Kaelen’s POV

The war map bled red.

I traced the eastern border with one finger, counting the fresh marks. Three new attacks in the past week alone. Each one bolder than the last. Each one closer to populated territory.

"The Campbell farmstead strike yielded results," Marcus said from my left, his voice low and steady. "We confirmed seven rogues eliminated. But at least three escaped into the northern tree line before our scouts could close the perimeter."

I stared at the map. The red dots clustered like a disease spreading through the body of my empire.

"And the patrol reports?" I asked without looking up.

Cassian shifted on my right. I heard the fatigue in his breathing before he spoke. "The knights are stretched thin, Kaelen. We’ve been running double rotations for over a month now. Men are falling asleep in their saddles. Mistakes are being made."

"Mistakes get people killed."

"So does exhaustion."

I lifted my gaze from the map. Cassian met it without flinching. That was why I kept him close—he was one of the few who would look me in the eye when delivering news I didn’t want to hear.

"What are you suggesting?" I asked. My voice came out flat. Dangerous. I didn’t bother softening it.

"A rotation schedule. Pull some units back for rest. Replenish. Then—"

"No." I straightened to my full height. "We’re not pulling back. We’re pushing forward."

Marcus’s quill paused mid-stroke.

"The strategy shifts today," I continued. "No more defense. No more patrols and perimeters and waiting for them to come to us." I flattened both palms on the map. "We hunt."

The silence in the war room was absolute.

A knock broke it. Soft. Precise. Three quick raps.

"Enter," I said.

Sylvia stepped through the door, her dark hair pinned in its usual immaculate arrangement. She held a leather-bound schedule against her chest.

"Your Majesty Nightfire," she said, her chin dipped. "Your nine o’clock appointment is here. The Elder Council representatives."

"Send them in."

She hesitated—just a fraction of a heartbeat too long. Her eyes lingered on me. I ignored it.

"At once, Your Majesty." She retreated, and moments later three figures filed in.

Henry came first. Then William. Then Catherine. All three wore expressions carved from the same grey stone.

"Kaelen," Henry began without preamble. His voice carried the weight of decades in service. "We need to discuss the eastern territories."

"I’m aware."

"The villages are emptying," Catherine said, stepping forward. Her silver hair caught the morning light. "Families are fleeing west. The ones who remain are terrified. Morale across the region has collapsed entirely."

William nodded, his thick arms folded across his chest. "Our garrison commanders report desertion rates climbing. Men don’t want to fight an enemy that strikes from shadows and vanishes like smoke."

I let them finish. Let the words settle in the air like dust after a collapse.

Then I spoke.

"Effective immediately, the empire enters a state of total war."

Henry’s jaw tightened.

"Every rogue encampment within a hundred miles of our borders will be located and burned to ash," I continued. "No negotiation. No prisoners. No mercy."

Catherine’s hand rose slightly. "Kaelen, the resources required for such an operation—"

"Will be allocated." I held her gaze until she looked away. "This is not a discussion. This is a directive."

The three elders exchanged glances. I watched the objections form and die behind their teeth. They were wise enough to recognize finality when they heard it.

"Understood," Henry said quietly. He inclined his head. The others followed suit.

They filed out the way they’d come. Grave. Silent. Obedient.

The door closed.

I exhaled through my nose and turned back to the map. The red dots stared back at me. Each one a failure. Each one a life I hadn’t protected.

Each one a reminder that my empire was fracturing while the woman who held it together was gone.

---

At two o’clock in the afternoon, after the communication briefing concluded, I was gathering documents when Sylvia appeared again. She’d changed—a softer blouse, her hair loosened slightly at the temples. Subtle. Deliberate.

"Your Majesty," she said, lingering in the doorway. "I wanted to ensure you’d eaten today. You skipped lunch again."

"I’m fine."

She stepped closer. Her voice dropped. "There’s a lovely restaurant near the eastern gate. Quiet. Private. I thought perhaps... after such a long day, you might appreciate some company for dinner."

I stopped moving.

The air in the room shifted. Went cold.

I turned slowly. Let the full weight of what I was settle over the space between us like a physical force.

"Sylvia."

She flinched. Just barely.

"I am married," I said. Each word a stone dropped into still water. "I have a wife. I have children waiting for me at home. Whatever this is—" I gestured vaguely at the loosened hair, the softened voice, the manufactured concern, "—it ends now."

Color flooded her cheeks. "I didn’t mean—"

"You will maintain strict professional boundaries. You will perform your duties. Nothing more." I picked up my coat from the chair back. "If this becomes an issue again, I will find a replacement who understands the distinction."

She swallowed. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I apologize."

I walked past her without another word.

---

At six o’clock, I arrived home. The house was quiet. Too quiet. It was always too quiet now.

"Daddy!"

Valerius crashed into my legs before I’d fully crossed the threshold. I dropped to one knee and caught him, pulling him against my chest. His small arms wrapped around my neck with desperate strength.

"Hey, little wolf." I pressed my face into his dark curls. Breathed him in. Let the tension in my spine release by one fractional degree. "What did you do today?"

"I drew a picture!" He pulled back, gold eyes blazing with excitement. "Come see, come see!"

He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the kitchen table. A sheet of paper lay there, covered in crayon. Three figures stood in a row—a tall dark shape, a small shape in the middle, and a tiny bundle on the ground that I assumed was the baby.

Three figures. Not four.

My chest seized.

"That’s you, Daddy." Valerius pointed to the tallest shape. "And that’s me. And that’s Lyra."

"It’s beautiful," I managed. "Where’s—"

"When is Mommy coming home?"

The question hit me like a blade between the ribs. Clean. Precise. Devastating.

I knelt down fully. Took both his small hands in mine. His gold eyes—my eyes—stared up at me with a trust I wasn’t sure I deserved.

"Soon," I said. The lie tasted like poison. "I’m working very hard to bring her home."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He studied my face with a seriousness no child his age should possess. Then he nodded. Once. Accepting.

We ate reheated pizza and apple slices at the kitchen table. I helped him with his homework—simple addition that he attacked with fierce concentration.

"Seven plus nine," he muttered, counting on his fingers. He ran out of fingers. Started over. His brow furrowed.

"Try starting from nine," I said gently. "Then count up seven more."

His lips moved silently. "...ten, eleven, twelve..." His eyes widened. "Sixteen!"

"That’s right." I ruffled his hair. "Good job."

He beamed. For a few brief moments, the house didn’t feel so empty.

The nanny brought Lyra in after dinner. My daughter was impossibly small against my forearm as I cradled her, her silver wisps of hair catching the lamplight. She blinked up at me with those pale eyes—her mother’s eyes—and my throat closed.

I fed her the bottle one-handed while Valerius read aloud from his storybook on the couch beside me. His voice stumbled over bigger words. I corrected him softly. Lyra’s eyes drifted shut.

By the time both children were asleep, the house had gone dark and silent again.

I stood alone in the hallway. Staring at nothing.

My communication crystal pulsed. Marcus.

All squads in position. Awaiting your command.

I closed my eyes. Saw the map. The red dots. The empty space in Valerius’s drawing where a fourth figure should have been. The thought of my missing wife, Elara, consumed me as I gave the chilling command.

I sent the reply: "Move out. Kill them all."