After Irwen declared the truce, and I accepted it, not that I had much choice, I made my way back toward the fort. My heels crunched softly over frost, the echoes of distant groans and crackling magic slowly giving way to something heavier. Quieter.

  People were gathered in front of the fort now, standing like statues in soot-streaked armor, staring at me like I’d rewritten gravity.

  “What?” I asked, giving them my best tired-glare-meets-sarcastic-princess squint.

  Lola stepped forward, scrolls under one arm, her face smudged but radiant. “Lady,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “You successfully held the line.”

  I let out a breath that was half laugh, half wheeze. “What’d it cost, though?”

  From somewhere to the left, a familiar voice boomed through the smoky air.

  “Everything!” Tramar shouted, still singed, still grinning, one sleeve fully burned off like it was intentional fashion. That will cost him some serious money for fix. He stood at the head of the mage corps now, his [Picky Hat] slightly crooked, looking far too smug for someone who’d just barely survived.

  I shook my head at the joke, lips twitching upward. “That spell…” he added, pointing vaguely toward the battlefield, “it gave me shivers. Literal. Shivers.”

  “I agree,” Lisa said, blushing all the way up to her scorched bangs as she stepped forward. “I know you told me not to... but—”

  I pulled her into a hug before she could finish. She let out a soft gasp but leaned into it, her body still warm from casting.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured into her hair. “It worked. That’s what matters.”

  Fty appeared next, a glow already flickering in his palm as he gently pressed his hand to my back. A soft pulse of mana rippled through me, his analysis spell.

  “Leader,” he said, tone somewhere between clinical and appalled, “you should be in my team, helping. No creating spears.”

  I gave him a crooked grin and dragged myself away from Lisa. “Oh, dear Fty… if only you could keep me off the field. I’m afraid next time you still can’t count with me.”

  A blur darted past us, then circled back with the energy of a sugar-fueled hurricane.

  “There will be a next time?” Lunaris asked, practically vibrating with excitement. She spun in place, her blades drawn, slicing at imaginary enemies like a ballerina in full berserker mode. “I haven’t even gotten to duel a strong Demon swordsman! Only That suit guy and Ian, that’s unacceptable!”

  I raised a brow. “We were being invaded.”

  “Exactly!” she chirped, already re-sheathing her blades with a dramatic flourish. “A wasted opportunity!”

  Mila stepped forward then, quiet. He gave me a respectful nod, the kind that said “you impressed me,” which, coming from Mila, was basically a love letter.

  “You have my respect,” he said, voice clear. “You made the hard choice, sent your players in first, knowing they’d respawn. You protected the core. My doan.”

  He glanced at the smoldering walls in front of us, his eyes momentarily shadowed. “We suffered losses, yes. But less than we feared. We concentrated to the fort mostly, as last defense. Without your intervention...”

  Maara voice was steady as he nodded. “I served the Empire.”

  His tone wasn’t proud or regretful, just… factual. Like he was answering a census question, not reflecting on having just helped stave off armageddon.

  Behind him, Alma and her squad of oh-so-loyal protectors weren’t taking it quite as stoically. They stood slightly apart, their formation loose and drooping, weapons lowered, eyes downcast.

  “We couldn’t protect you,” Alma muttered, almost too quiet to hear. “It was our duty, Lady.”

  Her voice carried the sting of failure, wrapped in discipline like a bandage stretched too tight.

  “Alma…” I exhaled and stepped toward her, my heels crunching over frost. “Sorry, but that was just not possible. You saw the battlefield. I was surrounded by angry spellwork and even angrier demons. No formation training covers that.”

  Her frown didn’t vanish, but it twitched slightly. I’d take it.

  “Speaking of battlefields,” Lola cut in, sliding up beside me with a roll of parchment clutched against her chest like a nervous squirrel might hoard a holy relic. “I have a bad feeling.”

  I blinked at her. “About Irwen?” I rubbed my temple. “Because if that’s what this is, we’re taking shifts crying.”

  “No,” she said, shivering, as if someone had walked over her grave using government paperwork. “About our reinforcements. I didn’t like the undertone. The attaché was… too pleased.”

  “Too pleased?” I frowned. “You mean creepy-pleased or imperial-audit-pleased?”

  She gave me a withering look. “Yes.”

  That shut me up.

  “They’re about an hour out,” she added, pulling her cloak tighter. “We should rest. Regroup. Prepare. Something about this feels off.”

  “What about the recording?”

  “They stopped for now. Riker cut the stream, they officially stopped after your… Orbital bombardment.”

  I glanced around at the smudged, scraped up survivors who’d just finished winning a battle that should’ve crushed us. Our mages were down to fumes, our front liners were walking bruises, and even the healers looked like they could use a nap and a drink in either order.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “You heard the lady!” I called out, raising my voice so the nearby squads could hear. “We’ve got one hour of blessed, beautiful downtime before the Empire gets here to complicate everything!”

  I shot a grin at Lola and watched her flush pink like she’d just been caught staring at me in the middle of the war council. She puffed up and hid her face behind her scroll.

  “We rest now!” I added, turning back to the troops. “And then we pretend to be a functioning army again!”

  I was back in the command tower. Parked behind the same dusty window, clinging to the same battered frame like it owed me rent. My eyes were locked on the river.

  And what a damn sight.

  The mists had cleared, swept away like someone had finally cracked a window open on reality. In their place came majesty, dark wood ships, their hulls bore imperial gold. Runes glowed faintly on their sides, whispering promises of power and bureaucracy in equal measure.

  They didn’t slow. No, these weren’t the ships that “arrived.” They landed. Full speed ahead, then beach-crashed with all the elegance of a god slamming down a law, planks dropped.

  Then came the horses.

  Riders in imperial blues and silvers galloped across the shore, banners unfurling behind them. Graceful. Terrifying. And incredibly extra.

  I clenched the window frame until it creaked. “So, Lola. What do we know about these clowns?”

  She giggled. Giggled. Like I’d told an actual joke. “I have no idea. The attaché kept the details to himself. He mentioned Count Itzel, but that’s it. I don’t have any intel. And I really don’t like the subtext.”

  The tone in her voice had sharpened. Not fear, Lola didn’t do fear, but that kind of academic unease that meant she was running mental simulations and not liking the outcomes.

  Lisa stepped up beside me, the scent of ash still clinging to her, and gently squeezed my hand. Warm. I smiled at her, just for a second, then turned back to the incoming storm of polished cavalry and imperial fanfare.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, then louder, “and Lola, I don’t like it either.”

  I turned toward Alma, who stood stiff and silent by the stairs like she’d been sculpted out of duty and shame. Still stewing over not protecting me when the world nearly ended. Not her fault. But try telling that to her perfect little soldier brain.

  “Make sure to give command to let them in,” I said, meeting her eyes.

  She nodded once, still quiet.

  “We don’t want to give them anything to twist against us.”

  It didn’t take long before they reached the fort. They didn’t waste time with pleasantries. Within minutes, the main gates shuddered open with the kind of ceremony that screams we’re not here for tea, and a full squad of soldiers marched through like they owned the place.

  Not that they said it. They didn’t need to.

  Their boots were too polished. Their formation too perfect. They moved with the kind of silent, suffocating confidence that could only come from generations of people telling them they were better than you.

  The command tower door slammed open, no knock, no “may we enter,” just pure imperial muscle, and suddenly the room was full of them. Rows of silver-trimmed armor and helms gleaming. Each one fanned out with methodical precision, taking up positions around the room that just happened to form a cage around us.

  And then he entered.

  The trumpet sounded, one of those irritating, nasal brassy things that I used to hear every morning at the palace and successfully managed to never learn the name of. It sounded like a goose dying nobly.

  “Imperial Count Itzel!” the trumpet-wielder declared, as if we were supposed to faint or curtsy.

  He strutted in like the fort already bore his family crest. Every step was polished theatre: boots that didn’t dare scuff the floor, gloves fitted tighter than royal budgets, and a navy-blue cloak that swished with an almost smug rhythm behind him. His hair was dark and swept back with alchemical precision. His chin could cut glass, and his eyes…

  Cold.

  He looked at me like I was a smudge on his favorite inheritance.

  “Baronetess of the Empire,” he said, voice smooth, but with the chill of a courtroom in winter. “Princess of the Elven Kingdom Eeleim.”

  He paused.

  “You are under arrest for betraying the Empire.”

  The room fell silent. Not the tense kind, no, this was a suffocating, airless hush. Like everyone had been sucker-punched in the lungs.

  “Do not resist,” Count Itzel continued, every syllable fast enough to bleed on. “Or I will make sure to punish everyone present.”

  He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. That kind of confidence was scarier than any scream. He said it like he was promising rain. I was the thundercloud.

  “Take her!” he ordered.

  Lola flinched beside the map table, papers clenched so tightly in her hands they crinkled with betrayal. Her mouth opened, closed again. She was calculating, furious and terrified all at once, but knew better than to make a move with soldiers like chess pieces circling the board.

  Lisa didn’t flinch. She stepped forward like she was about to incinerate someone on principle alone. Her fingers sparked at the edges, and her gaze snapped toward me, silently screaming give the word.

  I gave her a look right back. No.

  Fty stood near the wall, his healer robes smudged with ash and sweat. He looked like someone had just shattered a holy relic. “This is wrong,” he whispered, hands half-raised like he might throw a barrier. Against who, even he didn’t know.

  Alma’s knuckles were white on the hilt of her blade. Her whole body screamed protest, but her feet didn’t move. Neither did her squad behind her. The kind of not-moving that took every ounce of discipline she had. She was the dam holding back the flood.

  Mila’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the soldiers surrounding us. He said nothing. But I saw the way he subtly shifted his weight, ready, watching. Strategizing. If this went sideways, someone was going to regret it.

  And Lunaris?

  Oh, she was shaking.

  With rage.

  Her blades weren’t drawn, but I could see her hands twitching at her sides. Her eyes locked onto the Count with that terrible, quiet fury only someone who believed in me could conjure. It wasn’t vengeance. It was personal.

  “Yes, Itzel,” I said finally, and raised my hands, slowly, clearly. “I will go willingly.”

  My voice didn’t waver, but my pulse was pounding in my ears. I glanced around the room, my allies, my friends, my ridiculous sock-cloaked lunatic, and gave them the best smirk I could manage.

  This wasn’t good.

  Not at all.

  “Everything will be fine,” I promised, despite knowing otherwise.

  It tasted like ash in my mouth.

  Two soldiers took my arms, practiced like they’d done this a hundred times before. Not rough, not kind. Just… imperial. Efficient disgrace. No cuffs, just a grip tight enough to remind me I didn’t have a say anymore.

  The walk from the command tower felt endless. My amazing heels echoed against the stone as we descended, and the silence was deafening. Not even whispers from the others. Just rows of soldiers lining the path, ten on each side, standing at attention like I was a bomb that might go off if someone blinked.

  They really went all in. For me. I should’ve felt flattered. Mostly, I just felt cold.

  They didn’t pause, they pushed me forward, right to a waiting horse already saddled. One of those imperial mares, so perfectly trained it probably saluted in the morning. They didn’t offer help up. Didn’t need to. I swung one leg over with what grace I could scrape together and tried not to look like I was going to vomit dread all over the saddle.

  The moment I was mounted, we galloped. No words. No ceremony. Just hooves pounding against the dirt like war drums, and wind tearing at my coat. The cold stung my eyes, or maybe that was just me refusing to blink too long.

  The empire had always been the spine of my Rimelion test plays. My safety net. My anchor. I’d served the damn thing with pride, bent my strategies to its code, backed it in every political snarl. The Duke had promised, promised, that I was protected from backlash. That I was useful enough to be untouchable.

  But what if he couldn’t?

  What if the rules didn’t matter now?

  I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. My hands clutched the reins even though the soldiers flanked me tightly, no room to escape, no room to fall.

  As the river widened before us, I saw the ships waiting like patient vultures. I turned once, just once, in the saddle. Back toward the fort. Toward the command tower that had become home. Toward the scarred wall, still smoldering from my spellwork.

  I was leaving my allies behind.

  The dread in my gut settled into something quieter.

  Not fear.

  Not yet.