The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Eight

The knight’s annex smelled like oiled leather and cold iron, the honest scent of men who trained for the worst and called it duty.

Zaria paused just inside the arched entryway, letting the familiarity settle into her bones. It wasn’t the polished grandeur of court, not the bright nursery wing that still felt like a miracle she’d been allowed to keep.

This place was practical: stone walls washed clean, weapon racks mounted in disciplined lines, maps and supply ledgers stacked on a long worktable scarred with old knife marks.

She wore comfortable travel clothes beneath a plain, dark hooded cloak, The kind she’d once thrown on without thinking back in the Southern Kingdom, before Callen, before the Isles, before now.

The fabric sat differently on her shoulders these days, heavier with memory and consequence, but it still made her feel like herself in a way silk never did.

Zakai stood at her side, quiet and steady, dressed for movement rather than ceremony. His presence was a familiar anchor; he didn’t try to talk her out of anything and he didn’t try to make it easier with empty reassurance. He simply existed beside her like a promise that she wouldn’t be alone.

Inside the annex, was Aldric, leaning one hip against the map table as if he belonged in this space more than the dragons ever could. Koen stood farther back in the lightless portion of the room, half-shadowed near a weapons rack, hands loosely clasped behind him.

Koen looked up when she entered, red eyes flicking over her hood and the way she held herself. Assessing in that quiet, unnerving way he had. No smile. No greeting. Only attention, sharp as a drawn thread.

Aldric, on the other hand, straightened with the ease of a man who expected to be seen and didn’t mind it. Zaria’s brows lifted. “Aldric.” His grin came fast, bright enough to cut through the annex’s severity. “My princess.”

Zaria crossed her arms beneath her cloak. “Should I be flattered that you’re here, or alarmed.” “Both,” Aldric said cheerfully. “But mostly flattered. I couldn’t let Zakai run off on a fool adventure without someone sensible to keep him alive.”

Zakai didn’t even blink. “You’re here to make it worse.” Aldric put a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.” Zaria’s mouth twitched despite herself. A soft warmth moved through her chest, relief, maybe, that the group did not feel like a funeral procession.

That there was still room for humor even with war breathing down their necks. Koen’s gaze shifted briefly to Aldric, then away again as if he’d already decided what category Aldric belonged in: noise. Not a threat, not an ally, simply another variable.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside, heavier, more decisive. Callen entered. The annex seemed to tighten around him the way it always did when he stepped into a room meant for soldiers.

He wore travel gear instead of princely black: dark coat, leather bracers, a sword strapped at his hip like an extension of his body. His face was set in controlled focus, but his eyes, those gold eyes, found Zaria immediately, and something soft flickered under the discipline.

Behind him came a handful of knights, captains, and handlers, The men who would shift, fly, and guard the first stretch of their route. They fell into place with practiced quiet, glancing at Zaria with the kind of awe soldiers reserved for legends and people who had survived things they shouldn’t have.

Callen approached the map table and laid a hand flat on it, pinning the parchment in place. “We leave within the hour,” he said, voice low enough that the stone itself seemed to listen. “We do not announce it. We do not speak of it in hallways. Anyone asked is to say we are conducting routine patrol along the southern ridge.”

Aldric’s eyes narrowed, reading the map. Zakai leaned in, attention sharpening. Koen stayed where he was, but Zaria saw him tracking the route with his gaze, remembering distances, measuring risk.

Callen continued, tapping points along the coastline. “We’ll fly south until dusk, then land on a small island outcropping to rest and regroup. We cannot make the crossing in one day without exhausting ourselves.” His gaze lifted briefly to Zaria as he added, quieter, “And we don’t push anyone past their limit.”

Zaria held his eyes for a heartbeat, understanding what he meant. He gave the captains a final set of instructions. Where to circle, how to stagger the formation, which signals to use if visibility dropped.

His voice was steady, precise. This was Callen as commander: calm, lethal, impossibly competent. Then the captains dispersed and the annex emptied by degrees, leaving only the five of them and the echo of preparation outside.

Callen stepped close enough that his voice dropped into something private. “I’m escorting you to the forest.” Zaria blinked, surprised in a way she hadn’t expected to be. “Callen...”

“It’s not negotiable,” he murmured, but it wasn’t an order. It was a compromise he’d already carved out of his fear. “I’ll take you as far as the borderlands. I’ll make sure you’re set, make sure your party is solid, and then I’ll return.”

Zaria’s throat tightened. She smiled, grand and unguarded, and leaned forward until her forehead rested against his chest. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply breathe him in: leather, steel, smoke, home.

“I wish you could stay with me,” she whispered. Callen’s breath shuddered once. His hand came up to the back of her hood, fingers curling gently into the fabric as if he needed to hold on. “I do too.”

He tipped his head down, lips brushing her hair through the hood. “But I can’t be gone more than a few days. The court would notice. They’d ask why. They’d start guessing. And Zephira…” His voice roughened on their daughter’s name. “She needs me here.”

Zaria closed her eyes. The nursery flashed behind her mind. The warmth, the snow-flurried windows, Zephira’s tiny fist curled near her cheek. The ache of leaving pressed sharp beneath her ribs.

“I know,” she said, and meant it. “I’m grateful you’re coming at all.” Callen’s thumb brushed her cheekbone, slow and reverent, then he pulled back, just enough to look at her. “You’re wearing that cloak.”

Zaria swallowed. “It helps.” Callen’s mouth tightened, understanding more than she’d said. “Then keep it close,” he murmured. “And keep your hood up. No one needs to see your face if they don’t have to.”

Zaria’s smile softened. “Since when do you encourage me to be subtle.” “Since I learned you don’t listen when I tell you not to do something,” he replied, the faintest edge of humor cracking through his seriousness.

Aldric cleared his throat loudly from the map table. “As touching as this is, I’d like to point out we’re on a schedule.” Zakai gave Aldric a look that could have cut stone. Aldric only grinned wider. Callen exhaled, composing himself, and turned back to the room. “Let’s move.”