Seren stood at the window, watching the soldiers assemble below. Young faces. Fresh armour... Wolves and humans, newly trained. Their parents had wept when they enlisted. Their siblings had hugged them tight. Some had left letters behind, sealed with wax, addressed to families who might never open them.

Kael came up behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "You’ve been standing there for an hour."

"I’m wondering."

"Wondering about what?"

"How many will come back." Her voice was flat. "The young one with the red hair. The wolf girl who can’t be older than sixteen. The human boy who was a servant in the kitchens last year. Now carrying a sword."

Kael was silent. She felt his grief through the bond—not hidden, not suppressed, just held. Like a blade he knew he would need to draw, sharp and waiting.

"I’ve done this before," he said. "Led soldiers into battle. Watched them fall. Written letters to families who would never see their children again. I’ve held dying men in my arms and lied to them, telling them they would be fine, when we both knew they wouldn’t."

"And now?"

"Now it’s harder. Because I have more to lose." He turned her to face him. His eyes were tired, older than his years. "But letting evil grow is worse than fighting it. Corvin refused to negotiate. He doesn’t want to compromise. He wants to burn the east and call it liberation. He recruited the desperate and the angry and turned them into an army. We have to stop him. Not because we want war, but because he’s left us no choice."

Seren touched his face. "I know."

"Then why are you grieving?"

"Because knowing doesn’t make it easier." She looked back at the soldiers. "I keep thinking about their mothers. The ones who will get letters. The ones who will wait at windows for children who never come home."

Kael pulled her close. "Then we fight to make sure as many come home as possible."

***

The march began at dawn.

Kael led the column—five hundred soldiers, half wolves, half humans. The same integrated units that had trained together, fought together, survived the north together. Now they marched east to face a new enemy. Their boots kicked up dust that hung in the still air like ghosts.

Seren rode beside Kael; her grey cloak dusted with road dirt. Behind her, Lysa rode with the supply wagons, her face pale but determined. Rowan flanked them, his sword loose in its sheath, his eyes scanning the horizon for threats.

"How far is the journey to the border?" Seren asked.

"Three days. Maybe four if the weather turns." Kael scanned the horizon. "Corvin’s scouts will be watching. He’ll know we’re coming."

"That’s the point."

"You’re like a bait for him."

"I’m a negotiator with an army behind her." She met his eyes. "There’s a difference. Bait waits to be eaten. Negotiators make the other side afraid to take a bite."

Kael almost smiled. "That’s very philosophical."

"That’s very true."

They camped that night in a field of golden grass.

The soldiers built fires, cooked rations, and checked their weapons. Some laughed—nervous, brittle laughter that faded too quickly. Some prayed, heads bowed, lips moving silently. Most sat in silence, staring at the flames, thinking about what was coming. The weight of the march pressed down on everyone. Even the horses seemed subdued.

Seren walked among them.

A young human soldier, barely eighteen, was writing a letter by firelight. His hands were steady, but his eyes were wet. His helmet sat beside him, too large for his narrow face.

"Who are you writing to?" Seren asked.

"My mother. In case I don’t..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You’ll come back."

"You don’t know that."

"No. But I hope." She sat beside him on the cold ground. "What’s your name?"

"Thomas."

"Thomas. I was a servant once. Invisible. Afraid. I never thought I would be queen. I never thought I would march to war." She looked at the fire, at the sparks rising into the dark sky. "But I learned that courage is not about being unafraid. It’s about being afraid and staying anyway. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other even when your heart is pounding."

Thomas nodded slowly. "That’s what my mother says. She says bravery is just fear that’s said its prayers."

"Then your mother is wise."

He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his coat, close to his heart. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Seren. When we’re in the field, call me Seren."

"Thank you, Seren."

She walked back to Kael.

Kael was standing apart from the camp, staring at the stars.

The fires behind him cast his shadow long and dark across the grass. His sword was at his hip. His hands were clasped behind his back.

"What’s up with you?" she asked.

"I’m thinking."

He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her like armour. "I’ve led soldiers into battle before. Never with you beside me."

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified." His voice was rough. "Not of Corvin. Not of his army. Of losing you. Of making a mistake that costs your life."

"Good. Fear keeps you sharp."

He laughed—a rough, surprised sound that broke the tension. "That’s what I told you, once. When you were learning to fight."

"I remember. You said fear was a tool. A weapon."

"And now?"

"Now I think you were right." She leaned into him. "Fear reminds us of what matters. What we’re fighting for."

They stood in silence, the bond humming between them, warm and steady despite the cold.

"Promise me something," he said.

"Anything."

"Don’t die."

"I wasn’t planning on it."

He kissed her forehead. "That’s not a promise."

"It’s the best I can do." She looked up at him. "War doesn’t keep promises. But I’ll fight. I’ll stay behind you. I’ll do everything I can to keep staying and be home with you."

"Then that’s enough."

They all marched to war at dawn. Only to face the unexpected, as Elowen had her own plan.