Phillip reached for her, his hand warm against her cheek. “I have to try, Mal. You rally the fae and the flora. Buy me some time.”
She wanted to forbid him. Though they had their bedroom games, and Phillip never quipped about walking a step behind her—mainly so he got a look at her ass—they were always equals when in front of others. The entire forest was watching them now.
Mal's throat tightened as her heart fought against the surge of emotions that threatened to drown her. She knew him too well, knew the stubborn streak that drove him to fight battles that seemed impossible. She loved him all the more for it.
“If you die, I will kill you.” Her words were laced with a desperation she couldn’t hide.
Phillip’s mouth curved into a grin, the kind that reached his eyes and sent warmth pooling in her chest. He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. “I love you, too. And I promise I’ll be back. I don’t break my promises to you.”
“Except for the time you said you’d see me tomorrow…three years ago. And last night, when you sent a pigeon.”
“No more pigeons. I’ll come back for you. I’ll fight by your side if I can't bring them to reason.”
The weight of the moment settled over her like a cloak. Her hand itched to pull him back, to hold him close and keep him from walking into whatever danger awaited him. But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. He was, by all rights, a king. She was queen of her own land. Their destinies were intertwined, but their paths were distinct.
Slowly, reluctantly, she released her hold on him, watching as he turned and strode down the ridge. His figure disappeared into the mist that blanketed the clearing. She stood there, rooted in place, her heart lodged painfully in her chest, her fists clenched at her sides. Every fiber of her being yearned to call him back.
She didn’t. Instead, she raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and turned back to her people. They awaited her command, their eyes filled with the same grim resolve she felt in her own heart.
“Prepare yourselves. On this night, we protect our land. We fight for our home.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Phillip moved through the shadows, keeping his steps light and steady. He knew these paths as well as he knew his own castle halls. They were hidden trails and shortcuts Mal had shown him long ago. They wound through the undergrowth, providing him with perfect cover. He heard the murmur of voices, the clinking of armor, and the crackling of campfires just beyond the next ridge. He drew closer to the heart of the enemy encampment, his mind already strategizing the words he would need to sway them.
Enemy.
Unfortunately, that's what they were. When he'd left to secure the borderlands, he left the castle in Aurora's hands, surrounded by her protective detail. It had never occurred to him that he was letting an adversary in so close. Though these soldiers were plenty, they weren't exactly… top tier.
Phillip easily moved past a pair of sentries. Their attention was on their dice game rather than the dark forest beyond. His path was clear, the camp's defenses laughable. He saw how he could undo their plans single-handedly: sabotage their machines, disarm their guards, or spread chaos with a false command.
The camp sprawled before him in a disorganized mess. Tents leaned precariously. Weapons were scattered about, abandoned on makeshift racks or left propped against barrels. Conversations floated through the cool night air, careless and loud. Soldiers openly discussed their orders for the tree leaves and night creatures to hear.
“They’ll move at dawn,” one soldier was saying, his voice carrying authority. “With the forest still dark and the creatures barely stirring, we can cut through the edge and make straight for the heart. If we’re swift, the fae won’t even have time to organize.”
"Not that they could organize. They're plants and beasts."
There was laughter.
Phillip’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. His stomach twisted at the callousness of the man’s words. This wasn’t just a campaign—it was a desecration. A betrayal of everything the forest had given their kingdom.
A blade pressed against his back, sharp enough to make the hairs on his neck rise. “Don’t move.”
Phillip was royalty, unused to following orders. Unless they were given by a horned fae. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the glint of moonlight on the sword, and found the stern face of Lord Queros. The man’s dark eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Well, well, the prodigal prince returns. Sneaking into camps now, are we? Has the throne fallen so far?”
Phillip raised his hands slowly, feigning surrender despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Queros. I see you’ve taken to skulking about with Aurora’s men rather than defending the people you swore to protect.”
"That’s what we’re doing here, Your Highness. Expanding our borders. Ensuring humanity’s survival.”
Phillip’s gaze flicked to the soldiers gathering behind Queros, their weapons raised but their stances uncertain. His lips curled into a faint smirk, though the pressure of the blade against his back reminded him to tread carefully. “Is that what you call destroying forests and displacing its inhabitants? My father welcomed you into these lands after you lost your king.”
Aurora's soldiers exchanged glances, their grip on their weapons loosening ever so slightly. Phillip’s words cut through the veil of confidence they had tried to maintain. He saw the doubt creeping in, the uncertainty flashing in their eyes as they looked at one another, questioning, hesitating.
It was working. On them. It was one of his own citizens he had to worry about.
Lord Queros's grip tightened on his sword. “We follow the queen’s command.”
