Kael's POV
I didn't sleep for two days.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the arrow punching through the messenger's throat. Saw the Radiant Shield cloak disappearing into darkness. Heard Father's threat: I can arrange for you to lose your tongue.
Now I stood in the manor courtyard with every man from our lands, watching those same holy knights ride through our gates like heroes.
"They're here!" someone shouted.
The Radiant Shield came on white horses, their armor gleaming like stars. People cheered and threw flowers. Children waved flags. Nobody remembered that three nights ago, one of these "heroes" had committed murder to keep the truth buried.
I wanted to scream it. To tell everyone what I'd seen.
But Father stood behind me, and I could feel his eyes burning into my back.
"Magnificent, aren't they?" Aldric appeared beside me, already wearing his new commander uniform. He looked like a god of war. I looked like a stable boy who'd stolen his dead brother's clothes.
"Sure," I muttered.
"Try to sound enthusiastic, bastard. You're representing House Thornwood now." His smile was all teeth, no warmth. "Wouldn't want Father to regret bringing you along."
Bringing me along. Like I had a choice.
The lead knight dismounted, and my heart stopped.
It was Aldric.
No—wait. I blinked hard. The knight removed his helmet, revealing the same golden hair, the same sharp features. But this was someone else. Someone older.
"My lords and ladies!" The knight's voice carried across the courtyard. "I am Commander Theron of the Radiant Shield! I bring greetings from the High Council and urgent news of war!"
More cheers. I felt sick.
"The orcish savages have shown their true nature," Theron continued. "They have slaughtered innocents, burned villages, murdered children in their beds. This unprovoked attack demands justice!"
Lies. All lies.
"His Majesty the King has issued a general draft. Every able man between sixteen and forty years must serve. We march to war not for glory, but for survival. For humanity itself!"
The crowd roared approval. Men pumped their fists. Women wept with pride for their husbands and sons.
Only old Finn, standing in the back, looked as sick as I felt.
"Lord Thornwood!" Theron called out. "Your son Aldric has been appointed Grand Commander of the Northern Legion. A great honor!"
Father stepped forward, chest puffed with pride. "My son will lead us to victory!"
Aldric walked to stand beside Theron, and they could have been brothers. Both golden, both perfect, both built for this world of lies.
"Speech! Speech!" the crowd chanted.
Aldric raised his hand, and silence fell instantly. "My people. My brothers. Today we answer the call of duty. Today we become more than farmers and craftsmen—we become warriors! We will crush these monsters beneath our boots! We will make them pay for every human life they've stolen! And we will return victorious, or we will die trying!"
The cheering was deafening.
I was going to vomit.
"Now," Theron said, pulling out a scroll. "All drafted men, step forward when your name is called."
The list was long. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants—men I'd known my whole life. They stepped forward with fear in their eyes but determination in their jaws.
Then: "Kael Thornwood."
I moved forward on wooden legs.
"Ah yes," Theron said, looking me up and down. "The bastard son. Can you fight, boy?"
"I can learn," I said quietly.
Someone in the crowd snickered.
"See that you do," Theron dismissed me with a wave. "Next!"
I joined the line of drafted men. A young farmer named Tom stood beside me, barely seventeen, his hands shaking.
"I've never even killed a chicken," he whispered.
"Me neither," I admitted.
We shared a look of mutual terror.
The last name was called. Fifty men total. Fifty lives about to be fed into a war built on lies.
"Drafted men will depart at noon," Theron announced. "Say your goodbyes."
The crowd broke apart. Families rushed to embrace their sons, fathers, brothers. Wives sobbed. Children clung to their fathers' legs.
I stood alone.
Father walked past me without a word, heading back to the manor.
"Father," I called out before I could stop myself. "Can I... can we talk before I go?"
He paused, not turning around. For a moment, I thought he might actually speak to me like a son.
"Try not to embarrass the family name," he said flatly, then continued walking.
Those were the last words my father ever said to me.
"Kael."
I turned. My blood turned to ice.
Seraphina Vale stood there, beautiful as poison. The girl I'd been betrothed to three years ago, before Father discovered she brought no useful dowry. The girl who'd publicly humiliated me to save her own reputation.
"Lady Seraphina," I said stiffly.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I heard you were drafted. What a shame."
"Thank you for your concern."
"Oh, I'm not concerned." She stepped closer, her perfume making me dizzy. "I'm here with my fiancé."
My stomach dropped. "Fiancé?"
Aldric appeared, sliding his arm around her waist possessively. "Surprised, brother? Seraphina and I are engaged. The wedding is planned for when I return victorious from war."
The crowd around us gasped and congratulated them. Perfect Aldric. Perfect Seraphina. The perfect couple.
I was drowning on dry land.
"Congratulations," I forced out.
Seraphina finally looked at me, really looked at me, and her lip curled in disgust. "I'm so glad Father refused our betrothal. Can you imagine? Me, married to... gutter blood."
The words hit like a slap. The same words she'd called me three years ago when she broke our engagement in front of everyone at the Spring Festival.
"I dodged an arrow there," she continued, laughing. "Though I suppose you'll be dodging real arrows soon. Try not to die too quickly—Aldric will need people to hide behind."
Even Aldric looked uncomfortable. "Seraphina, that's—"
"What? True?" She patted my cheek mockingly. "Run along now, bastard. The real men have a war to win."
I walked away before I did something stupid. Like cry. Or hit her. Or tell everyone the truth about the murdered messenger.
"Mount up!" Theron shouted. "We march now!"
No time for goodbyes. No time to think. Just climb into the wagon with forty-nine other terrified men and leave the only home I'd ever known.
As we rolled out of the courtyard, I looked back one last time.
Father stood on the manor steps, watching Aldric. Not me. Never me.
Finn stood by the stables, one hand raised in farewell. The only person who cared if I lived or died.
Then something caught my eye. A figure in the manor's high tower window, watching the wagons leave. They wore a dark cloak—the same cloak I'd seen the night the messenger was murdered.
The figure raised a hand, pointing directly at our wagon.
No. Not at the wagon.
At me.
Tom grabbed my arm. "Kael, you see that?"
"You see it too?"
"Someone's pointing at us. Why are they—"
An explosion rocked the wagon behind us.
Men screamed. Horses panicked. I twisted around to see the last wagon engulfed in flames, bodies flying through the air.
"ATTACK!" Theron roared. "We're under attack!"
Arrows rained from the forest. Not orcish arrows—these had human fletching.
We were being ambushed. By our own people.
Tom pulled me down as an arrow whistled overhead. "What's happening?!"
I knew exactly what was happening.
Someone wanted to kill the drafted men before we could reach the war. Before we could learn the truth.
And when I looked back at the tower, the cloaked figure was gone.
But on the stone wall, written in what looked like blood, were three words I could barely make out from this distance:
THEY KNOW NOTHING
The wagon lurched forward as the driver whipped the horses into a gallop. We crashed through the forest, men clinging to each other, arrows striking wood all around us.
I pressed myself against the wagon floor, my mind racing.
Someone in the Radiant Shield knew I'd seen the messenger die. They knew I knew the truth.
And they were trying to silence me before I could tell anyone.
The question wasn't whether I'd survive this war.
It was whether I'd survive the next five minutes.