Page 73 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
Night cloaked the capital in a velvet shroud, the stars hidden behind a veil of clouds, the air thick with the scent of pine and impending conflict.
I climbed the spiral stairs to the palace’s highest watchtower, the cold wind biting at my exposed skin, my cloak snapping behind me. From this vantage, the city sprawled below, its streets quiet, its people unaware of the battle about to erupt. In the distance, pinpricks of torchlight flickered like malevolent stars, Jackson’s army advancing under the cover of darkness, drawn by the false report of Lilia’s “near-death.” Their movements were deliberate, confident, a predator stalking wounded prey.
“Your Majesty,” Sam said, joining me, his armor glinting faintly in the moonlight, his face set with grim determination. “Scouts report Jackson’s forces number roughly eight thousand, split into three columns approaching the eastern, western, and northern walls. They believe we’re grieving, our defenses in disarray.”
I nodded, a cold smile tugging at my lips, a predator’s grin masking the pain simmering in my chest. “The bait’s been taken,” I said, my voice steady, my gaze fixed on the approaching lights. “Signal the troops to execute the plan.”
Sam saluted, his boots scraping stone as he hurried to relay the order, leaving me alone with the wind and my thoughts. I took one final look at the enemy’s torches, their glow a challenge I was ready to meet, then descended the tower’s winding stairs to the war room, where the air was thick with tension.
Inside, my generals stood around a sand table, the map meticulously marked with our positions and the enemy’s projected movements. Colored tokens represented our forces—blue for our infantry, green for Fellinger’s reinforcements, red for Jackson’s army. The room was lit by oil lamps, their warm glow casting long shadows across the faces of men who’d fought beside me for years, their trust in me a weight I carried with pride.
“First and Second Infantry are concealed beneath the east and west walls,” I said, pointing to the map’s corresponding points, my voice calm but authoritative. “The secret tunnels are fully prepared, their exits hidden by illusion wards. When Jackson commits his main force to the frontal assault on the northern gate, we’ll emerge from the tunnels, flanking their sides and severing their retreat.”
General James, his weathered face lined with decades of battle, leaned forward, his finger tracing the southern edge of the map. “Noted, Your Majesty. And where are Fellinger’sreinforcements?” he asked, his voice gruff but focused, his eyes meeting mine with unspoken trust.
“They’ve reached the southern forest,” I said, indicating a cluster of green tokens nestled among the map’s wooded terrain. “They’re under strict orders to remain hidden until Jackson’s forces are fully engaged. Once the enemy’s committed, Fellinger’s troops will strike from the rear, completing the encirclement.”
I moved around the table, assigning roles, clarifying signals, ensuring every officer understood their part in the intricate dance about to unfold. Questions were answered, contingencies discussed, until the plan was a living thing, etched into the minds of every man present. Satisfied, I dismissed them to their posts, their salutes crisp, their resolve a mirror of my own.
Alone, I donned my lightweight battle armor, the leather and steel molding to my frame like a second skin, its familiar weight grounding me against the uncertainty ahead. As I fastened the final strap across my chest, a searing pain erupted, a white-hot brand pressed to my heart, stealing my breath. I gasped, clutching the wall, my vision blurring, the room tilting.
The curse and the soul toxin were clashing within me, their battle intensifying, each collision a drain on my dwindling strength. I don’t have much time left. I thought, the realization a cold truth I couldn’t escape.
But time was irrelevant. Lilia and Anna’s safety, the kingdom’s survival—these were the stakes, and I would not falter, not now. Taking a shuddering breath, I pushed the pain down, locking it away with a will honed by years of discipline. I straightened, my face a mask of calm, and strode from the armory, ignoring the faint tremor in my hands.
A guard at the door hesitated, his young face creasing with concern as he caught my expression. “Your Majesty, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice clipped, betraying nothing of the fire raging inside me. “Relay the order: all units stand ready for my signal. No delays.”
The guard saluted, hurrying off, and I made my way to the northern battlements, the heart of our defense. The night had deepened, the air heavy with the scent of oil and steel, the soldiers’ breaths visible in the chill. Below, Jackson’s army encircled the city walls, their confidence palpable, their movements precise. They believed Fellinger’s princess was dead, that I was a broken king drowning in grief, the kingdom ripe for conquest. They were gravely mistaken.
From the battlements, I watched his troops form their siege lines, siege ladders and battering rams rolling forward, their war cries rising like a dark tide. He’s too sure of himself, I thought, noting the sparse scouts he’d sent to probe our defenses. His belief in our weakness would cost him everything.
“Your Majesty, the enemy forces have started setting up their siege ladders. We expect them to launch their assault within the next ten minutes,” Sam reported.
I nodded, my gaze fixed on the approaching lines. “Ready the archers. Fire when they’re in range. Signal the tunnel units to prepare for the flank. No mistakes.”
The soldiers on the walls stood silent, their breaths misting in the cold, their hands steady on bows and swords, awaiting the clash. In the distance, Jackson’s forces surged forward, their shouts echoing, the ground trembling under the weight of their advance, siege engines groaning as they neared the walls.
Then, the pain struck again, sharper, fiercer, a fire raging in my chest, spreading through my limbs like wildfire. I gripped my sword’s hilt, my knuckles white, my jaw clenched to stifle any sound, forcing myself to stand tall, to hide the weakness threatening to betray me to my men. I couldn’t afford to show frailty—not now, not with the enemy at our gates.
“Your Majesty, you look pale,” Sam said, his eyes narrowing with concern. “Should I summon Healer Elira?”
“Not now,” I replied in a hushed tone. “The enemy has reached the city walls, and the battle is about to begin.”
With my command, the archers on the ramparts began to fire, countless arrows raining down on the enemy forces. Jackson’s troops were caught off guard, and the front lines fell in droves, but the soldiers in the rear continued to advance, quickly setting up ladders and beginning to scale the walls.
“Prepare for close combat!” I ordered, drawing my longsword and readying myself to join the fight.
The battle on the walls was fierce, with enemy soldiers climbing up relentlessly while my forces fought desperately to hold them back. I personally led a squad of elite guards, charging left and right along the ramparts, cutting down enemies wherever we went.
As Jackson’s army focused their full strength on assaulting the walls, I gave the prearranged signal: “Flank units, attack!”
The hidden gates on both sides of the walls suddenly opened, and my elite troops poured out like a tidal wave, striking the enemy’s rear. At the same time, reinforcements from Fellinger emerged from the forest, completing a perfect encirclement of the enemy forces.
Jackson’s army fell into chaos, trapped between the walls in front, ambushes from behind, and attacks on all sides. Their formation crumbled completely.
Just then, I spotted a familiar figure near the enemy command post—Jackson himself, mounted on a black horse, attempting to rally his troops for a counterattack.
