The palace had become a fortress overnight.
Guards lined the corridors, their armor gleaming under the flickering torchlight, their hands steady on the hilts of their swords. The scent of burning oil and damp stone filled the air, mingling with the unmistakable metallic hint of tension.
Cassiel stood at the center of the war room, her fingers splayed over the heavy wooden table that bore the weight of hastily drawn battle plans. The map stretched before her showed the palace grounds and the surrounding kingdom, now marred with dark ink lines that signified incoming threats.
"The Veilborn move faster than expected," Arden said, pacing behind her. His voice was tight, coiled with frustration. "They breached the outer gates in the night, tested our defenses, and then vanished. A warning."
"They're watching us," Cassiel murmured, her eyes tracing the inked paths of their enemies. "Measuring our strength. Deciding when to strike."
Arden exhaled sharply, his hands braced against the edge of the table. "We can't afford to let them control the tempo of this fight."
Cassiel straightened, her gaze unwavering. "Then we strike first."
A ripple of silence spread through the chamber. After a few of Arden's commanders looked at each other hesitantly, Lysara the High Priestess finally spoke.
As she moved forward, her golden robes gathered around her, and she pondered, "Reckless." "But it might be necessary." Her luminous eyes landed on Cassiel, unreadable as always. However, it would be foolish to strike without knowing what is beyond our gates. The Veilborn do not fight in the open. They are shadows, moving unseen until they are ready to strike."
A thin line formed between Cassiel's lips. "We flush them out after that."
Arden frowned. "And how do you propose we do that?"
Cassiel turned to him fully, her voice calm but resolute. "We give them what they want."
Lysara tilted her head. "Elaborate."
Cassiel inhaled deeply. "They came for me, did they not? The prophecy names me. My blood is what they seek. Thus, we give them the impression that they can handle it.
Arden's entire body went rigid. "Absolutely not."
Cassiel ignored him. "If I go past the gates—"
"No." Arden's tone was piercing and decisive. "You cannot use yourself as bait, in my opinion."
Cassiel met his storm-gray gaze without flinching. "You don't have to allow anything. This is my decision."
Arden pushed away from the table, his jaw clenched. "You think I will stand by and watch you risk your life?"
"If we don't act, they will come for us anyway," Cassiel shot back. "I will not cower in these walls while they tighten the noose around us."
Lysara watched them with quiet intrigue. "There is wisdom in her words, my lord."
Arden turned to the High Priestess, his frustration barely concealed. "You cannot support this."
Lysara's expression remained serene. "I support victory."
The room fell silent again. Cassiel could feel the weight of every gaze upon her, the quiet assessment of her worth, her resolve.
She straightened. "I will not go alone. We will set the terms of this encounter. Control the battlefield. If we wait, we surrender that control to them."
Arden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You won't be swayed from this, will you?"
Cassiel softened. "No."
His eyes searched hers, a battle waging in his expression between duty and something deeper, something unspoken.
Finally, he nodded. "Then we do this our way."
By nightfall, the city stirred with whispers.
A royal envoy had been seen departing the palace, torches flickering in the darkness like fireflies against the vast night sky. And at its center, Cassiel.
Her carriage rode through the winding streets, flanked by Arden's best warriors, their presence a silent declaration of power. But Cassiel knew that strength alone would not win this war.
The Veilborn lurked in the spaces between shadows, hidden from sight yet ever-present. She could feel them watching. Waiting.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and smoldering torches. Cassiel's fingers tightened in her lap, her mind replaying the plan over and over again. They would lure the Veilborn into the open. Cut them down before they could disappear into the dark once more.
The carriage wheels rattled against the uneven stones of the road, a jarring rhythm that echoed in the tense silence.
Then?
A flicker of movement.
Cassiel tensed. "Stop the carriage."
The driver hesitated, then obeyed, the horses stamping against the ground uneasily.
Arden was at her side in an instant, dismounting his horse with practiced ease. "What is it?"
Cassiel's gaze flicked toward the alley ahead. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that only came when something unnatural silenced the world.
"We are not alone," she murmured.
Arden nodded once, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Stay close."
They moved forward as one, their guards forming a protective formation. The alley stretched before them, dark and yawning, a silent abyss.
Then,
A whisper.
It came from nowhere and everywhere at once, curling through the night like a breath against Cassiel's ear.
"You should not have come, little queen."
Cassiel turned sharply, her pulse pounding.
From the darkness, figures emerged silent as wraiths, clad in cloaks that seemed woven from the night itself. Their eyes gleamed like polished onyx, devoid of warmth.
The Veilborn.
Arden's sword was unsheathed in an instant, its edge catching the moonlight. "Step forward and meet your end, or disappear back into the shadows where you belong."
A soft chuckle rippled through the ranks of the Veilborn. Then, one figure stepped forward, a woman.
She was tall, her presence commanding, her features sharp as cut obsidian. A thin scar ran from her temple to her jaw, an old wound that did nothing to dull her beauty.
Her lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. "The heir of Draven. The lost queen of fate." Her gaze flicked toward Cassiel. "I expected you to hide behind your walls."
Cassiel lifted her chin. "I do not hide."
The woman tilted her head. "No, I suppose you do not. But courage alone will not save you."
Arden shifted, placing himself between Cassiel and the stranger. "Speak your purpose."
The woman's expression remained unreadable. "The prophecy is clear. Blood must be shed. The old gods demand it."
Cassiel clenched her fists. "I do not answer to the old gods."
A glimmer of something amusement? flickered across the woman's face. "Then you are more foolish than I thought."
The tension thickened. The Veilborn warriors did not move, but their presence alone was an unspoken threat.
Cassiel took a slow step forward, feeling Arden stiffen beside her. "If you truly believe in fate, then tell me, do the gods dictate our every step? Or do we carve our own path?"
The woman studied her for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, "You are not the first to ask that question."
Cassiel narrowed her eyes. "And what happened to the others?"
A pause. Then, "They bled."
Arden's patience snapped. "Enough." His sword gleamed as he raised it. "State your terms or prepare for war."
The woman exhaled, as if disappointed. "You were given a choice, heir of Draven. You could have accepted your fate."
Cassiel's pulse pounded. "We make our own fate."
The woman's gaze darkened. "Then you have chosen war."
The air shifted. The attack came swift as a storm.
Steel clashed, sparks igniting the darkness. Arden moved like a shadow, cutting down the first of the Veilborn before they could even reach Cassiel.
But the enemy was relentless. And as the battle raged around them, Cassiel knew this was only the beginning.
The first true battle had begun.