Chapter 78

Third Person’s POV

The makeshift medical shelter stood at the edge of Tungsten’s temporary encampment, far enough from the ruins to avoid the smell of smoke. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, damp cloth, and exhaustion.

Jayden sat on a rough wooden cot, his shoulder tightly bandaged, the fabric already stained dark in places where the bleeding had only recently been controlled. Every movement reminded him of the fight—every breath still carried the weight of it.

Footsteps approached from outside.

He didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Jayden. How’s your shoulder?”

Duke Christian stepped through the entrance, his armor partially removed, dust and soot still clinging to the edges of his coat. Despite that, his presence remained as steady as ever—measured, disciplined, unshaken by the chaos they had just survived.

“Sir Christian,” Jayden replied, pushing himself slightly upright despite the pain pulling at his shoulder. “My wound’s been treated. It’ll hold for now.”

Christian’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, briefly assessing the bandages before giving a small nod.

Then silence settled between them.

Not uncomfortable.

Just heavy.

The kind of silence that carried everything unsaid.

Christian finally spoke.

“How is Queen Miu?”

Jayden exhaled slowly.

“Last I checked, she’s resting,” he said. “She returned to her tent after moving through the battlefield all day.”

A faint pause followed as he tightened his grip over the bandaged wound, as if grounding himself through the ache.

“She’s exhausted,” he added more quietly. “But she insisted on handling things herself until the last group was cleared.”

Christian closed his eyes briefly, as though that alone confirmed something he had already suspected.

“And to think,” he murmured, almost to himself, “she was sick just days ago.”

A faint, humorless breath escaped him.

“It’s difficult to believe… even after witnessing it firsthand.”

His gaze drifted away toward the distant forest line, where the remnants of battle still lingered like ghosts. He had arrived from Hoswington under his daughter’s urgent orders, expecting chaos—but not that.

Not the sight of Cole of Ravaryn falling in a single exchange.

Not the battlefield turning in moments under a single figure’s command.

Even now, the memory refused to settle properly in his mind.

Cole had been no ordinary knight. His reputation alone had been enough to make commanders hesitate. A man trained for war, refined through countless conflicts, feared even among allied ranks.

And yet—

He had fallen.

Cleanly.

Effortlessly.

Without injury to his opponent.

Christian’s jaw tightened slightly.

It wasn’t just skill.

It was something deeper.

Something he had not seen since—

Prince Matthew.

The thought struck him so sharply that his composure finally cracked.

Tears welled in his eyes without warning, and before he could suppress it, they fell. His breath hitched in uneven fragments, as though something long buried had been violently unearthed.

Jayden stared at him in stunned silence.

“…What’s with you?” he muttered, genuinely thrown off. “Why are you crying?”

Christian let out a broken sound.

“If she is Prince Matthew…” he began, but his voice faltered.

Jayden cut in immediately.

“She is Prince Matthew. You saw it yourself.”

But Christian didn’t respond right away. His hands curled into trembling fists at his sides, not from anger—but from grief, realization, and something painfully close to guilt.

“If that’s true…” he whispered, voice shaking, “then after that night… she must have suffered beyond anything I could imagine.”

His shoulders trembled slightly as the weight of it settled fully into him.

“No…” he corrected himself, shaking his head. “Even before that. She lived her entire life as the Crown Prince. Carrying a secret like that… enduring cruelty no one should have to face…”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“And Lena…”

His eyes closed.

“…is her enemy.”

The word hung between them like a blade.

The air in the shelter seemed to grow colder.

Jayden said nothing for a moment.

Then he slowly pushed himself to his feet despite the pain, standing directly in front of the duke. His expression had shifted—no longer weary, no longer uncertain.

Only resolve remained.

“Sir Christian,” he said firmly.

Christian looked up at him.

“If you are planning to tell Queen Lena about her true identity…” Jayden’s voice lowered slightly, sharper now, “or if you intend to do anything that will bring her harm—”

His hand shifted subtly toward the holster of his gun.

“I will fight you.”

The words landed heavy but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Not just you,” he continued, voice tightening with conviction, “but Earn, Paolo, Piolo… even the Queen of this kingdom.”

Christian studied him in silence and understood immediately.

This wasn’t loyalty born from duty.

It wasn’t even obedience.

It was something far more dangerous.

Devotion that had already decided what it would destroy if necessary.

“I will not hesitate,” Jayden said quietly, “even if it costs my life.”

For a moment, the shelter was completely still.

Then Christian sighed. A long, weary sound. Not of dismissal—but of acceptance.

“I wasn’t planning to tell Lena,” he said at last, his voice steady once more. “That decision belongs to Miu alone.”

He turned his gaze toward the distant tent at the edge of the encampment, where faint light flickered through the fabric.

“And I owe her too much already,” he continued. “As a knight… and as a father. I will not be the one to put her in danger.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“But if her identity is exposed…”

His eyes darkened slightly.

“And if that endangers Lena…”

He exhaled slowly.

“…then I will have no choice.”

That statement made Jayden turn his back from him.

“If that time comes,” he said firmly, “do what you must for the person you serve.”

A brief silence passed.

Then he added, almost like a vow of his own.

“And I will do the same for mine.”

—

Miu’s POV

“It’s alright… Don’t be afraid…”

The voice lingered in my mind like a fading echo, soft enough that I almost mistook it for the rhythm of my own heartbeat.

I flinched anyway.

Even half-conscious, something in me reacted before I could think. My body felt too heavy—like I was sinking through layers of exhaustion rather than waking from it. My eyelids trembled as I forced them open, each movement dragging me back into a world I wasn’t fully ready to face.

Light filtered in slowly.

Blurred shapes first. Then color. Then sound.

And finally—

A figure beside my bed.

My breath caught.

“…Lena?”

The name slipped out before I could stop it.

But the voice that answered wasn’t hers.

“Your Majesty? You—”

Fahlada.

Her voice cracked as it reached me, sharp with relief and disbelief all at once. I blinked harder, trying to focus, and her face finally came into view.

She was leaning forward, hands pressed over her mouth as though she was holding back a sob that had already escaped. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, her entire body trembling with something too overwhelming to contain.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

My throat felt dry, my limbs still weighed down by something I couldn’t name.

Then her expression shifted.

And just like that, the relief broke.

“What were you thinking?!” she burst out suddenly, voice cracking as it rose. “How could you do something so dangerous in that state?! You and Earn are both so reckless!”

Her fists tightened against her chest as if she couldn’t decide whether to hit me or hold me.

“You were covered in blood!” she continued, sobbing between words. “You wouldn’t wake up at all—do you know how scared I was?!”

I tried to respond, but my voice barely came out.

Fahlada didn’t stop.

“It was a miracle you’re even alive!” she cried, wiping her face harshly with her sleeve as fresh tears kept falling anyway. “A miracle… nothing short of a miracle…”

Her words blurred into each other, but I could feel every emotion behind them.

Fear.

Relief.

Anger that came from care too deep to properly control.

And yet—

Somewhere between her voice and my returning consciousness, something else surfaced.

A memory.

Not of battle.

Not of fire or blood or noise.

But of warmth.

I blinked slowly.

“…I had a dream,” I said weakly, cutting through her scolding without meaning to.

Fahlada froze mid-breath.

My gaze drifted upward as the memory settled more clearly inside me, like something that had been placed carefully in my mind rather than imagined.

“…It was warm,” I continued, voice quieter now, “and gentle.”

The room seemed to fall away slightly as I spoke.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t vivid in the way nightmares were.

It was soft.

Safe.

A feeling more than a vision.

It’s alright… don’t be afraid…

That voice again.

That same calmness wrapping around me like a blanket against the chaos I had lived through.

And I remembered hands.

Familiar hands brushing through my hair, steady and careful, as if I was something precious that had been allowed to rest for once.

But that was impossible.

That person had never been like that.

Never—

My breath trembled.

Yet the feeling remained.

Real enough to hurt.

Real enough to comfort.

I pressed my hands to my face suddenly, shoulders shaking before I even realized what was happening.

And then it broke.

Everything I had been holding together since the battlefield, since the chaos, since the weight of every choice—

It all came undone at once.

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks as I finally let myself cry.

“…Mother,” I whispered through trembling breath.

The word came out broken.

Lost.

Relieved.

“You saved me…” My voice cracked harder. “You saved us… me… and my child…”

Fahlada went silent immediately.

The room didn’t move.

Only my breathing filled the space now—uneven, unsteady, real.