired eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that we need a way to control Jasmine should she choose to betray us.” Aurora leans in, lowering her voice. “We need Morgan.”

Elenna stiffens.

Aurora nods. “Jasmine’s mother is still in Eldermere, hiding in some forgotten village. If we bring her here, we can use her as a reminder. Jasmine will never turn against us if we hold the one person she loves most.”

Elenna’s gaze darkens, and she squeezes her daughter’s hand. “Find her.”

—-

At dusk, the soft crackling of the fire fills Morgan’s small cottage as she carefully packs supplies into a worn leather satchel. Her movements are slow, her body still weak from illness, but her heart is determined.

Jasmine’s letter arrived weeks ago, filled with concern and longing, begging her to come to Mercia. I will come to you, my love. As soon as I am strong enough.

She presses a hand to her chest, inhaling deeply before fastening the satchel shut. Just as she turns to reach for her cloak, the door bursts open.

“Morgan!”

Her friend, an elderly woman named Edith, rushes inside, her face pale with panic.

“What is it?” Morgan asks, frowning.

“You must run!” Edith gasps. “The king’s men—they are in the village square, tearing through homes, asking for you.”

Morgan’s blood turns cold.

“They’re coming this way!” Edith grabs her arm. “Go! Now!”

Heart pounding, Morgan moves quickly. She rushes to the back window, unhooking the latch and shoving it open. The chill of the night air bites at her skin as she clambers out, landing in the patch of damp grass behind the cottage.

Distant shouts grow closer.

No time.

She darts to the small stable behind her house, her fingers shaking as she unties the reins of her horse. The creature whinnies softly, sensing her urgency.

“Come on,” she whispers, hoisting herself onto the saddle.

Just as she grips the reins, the sound of armored boots crunching against gravel fills the air. Torches flicker in the distance.

Morgan doesn’t wait. With a sharp nudge of her heels, the horse bolts into the dense woods, hooves thundering against the earth.

Behind her, the village erupts in chaos.

She has escaped—for now.

But she knows they will not stop hunting her.