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~Fridolf's POV
I turned back for a moment, and my chest tightened.
Most of my men had been captured. Bound. Beaten. Dragged like dogs.
"Your Highness!" one of my men shouted. His face was covered in blood, but he reached a trembling hand toward me. "Run, my lord! Run!"
I ran back to grab him, but before I could pull him up, arrows flew past us. He grabbed my wrist. "Go! Leave me!"
"I won't leave you!" I shouted, gritting my teeth.
"Run!" he screamed again, shoving me forward.
I turned and bolted through the woods, my vision blurry from exhaustion and blood loss. My breath came in short gasps. Every step hurt, but I couldn't stop.
Branches tore at my arms. My boots sank into the mud. Behind me, I heard the sound of horses and shouting.
"They're close," I muttered under my breath. "Damn it!"
I pushed harder. I couldn't die here. Not like this. Not by their hands.
