The morning was still cold when Rowan woke.
For a few seconds he didn't move. The canvas roof of the tent was lit by a pale light filtering through the fabric, and the sounds of the camp had already begun outside — footsteps on dirt, distant voices, the clinking of metal being adjusted.
The war continued.
His leg still hurt, but less than the night before.
Someone had changed the dressing on the wound.
Rowan realized this when he tried to sit up. The bandage was tighter, cleaner. The kind of work done by someone who knew what they were doing.
He was still trying to steady himself when the entrance to the tent opened.
She stepped inside.
The rider looked different in the daylight. She wore simple travel clothes — dark leather and thick cloth, none of the imposing armor she had shown while riding the dragon.
Even so, there was something about her that dominated the space.
She paused when she saw Rowan sitting up.
— So you can still move.
Rowan rested a hand on the edge of the improvised bed.
— Looks like it.
She studied his leg for a moment.
— Don't run.
Rowan let out a dry laugh.
— I wasn't planning to.
She gestured toward the entrance.
— Come.
Rowan frowned.
— Come?
She was already turning away.
— Or would you rather spend the rest of the war staring at the ceiling of my tent?
Rowan hesitated for a second, but eventually stood. His leg protested immediately, a sharp pain running through him, but he managed to steady himself on the table and take a few steps.
Every movement felt heavy.
When he finally pushed through the canvas entrance, the morning light hit him.
And the world outside made him stop.
The camp stretched far beyond what he had imagined the night before.
Rows of tents.
Fires recently extinguished, still releasing thin trails of smoke.
Wagons loaded with supplies.
Soldiers moving along the dirt paths between them.
It wasn't a few hundred men.
It was thousands.
Far more than any force Rowan had ever seen gathered in one place.
Some soldiers stopped when they noticed him stepping out of the tent.
Looks appeared.
First curious.
Then amused.
One of them let out a low whistle.
— Well look at that.
Another spoke louder.
— The commander's pet woke up.
A few laughs spread among the nearby groups of soldiers.
Rowan remained silent.
The rider continued walking as if she hadn't heard.
— Walk, — she said without looking back.
Rowan followed her.
As they moved through the camp, the looks continued.
Some men whispered.
Others simply watched.
A younger soldier spoke with a crooked smile.
— Bet he sleeps inside her tent.
More laughter.
Another added loudly enough for several men to hear:
— Or maybe he's there to keep her satisfied.
The comment spread through the soldiers like dry fire.
Some laughed loudly.
Others began repeating the joke.
That's when she stopped.
Her steps ceased.
It only took a few seconds for silence to begin spreading.
She turned slowly.
Her gaze moved across the group of soldiers who had spoken.
There was no smile now.
No amusement.
Only something cold.
Dangerous.
— Say it again.
The words came out quietly.
The soldier who had made the comment tried to keep his grin.
But it already looked smaller now.
— I was just—
She stepped forward.
The silence in that part of the camp became absolute.
Even men standing farther away had stopped to watch.
— Listen carefully, — she said, her voice firm now.
Her eyes moved across the entire group.
— The next man who opens his mouth to say something like that…
A small pause.
Her gaze lifted briefly.
Toward the sky.
As if reminding them of what was always there.
— I'll order my dragon to turn this entire camp into ashes.
No one laughed.
No one spoke.
They barely even breathed.
The soldier who had started the joke lowered his eyes.
She kept looking at them for a few more seconds.
Then she turned again and began walking.
As if nothing had happened.
— Keep walking, — she told Rowan.
Rowan followed again.
After a few steps, he spoke.
— They seem to like you a lot.
She let out a small irritated sigh.
— Soldiers are idiots when they're bored.
Rowan looked around the camp again.
Then he saw it.
The gigantic shape resting farther ahead.
The dragon.
Its enormous wings folded along its body. Dark scales reflecting the pale morning light. Its head rested partially on the ground, but one eye was open.
Watching.
Rowan stopped without realizing it.
She noticed.
— Ah.
A small smile appeared on her face.
— So you're finally going to see him up close.
The dragon's eye moved slowly.
Fixing on Rowan.
The castle hall was more crowded than the night before.
Torches burned along the stone walls, casting uneven light across the gathered faces. Minor lords, knights, and advisors had been summoned in haste after the news brought by Garron.
The word dragon had spread through the castle during the night.
And with it, fear.
The murmur of voices filled the hall until Lord Edric raised a hand, demanding silence.
He was standing now, not sitting.
His posture rigid.
His eyes tired.
— We have heard enough about what happened on the battlefield, — he said, his voice firm but tense. — Now speak about what matters.
One of the older lords stepped forward.
— What matters, my lord, is that Marrick has brought a dragon into this war.
He opened his hands in frustration.
— No ordinary army can face that.
Another man immediately added:
— We must negotiate.
Several murmured in agreement.
A younger knight wearing the colors of Edric's house answered sharply:
— Negotiate? After he burned our men?
— Should we kneel as well?
— I want us to survive, — the older lord replied.
The murmuring grew again.
Then another man spoke louder.
— All of this began because of a decision.
Eyes slowly turned toward the side of the hall where Maelyra stood.
She had remained near one of the columns in silence since Garron finished his account.
The weight of those looks was obvious.
The man continued:
— If the refusal had never happened, Marrick would have had no reason to march here.
Another lord nodded.
— Perhaps we can still fix this.
Maelyra slowly lifted her gaze.
— Fix?
Her voice was low.
The man opened his hands.
— The marriage.
Silence fell over the hall.
— Send her to Marrick.
Several lords nodded quietly.
— It could end everything before more blood is spilled.
Maelyra remained still for a few seconds.
Then she released a slow breath.
There was no surprise on her face.
Only something closer to exhaustion.
— Do you really believe that?
The question came calmly.
No one answered immediately.
She stepped forward now.
— Marrick's army is already in our lands.
— He has already burned villages.
— Already killed our men.
She looked directly at the gathered lords.
— And he brought a dragon.
Her voice grew firmer.
— Do you truly think he will stop now if we put a girl in a carriage and send her to his castle?
Silence filled the hall.
Some men looked away.
Another lord tried to answer.
— Even so, it could avoid—
— Avoid what? — Maelyra interrupted.
— The damage is already done.
She stopped in the center of the hall.
— Marrick no longer wants a marriage.
— He wants victory.
The murmuring returned, more uneasy now.
One of Edric's advisors spoke.
— Even if that is true… we still have a problem.
He looked at Edric.
— The dragon.
Another man added:
— Without a way to deal with that creature, no plan matters.
Silence slowly returned.
All eyes turned to Lord Edric again.
He remained still for a few seconds.
Thinking.
Then he finally spoke.
— Garron said one man managed to keep our lines standing longer.
Several men nodded.
— Rowan.
Edric rested both hands on the stone table before him.
— The man who realized how the dragon was attacking.
The advisor frowned.
— The soldier you sponsored.
Edric nodded slowly.
— Yes.
He raised his eyes to the gathered lords.
— A man who, according to Garron… may be our best chance.
The hall fell silent once more.
Because everyone there understood what that meant.
And what they might have to do next.