Callum rarely thought about his brother as anything but the opposing side. Childhood memories were pushed back in his mind, and any affection he might have once had was forgotten. Sometimes, at night, he would think of their father. It was no secret that Callum had been fiercely loyal to his father—he had loved him very much. That final betrayal had been too much, though, and now the thought of his father was like a rock on his chest. It hurt, even if he thought about Jameson as the person he knew him to be before he had left—his fun-loving brother, always getting away with whatever he did and avoiding his responsibilities. The men had loved him because he acted like he was one of them, but he wasn’t. They were the sons of the High King, and that required them to be above the others in the Kingdom. It had never bothered Callum at the time, the way his brother acted, because he knew their father saw it too. Everyone knew what Jameson was, what he had to offer, and Callum was sure their father would do the smart thing and appoint him as the new King. Then it had gone terribly wrong. He shook his head, pushing away the painful memories. It had been a whirlwind of events that night, and he didn’t like to remember them.
“You ready?” he heard Brutus call out as he rode up on his horse. Callum nodded his head, tightening the last strap. “Anything wrong, my boy?”
“No, just lost in my thoughts.”
“Ah, that is always a dangerous place to be. We can ride it off,” he suggested, kicking his horse ahead. Callum lifted himself up onto his horse and followed.
The training Brutus had put Callum through when he first arrived had been painful and extensive. He knew Callum wasn’t the best fighter, having focused more on the politics of his position than on the combat side. Jameson always had been the better fighter of the two. Brutus wouldn’t have that, though. He insisted a leader had to be willing to be on the front lines and to set an example for the other men who fought for him. He needed to be a better fighter than most men, and a worthy opponent for the best. Callum remembered many nights of tears, wishing he had just stayed in the Capital and accepted Jameson’s position, but every morning he would refocus and begin again. After the first six months his body had completely changed; muscles were developed in places he didn’t even think possible. His reflexes were fast, his riding second nature. Now he would be ready for Jameson. The men respected him, just as Brutus had said, and there were few in the army who could beat him in hand-to-hand combat.
As they rode along the ranks, making their way to the front, he saw the wagon being pulled not too far ahead. He pushed his horse forward, riding up aside it to see inside. Rose sat amongst the other girls; only nine were left. He could see she had been crying, most likely for the loss of her fellow villagers. She met his gaze when she raised her head to see him. He tried to keep his face as neutral as possible.
“Are you okay?” he asked casually. She held his eyes with her own before lowering her head without answering. She was the most stubborn girl he had ever met, he thought, smiling to himself. Kicking his horse, he moved away from the wagon to join Brutus at the head of the ranks. Rose was still a mystery to him, a factor in this whole situation he hadn’t counted on. When he had found her in her home that night, he had almost lost his breath at her beauty. That was what made him take her in the first place. Then when he saw her trying to escape, all he could think was that he couldn’t lose her. He didn’t want her to leave, couldn’t allow it. Now he kept her with him and didn’t know why. She was half his age, saw him as a tyrant, a monster. He had killed her parents, burned down her house, taken away her freedom. There was no chance, no room in her heart for any sort of affection toward him. She barely wanted to speak to him, using any opportunity to lash out at him for his offences. At some point he’d have to let her go, possibly send her back to the mountains to become a servant in the castle. He knew he should do it soon, should have done it already, but for some reason he had avoided doing so.
Two men sped toward them, their horses creating a cloud of dust. Callum shook his thoughts away and focused on what approached. It was Godfrey and Stefan, two of his best men, whom he had sent ahead to scout the area.
“My lord,” Godfrey said as they stopped in front of them. Brutus held up his hand to bring the rest of the men to a halt.
“What news?” he asked.
“The village ahead seems to have heard the news about our approach. The men there seem to have gathered what small force they have, and they are hiding along the pass ahead.”
“Not very well,” Stefan snorted. “We could pick each of them out in seconds, and none of them saw us. They are clearly not trained.”
Brutus laughed his deep, rolling laugh. “Never send women to do a man’s job, my boys! Let us go and greet these men properly.”
They began to move ahead, Brutus giving the others the signal to continue. Stefan fell in beside Callum, and Godfrey was beside Brutus on the other side.
“What weapons did you see?” Callum asked Stefan.
“Some had swords; most seemed to have bats and wood axes.”
“Any archers?”
Stefan laughed. “No, my lord, and even if they did, I doubt any of them could hit a target. The youngest man there must be in his late forties.”
They rode on in silence, making sure their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the men who lay ahead. They wanted them to believe they were being taken by surprise. A whisper of what was ahead was sent down the ranks. The men prepared themselves accordingly. Two hills lined the sides of the road. It was a strategic place to plan an attack, if they had known what they were doing. The men could easily have been trapped between the two, but there were too many of them, and too few of the others. As they reached the middle of the space, a large cry erupted, and a group of almost a hundred men, as far as Callum could count, came charging at them from all directions. Their whole guard wasn’t even in the area. Callum shook his head: they had attacked too soon. Amateurs, he thought, smiling and raising his sword and slashing his way through the crowd. It didn’t take long for the four of them in the front line to be on the other side, out from between the hills. It hadn’t been a worthwhile fight, more like a waste of time for them. Callum felt a warm liquid down his left side. He glanced down and saw blood seeping through his riding shirt.
“You’re bleeding, my lord. Were you hit?” Stefan asked, following Callum’s glance.
“No, no, it’s just an old wound that has reopened.” He wondered if Rose would sew it up again for him. He hated having his wounds sewn.
The remaining villagers didn’t stand a chance. They had left only thirty men in the village with the women, offering no sense of protection for them. In under an hour the whole place was ablaze, the villagers disposed of. Callum hated that part, finding no joy in the killing of innocent people. It was part of war, though, he told himself. It needed to be done to send a message to Jameson and the High Priest.
They rode until the sun hung low in the sky before setting up camp again. He walked his horse to a pond nearby so he could have a drink, while the other men set up his tent. When he got back, Rose was already there, reading his book of war again. She glanced up when he entered, a disinterested look on her face. He couldn’t help but find her attitude humorous. Most women seemed to be either scared of him or infatuated with him; either way, they would always wish to please him in any way. Rose, on the other hand, didn’t care what he thought about her and had no interest in pleasing him. Normally, that would be frustrating for him, but he accepted it from her.
“I see you’ve opened that wound again,” she said, never taking her eyes off the page. He looked down at the large red spot of dried blood on his shirt. How had she noticed that?
“How—” he started before she interrupted him.
“I saw it while you were fighting earlier,” she replied nonchalantly. He couldn’t help but smirk.
“You were watching me?”
Her head shot up with a defensive look on her face. Her mouth opened to rebut, but nothing came out. His
smile grew wider. Unexpectedly, a smile formed on her face. Callum had always been good at making others smile. People had often told him that his smile was so friendly-looking, it was contagious. He had yet to do that with Rose, until now.
“It’s not like that,” she said, shaking her head and looking back down at the book. He let it be, not wanting to embarrass her further.
“Will you fix it for me again?” he asked hopefully. It was the only time she had come close to him, besides the time she had tried to attack him. She sighed in frustration, which made him laugh out loud. Her head looked up in surprise. “You are the only woman I have ever known who seems to find me absolutely unbearable.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she replied coolly. She meant it to be an insult, but he just laughed.
Callum got the needle and thread and waited on the chair for her to come to him. Placing her book to the side, she walked over slowly to him, visibly annoyed.
“What is it about me, besides my past actions regarding your village, that you find so unbearable?” he asked, looking down at her as she readied the needle.
“Oh, besides that minor offence?” she replied sarcastically. “Um, it might have to do with your insistence on keeping me captive, your complete disregard for others’ lives, that disinterested, snobby look you always wear on your face, and when you’re not wearing it then you’re either completely miserable or mocking me. I think I could go on for hours actually.” She didn’t look up at him, keeping her focus on what her hands were doing.
“I think that will do, actually,” he said, not wanting to hear the rest of her thoughts about him. His past presumption was correct: there was no way she would feel warmth toward him. It was pointless to keep her here like this. He let her finish in silence, trying not to wince when she pierced the skin.
“There, you’re done,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “Try not to let it happen again.”
“I can’t make any promises,” he replied truthfully. She got up and returned to her spot, picking the book back up. “I think I will send you back when we leave this camp,” he said, removing his boots at last. She looked up again in surprise.
“Back where?” she asked hesitantly.
“To the mountains—you can work in the palace. It will be better than moving with the army like this,” he said, keeping his tone as detached as possible. He thought she looked disappointed, but he didn’t want to stare, so he turned away to focus on his map.
Rose’s breath was coming out quicker for some reason. He was ignoring her now, looking down at his maps as usual. She tried to read the book, but the words were blurring together in front of her eyes. He was sending her away. She didn’t understand her reaction to that. Didn’t she want to be away from him? If she was able to stay with them, though, she might be able to see her brother again. How was she going to convince him to let her go farther? It was useless. He’d misunderstand her reasons, which was the last thing she wanted to happen. Her mind reeled with thoughts, picturing her brother’s face before he left. Felix was the only family she had left, the only person whom she loved.
It wasn’t long before Callum got up and climbed into his bed. Rose remained sitting, her back against the end of his bed.
“I don’t want to go back to the mountains,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if he had heard her at first, until he finally spoke.
“Why? You could die if you stay with the army.”
She hadn’t thought about that, but she had to insist. If there was any hope of her getting to her brother, it was with them. She couldn’t do it alone, especially if he sent her back to the palace. They would never let her leave once she was in there.
“You won’t find him, even if he does survive the fight,” he continued.
“Who?”
“Your brother. Is that not why you desire to stay here?”
Rose looked over her shoulder at the prince. His face was turned away from her.
“It’s the only reasonable explanation,” he continued. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, which made her feel uneasy. He was quiet after that, falling into a deep sleep. Rose sat up for a while longer, wondering what her brother was doing, or where he was. She missed him dearly. They had been the closest of siblings growing up, being only one year apart in age. It had been hard for both of them the day he left. It had never occurred to them at the time that they would be the only family they had left in only a short while. Sleep finally overtook her, and she rested her head for the night.
The camp was in a flurry of action the next morning as the men packed everything up again to move on. Rose nervously waited inside Callum’s tent for someone to get her. He had left first thing that morning, without speaking a word to her. She had been awake at the same time, but he avoided even her looks. It wasn’t a good sign. Rose knew he had made up his mind: she was to go back to the palace, to lose any hope she had left. Now she sat on his chair in defeat, tears silently running down her cheeks. After almost an hour, the tent flaps were pulled aside. She had expected the old woman, who was usually sent to gather her, but instead Callum came in again. He stopped awkwardly when he noticed she was crying.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable with her show of emotion.
She wiped away the tears and straightened herself up. “Nothing,” she tried to say in a confident voice. “I was just waiting to be taken away.”
“Taken away where?”
“The palace?” she said, in a questioning tone.
“I thought you didn’t want to go there,” he answered.
“Well, I thought—”
“You thought wrong,” he interrupted. “If you want to stay, then you can stay, although after a few more villages I’m not sure you’ll still feel the same way. War is never a pretty thing, Rose. It would be much better for you if you stayed away from it in the palace. Since you insist, though—” He threw up his hands. He walked over to grab his saddlebag and then held out his hand. Rose looked at it questioningly.
“I thought you could ride with me this time, instead of in that horrible wagon,” he explained. Rose sat still for another minute, before placing her hand in his and walking out into the day. He helped her onto the back of his saddle, pulling her up with only one hand. “Hold on tight,” he said as she wrapped her arms around his chest.
CHAPTER TEN
Training over the last week had been strenuous. Every day, Aiden would wake up as soon as the sun came up, and he worked until long after it went down. After the second day he had expected to be extremely sore from all the exercise, but surprisingly every day he felt fine, and was ready to go. It wasn’t only he who pushed himself, but everyone worked hard. There was a sense of urgency amongst the men. The anticipation of what was to come hung in the air around them, making every man in the King’s army work twice as hard. Each day, he did a new thing. The first day, he worked with Elisa on his archery, which was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. Not only could he not hit the target, but he could barely keep the arrow strung before releasing it. Elisa had been patient, thankfully, and kept working with him until late that evening. By the time that it was too dark for them to even see the target, he could at least let it fly in a straight line.
The next day, he worked with Logan again, and this time they brought along Felix. At first Logan had them practice their manoeuvres separately, calling out each strike and block as they swung at the empty air. The double-headed axe was beginning to feel more natural to him, especially compared to the bow and arrow. He was definitely not an archer. By midday Logan told them to suit up and face each other. That exercise was more difficult, since now they had to learn to anticipate the other’s moves. To Aiden’s infinite surprise, he won most of the matches. Felix was good with his sword, but Aiden seemed to have better footwork. With every strike and blow Felix aimed toward him, Aiden would twist and turn around him, dodging each. Logan would cry out in excitement and praise, telling him to keep it
up. Again, they stayed out late, working together and apart on their attacks.
The third day, Aiden was with Wolf again. Ty reared and pawed at the ground when Aiden came in. Wolf told him he was excited to see him.
“He’s been waiting for you to ride again.” Wolf smiled, petting the horse affectionately.
The two of them walked the horses out of the city walls and lifted themselves up into the saddles. Well, Wolf didn’t have a saddle, but Aiden most certainly still needed one. Wolf insisted that he start to try riding without one, stating that it was much easier to move when riding the horse, and when striking one’s opponent if the saddle was out of the way. Aiden could see his point, but was too afraid to try. They rode the horses much farther that day than they had the first time out. Ty felt more comfortable under Aiden, the two of them having reached an agreement. He wouldn’t throw Aiden off, and Aiden would begin to relax more.
“He can feel when you’re tense; you have to learn to relax,” Wolf would say.
It was on that third day that Aiden had his first taste of a battle … well, sort of. As they rode toward the east side of the field, the forest began to curve around, drawing nearer to them. It was then that a beast like he had seen before at the cabin jumped out in their path, bearing its ferocious teeth. The animal was hideous. The black fur was matted, and blood dripped from its mouth. The yellow eyes looked wild and hungry, and a low growl emanated from deep in his chest. The horses immediately reared up, halting on the spot. Aiden, not expecting Ty’s sudden reaction, found himself yet again flying through the air. His body was flung over the head of the horse, his feet flipping over his own head. He landed with a thud, only a few feet away from the nasty animal.
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