Chapter 95

When Rowan returned to the palace, his clothes were completely soaked, the damp fabric clinging heavily to his skin. He went straight to his quarters first to change before returning to his usual position outside Rosalind’s chamber, guarding a room that now stood empty because she was gone.

He lowered himself slowly beside the door, exhaustion finally crashing into him all at once. Resting his head back against the wood, he closed his eyes briefly as though trying to steady himself.

At least Rosalind had escaped.

By now, the boat must have carried her far away from the kingdom already.

He could still picture the exact way she had looked at him before the boat disappeared into the darkness. Even now, her eyes remained burned into his mind and it had taken everything in him to turn away from that shore and return to the palace alone.

For the first time in a long while, Rowan felt truly drained emotionally.

Watching her leave had hurt far more than he expected, but what other choice had there been? He could never stand by and watch Rosalind remain trapped there only to eventually marry the king and lose herself completely.

Truthfully, Rowan barely even remembered how he had managed to make it back through the underground waterway alone. All he remembered was finally breaking through the surface afterward and dragging himself out of the water before nearly collapsing onto the ground from exhaustion.

And this was only the beginning.

Because once the king returned and discovered Rosalind was gone, Rowan knew the punishment waiting for him would be unlike anything he had ever endured before.

The plain stretched wide and flat beneath the harsh morning sun, leaving nowhere to hide and nowhere to rest. Heat rose early from the earth, promising exhaustion long before the battle would end. In the distance, the remains of an old gatehouse ruin stood abandoned, one broken arch still clinging stubbornly while heaps of collapsed stone surrounded it where the tower had long since fallen apart.

Eryndor marched first and formed ranks quickly because they had greater numbers and trusted the strength that came with it. Across from them, Vaelor matched them in both size and strength, their line standing just as firm beneath the bright sky and Vaelor’s king remained far behind the front ranks beneath heavy protection.

Alaric rode slowly along Eryndor’s line, saying very little,”There can only be one outcome today,” he said coldly. “Victory. This ends now so every man standing here can return home. Fight with everything you have because you defend Eryndor itself. Beast or no beast, this war ends today.” He finished and that was enough.

He did not need inspiration from them. He only needed them to hold the line, push when ordered, and obey even when fear started swallowing them whole.

The battle began with arrows and slingstones.

Both kingdoms unleashed volleys at once and the battlefield quickly filled with the violent sounds of shields ringing beneath impact. Men began dying before either side ever touched swords. A slingstone cracked against a soldier’s helmet hard enough to cave it inward and he dropped lifelessly without even screaming. Nearby, an arrow pierced through another man’s thigh and pinned him helplessly to the dirt.

Then the two armies crashed into each other.

When the shield walls collided, the battlefield became chaos made of steel, sweat, and blood. Men shoved violently against one another while spearpoints searched for openings between shields and armor. Swords hacked at throats and arms whenever spears splintered apart. At first the formations held properly, but the heat soon made breathing difficult. Sweat poured into eyes, hands slipped on sword hilts, and armor began feeling twice as heavy with every passing minute.

Horses circled constantly around the flanks, feinting charges and forcing soldiers to turn repeatedly with raised shields until their shoulders burned from exhaustion.

Eventually the front lines could no longer rotate properly. Bodies piled beneath boots while broken weapons cluttered the ground, slowing replacements from moving forward fast enough.

Vaelor slowly began giving ground, but they did it deliberately as they wanted Eryndor to advance farther and tire themselves out.

Alaric saw through it immediately and allowed it anyway because he wanted the same thing. He wanted both armies fully committed to the slaughter because only then would the tiger matter and only then would Vaelor’s king become vulnerable.

Vaelor waited patiently until Eryndor’s front ranks were visibly exhausted and their formation stretched thinner than before.

Then a different horn sounded from Vaelor’s center as several men stepped forward holding ropes and hooked poles.

And then the tiger appeared.

It emerged low to the ground and fast. A heavy harness wrapped around its massive body while thick collars dug against its neck. The handlers struck and dragged it forward brutally, controlling it not with skill but with fear and pain.

And that alone told Alaric everything he needed to know.

The tiger itself was dangerous.

But the handlers were the real weakness.

Vaelor unleashed the beast against the edge of Eryndor’s already exhausted front line and the tiger hit like a living blade.

It slammed violently into the shields and immediately sent soldiers crashing backward before the terrified men instinctively flinched away from it. A spear thrust toward the beast, it was only waved uselessly aside before the tiger lunged forward and clamped its jaws onto a soldier’s shoulder. One brutal shake was enough for the man to stop moving instantly.

That was when panic started spreading.

Several Eryndor soldiers began stepping backward while others looked ready to run entirely because the tiger was not human. It could not be reasoned with or frightened like men could. Nearby horses screamed and reared wildly in terror. One rider was thrown violently to the dirt while mud and dust churned upward beneath frantic hooves.

Through all of it, Alaric remained calm. He rode close enough for the frightened front ranks to see him clearly.

“Hold the line,” he ordered evenly. “Fall back in order. Do not run p>

One young soldier near the breaking formation stared at him desperately, silently begging for permission to flee.

Alaric glanced slightly toward him. “If you run,” he said coldly, “my men will kill you before the tiger does p>

The soldier stayed where he was and then Alaric gave the next order.

He commanded the cavalry on the right flank to spread wide and form a moving screen while the archers and slingers stopped aiming for the tiger itself and instead focused entirely on the handlers. At the same time, he ordered one unit in the center to retreat toward the ruined gatehouse because it was the only structure on the plain capable of becoming a trap.

Therefore, Eryndor began retreating in a way that looked close to weakness.

And Vaelor believed it, thinking the tiger had broken Eryndor completely, they surged forward confidently while the handlers forced the beast harder toward the retreating soldiers. Behind them, Vaelor’s king continued watching from safety and once again Alaric saw the kind of coward he was.

The cavalry screen slowly tightened around the tiger’s movement without directly charging at it. Instead, they forced the beast steadily toward the ruins because predators followed motion and always chose the easiest path available.

The tiger moved toward the shade and stone.

The broken archway of the gatehouse loomed ahead like an open mouth and the beast charged beneath it where the air turned cooler and echoes shifted between the walls.

The handlers followed behind it, believing victory sat directly in front of them but they never saw the trap waiting inside.