Page 68 of Red Queen

“We fight as always by your side, my liege,” Ivan says firmly. “I’ll start prep?—”

“General?” The small, quiet voice of Eleanna’s maid interrupts him and I turn. Her eyes are red but her mouth isn’t trembling and I can see why my Queen keeps her around. The bravery makes her step forward and lift her head to me. “I must speak.”

Ivan turns to her, his glower formidable. “This is warcraft. You’re not involved.”

Their loyalty is the anvil upon which my resolve is forged. With one accord, we will assail Catarina’s fortress, wrench Eleanna from the jaws of death, and restore her to her rightful throne. Failure is not an option. For her, I will wage war against fate itself.

But the girl doesn’t leave. “You can’t use the ingredients.”

“We’ll do what’s necessary,” I say.

“Not that.” Her gaze doesn’t drop. “I want her back too, but...it must be Eleanna, not you. The witch didn’t name a payment, just said the Queen would know it when it came time. Do you understand? She must do it right, instinctively.”

I exchange a look with the others. “Then we’ll bring them for Eleanna.”

“Please don’t. I beg… We don’t want anything going wrong,” she says.

I want to smash something. As if things aren’t already wrong but Ivan nods at me and I swallow my sigh. “Very well, we’ll bring her back, if we can. Now go, we have much to prepare.”

The girl nods and leaves.

After gathering my most skilled and loyal warriors, Nicolai, Ivan, Marianne, and I stand at the center of our stronghold’s grand hall. The dim light from the torches highlights their determined faces.

“Tonight, we infiltrate Catarina’s castle,” I say, my voice echoing off the stone walls. “Silence and stealth will be our allies.”

Nicolai steps forward. “The secret passage remains unguarded?”

I nod, reaching for my sword. The familiar hilt is cold and reassuring against my skin. “Only a few know of its existence. We’ll slip through the dungeon undetected.”

Marianne moves her hand to her quiver, checking the fletching on her arrows with meticulous care. “We should prepare for close-quarter combat.” Then she picks up her sword.

“Keep your blades sharp and your senses sharper,” I add, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “This is not just a rescue…it’s retribution.”

With a nod, we set into action. The sound of metal against whetstone permeates the air as we sharpen our weapons, the smell of oiled leather mixing with the cold draft that slips through the doors. I slide into my darkened armor, each piece a second skin wrought from countless battles.

Outside, the stables echo with the restless snorts of our horses. We saddle them quickly and feed them before the long, hard ride ahead. I mount my steed, its powerful muscles tensing beneath me. As one, we ride out into the night, the moon above casting a haunting glow over the shaky terrain ahead.

“Keep close,” I say above the biting wind. “Eyes open for patrols.”

“Understood, General Amanar.” Ivan’s figure is a ghostly silhouette against the snow-laden landscape.

Each hoofbeat is muffled by the fresh snow, yet the pounding thunders in my chest. Our path is full of hidden dangers—patches of ice that could send a horse sprawling, sudden drop-offs concealed by the deceptive whiteness. Yet, we press on,driven by the urgency that pumps through my veins like fire. We move only forward, into whatever hell awaits us.

“Through the valley.” I lead the way down a narrow ravine on my stallion, the cliffs rising like lofty sentries on either side.

“Let’s hope the darkness shields us,” Marianne whispers, her bow ready.

It isn’t long before the imposing silhouette of Eleanna’s stolen castle looms ahead. The ground outside is still blood soaked with bits of gore embedded into the hard-packed ice ground, a reminder of the last battle we fought and lost.

Dismounting, we leave our horses behind.

I glance at my companions, and their faces are set in grim obstinacy. We edge toward the castle unseen. Slipping through the secret doorway and through a dark passage, known only to a trusted few, we find ourselves within the bowels of the castle. The air here is thick with the stench of despair, the stones cold and unyielding beneath our boots.

“Stay alert.” I lead our small contingent deeper into the tunnel. “Catarina has ears in every shadow.”

“The soul collectors await any who stand against us,” Nicolai whispers in the darkness.

The farther we venture, the more oppressive the silence becomes, broken only by the distant drip of water and our measured footsteps. Every echo is a potential alarm, every shifting shadow a harbinger of doom.

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