The Uninvited Guest

Adalia’s Journal

Day 2,412.

I made peace with my lost dreams years ago. I buried the girl who wanted to be a knight under steel, discipline, and blood. But today, Xander returned—and brought the ghost of everything I surrendered back with him.

Adalia’s fingers were filthy with dried blood and mud as she untied the soaked linen from a Southern soldier’s thigh. She focused entirely on the tear in his flesh to keep her mind off the heavy, suffocating pressure of Archer’s gaze burning into her back.

Every step the Northern prince took behind her rang like a hammer on an anvil against the cobblestones. The deafening roar of battle had finally died down across the inner courtyard, leaving behind a sick, metallic tang in the air and the lingering stench of ozone.

“They knew we were here,” Adalia muttered under her breath, pressing her thumb hard against the soldier’s wound to check the bleeding. The soldier grunted, but she barely heard him over the frantic pounding in her own ears. “They didn't just stumble onto the palace grounds, Archer. They knew our exact positions.”

Archer stepped into her peripheral vision, his polished silver armor reflecting the pale sunlight. “They wanted to eliminate both royal houses in one bloody strike,” he said, his deep voice grating against her fraying nerves. “Which means someone on the inside handed them our security maps, Adalia. Only royalty and top generals knew the summit schedule.”

Before Adalia could process the sickening thought of a traitor sharing their air, heavy boots thundered down the stone corridor. General Conan stopped in front of her father, his chest heaving as he offered a tight salute.

“The Southern column has broken through the perimeter, Your Grace,” Conan reported, his voice raspy from smoke. “The rebel flank is entirely crushed.”

King Gabrielle didn't even look up from wiping his battle-axe. “Who brought the vanguard through?”

“Commander Xander.”

The air evacuated Adalia’s lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp. Her grip tightened on the bandage roll so hard her knuckles turned ghost-white.

Beside her, she felt Archer go completely rigid. He didn't miss the sharp spike in her breathing or the sudden heat flooding up her neck. She hadn't given the Crown Prince a single genuine reaction since he arrived at her gates, but the mere sound of Xander's name had shattered her composure.

Then she heard him.

Xander walked through the marble archway with that easy, arrogant stride Adalia had memorized over a decade of shared training grounds. Sun-bleached blonde hair, broad shoulders filling out dark crimson plate armor, and those bright, laughing eyes that used to watch her spar until the sun went down.

He was her childhood. He was the first boy who had ever let her bleed him in a ring, and the only man who had ever made her pulse race for reasons that had nothing to do with combat. Twelve months ago, her father had banished him to the frontlines without letting her say goodbye, leaving her with an open wound she had spent a year trying to cauterize with a sword.

Seeing him alive made every drop of Adalia’s royal training evaporate. Her knees wanted to buckle. She wanted to drop her bloody rags, cross the stone floor, and bury her face in his neck like they were reckless cadets again. But a cold, warning glare from her father anchored her to the dirt.

Xander stopped right in front of her. Dropping gracefully to one knee, he reached out and took her bare, stained fingers in his. The warmth of his leather glove was agonizingly familiar as he pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, his low baritone vibrating straight through her chest. “You look as magnificent as the day I left.”

“Xander...” Her voice cracked, sounding small and pathetic even to her own ears. She pulled her hand back before she lost her mind entirely. “You’re alive.”

Before Xander could even rise to his feet, Archer stepped straight into Adalia’s line of sight. His massive frame completely blotted out Xander, his broad silver shoulder guards blocking the torchlight.

“I am Crown Prince Archer,” Archer said, his voice dropping an octave into a dark, territorial rumble that sent a cold shiver down Adalia’s spine.

Xander stood up slowly, his jaw clenching as his eyes turned to absolute ice. “Your Highness. A pleasure.”

Archer didn't answer. He reached down, wrapped his thick fingers firmly around Adalia’s forearm, and pulled her backward into his side, marching her away toward the grand hall like a trophy he had just won in battle. She hated his possessiveness, but as she looked back over his shoulder and caught Xander's murderous stare, Adalia realized the real bloodbath hadn't even started yet.