All Chapters of I Married My Mate's Enemy : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Lana’s POVThe ridge smelled of ash and iron when the sun came up. Smoke still drifted from the burnt edges of the barricades, curling like ghosts through the pale morning light.We had survived, but survival did not feel like victory. Too many beds in the infirmary were already full.I walked through the camp with a basin of water in my hands, helping the healers rinse wounds and change bandages. The warriors did not flinch when I approached now. Some even nodded. A few managed quiet thank-yous.Their trust was fragile, but it was real.Warren’s shadow moved among them, silent and watchful. He stopped at every cot, spoke a few low words, then moved on. His coat was torn, his knuckles raw. The mark of command sat heavy on him this morning.When he reached the last bed, he paused beside me. “You should rest,” he said.“I will, when they do.”He looked down at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “If you burn yourself out, you are no use to anyone.”“I am fine.”He did not argue. He on

Lana’s POVThe forest was still when we stopped to rest.No birds, no wind, only the faint crackle of a small fire that struggled to stay lit beneath the damp canopy. The air smelled of moss and cold earth. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting.We had ridden through the night, the horses slick with sweat and mud. The soldiers moved quietly around the clearing, too exhausted to speak. Some sat sharpening blades that did not need sharpening. Others stared into the fire as though it might give them courage.I sank onto a fallen log and unbuckled my boots, flexing my sore feet. The silence pressed in around me until it became a sound of its own.Across the clearing, Warren spoke with Grayson in low tones. His armor was streaked with dirt, his hair damp with mist, yet he still carried that impossible composure, the kind that never seemed to crack.When he finally dismissed Grayson, he turned toward me. “You should eat something.”I shook my head. “I am not hungry.”

Lana’s POVThe river ran beside us like a dark ribbon, cold and endless. The moon had sunk behind the ridge, leaving the world in shadow. The only light came from the faint glow of the mist and the water’s slow shimmer.We moved in silence, the sound of our boots splashing in the shallows the only proof we were still alive. The air was thick with damp and smoke. Behind us, the forest still burned somewhere far above, its firelight hidden but its scent clinging to the wind.Grayson walked ahead with two of the soldiers, scanning the banks for higher ground. Warren kept to the rear, his steps steady, his presence the only thing holding the line together.Every few minutes, someone stumbled. The wounded leaned on the stronger, the stronger leaned on their will to survive. No one spoke.After an hour, Warren called a halt. “We rest here.”The men dropped where they stood, too tired to argue. I crouched beside the river, cupping my hands to drink. The water was freezing, numbing my fingers

Lana’s POVThe river stretched before us, wide and slow under the gray sky. The mist had lifted, leaving behind a pale light that made everything look washed and hollow. The air was cold, carrying the scent of smoke from the battle behind us.No one spoke. The soldiers moved like ghosts along the riverbank, their faces drawn and eyes sunken. Mud streaked their armor, blood stained their sleeves. Some limped, others leaned on makeshift crutches. Each step sounded like a question none of us could answer.Warren walked ahead, shoulders rigid, scanning the path ahead. Grayson followed a few paces behind him, muttering to one of the men about the condition of the wounded. I stayed near the rear, making sure no one fell behind.When we finally stopped, the sun had barely climbed above the horizon. The river bent sharply to the east, and beyond it, the trees grew thicker, forming a wall of green.“This will do,” Warren said. His voice was quiet, but there was no doubt in it.We began to sett

 Lana’s POV The days that followed felt unreal. The valley that had once roared with war now lay quiet beneath a soft spring rain. Smoke no longer rose from the trees, and the river ran clear again, carrying away the last traces of ash. The world seemed to be breathing differently, slower, gentler. We had built temporary shelters along the ridge, small tents and wooden frames made from what the forest would give us. The air still smelled faintly of iron and smoke, but beneath it was something new, something clean. The wounded healed slowly. The living worked in silence. There was no celebration, no cheering victory. Only the simple, steady rhythm of survival. Each morning, Warren walked the ridge before sunrise, checking the watchpoints himself. I often joined him, though he never asked me to. We said little on those walks. Words felt unnecessary. The sound of