The warmth of dinner and the quiet conversation had done much to soothe Elaine's restless mind. After finishing their meal, she and Prince Stefan exchanged a few more words before retiring to their respective tents. The night had grown colder, and Elaine wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, her thoughts still buzzing from the day's events, though exhaustion was finally beginning to pull her under.
As she lay there, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent, she let her mind wander back to the day's ride—the sights, the excitement of adventure, the way her curiosity seemed to overwhelm her at every turn. Her thoughts lingered on Prince Stefan as well, how kind and calm he had been when she'd felt uncertain. His steady presence had been reassuring in a way she hadn't expected.
Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into a light, uneasy sleep.
But in the quiet hours before dawn, something stirred in the air. A strange, muffled sound broke through the stillness, pulling Elaine from her sleep. She blinked groggily, listening intently as the sounds grew louder—grunts, low groans, and the unmistakable clang of steel meeting steel. Her heart skipped a beat. It was as though the night itself had come alive with an eerie, unsettling energy.
Frowning, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, trying to make sense of what was happening outside. The sounds were growing more frantic—grunts turning into painful screams, the clash of swords ringing out in quick succession.
What is going on? Elaine's thoughts raced as she quickly threw off her blanket, her instincts telling her something was very wrong.
Without thinking, she rose to her feet and moved toward the entrance of her tent, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for the flap. But just as she was about to pull it open and step outside, a tall, dark shadow loomed before her. Prince Stefan appeared in the opening, his face drawn in grim determination. His eyes locked onto hers with such intensity that she froze in place.
"Stay back!" he barked, his voice harsh and commanding, unlike anything she had ever heard from him before.
Elaine's breath caught in her throat as she took a step back, startled by the urgency in his tone. Prince Stefan's broad frame filled the entrance to the tent, blocking her view of whatever chaos was unfolding outside. But the sounds—the grunts, the screams of pain—were growing louder, more desperate.
"Prince Stefan, what's happening?" she whispered, her voice laced with fear.
"Elaine, listen to me," he said, his voice low but fierce, as though every word was a warning. "Stay in this tent. Do not make a sound. Be as quiet as a rock, do you understand?"
Elaine's eyes widened as she stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. The prince's face was tense, his jaw clenched, and in his hand, he held his sword—a sword that was covered in fresh blood. The sight of it sent a wave of panic crashing over her, and her mind struggled to process what was happening.
"But—"
"No," he cut her off sharply. "Stay here."
Without another word, Prince Stefan shoved her backward, pushing her away from the tent entrance and further into the shadows. His movements were rough, hurried, as though every second mattered.
Elaine stumbled backward, catching herself just before she fell. Her mind was spinning, panic rising in her chest like a storm threatening to break. The screams outside had become more frantic, more pained, and her instincts screamed at her to do something—anything—to help.
But what could she do?
Elder Miriam had never taught her to fight. Finn and the other villagers of Hopewell had always protected her, shielding her from the dangers of the outside world. She had never held a sword, never learned how to defend herself. She was completely unprepared for something like this.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the edges of her cloak, her heart racing with fear and desperation. She wanted to help—wanted to rush outside and find out what was happening to the men who had been so kind to her on this journey. But the prince's words echoed in her mind, his command to stay still, to stay silent.
She heard another scream, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone hitting the ground hard. Elaine's heart lurched in her chest. What if someone needed help? What if someone was hurt?
Her mind whirled with conflicting emotions. She wanted to rush out, to see what was happening, but she was paralyzed by the fear that she would only make things worse. What if her presence out there drew more danger? What if she got in the way?
Elaine clenched her fists, trying to suppress the rising panic. She could hear Stefan outside, giving orders, his voice calm but commanding as he tried to manage the chaos. The sounds of battle grew closer, and for a brief moment, she wondered if it would spill into the tent at any second.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, her breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. She had never felt so helpless, so utterly incapable of doing anything. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit down hard on her lip, trying to keep herself from crying out.
Just stay still. Don't make a sound.
That's what Stefan had said. That's what she had to do.
Elaine lay back down, pulling her cloak tightly around her body, trying to make herself as small as possible. She closed her eyes, her entire body trembling as she tried to keep her breathing under control. She had to stay hidden. She had to stay quiet. She couldn't let anyone know she was here.
The sounds of the fight outside continued, each clang of swords and each scream of pain driving a dagger deeper into her chest. Her thoughts swirled in a dizzying mix of fear and helplessness.
What if something happened to Stefan? What if he didn't come back?
The thought made her chest tighten painfully, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stay back. She couldn't lose him. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, and slowly, the sounds of the fight began to fade. The screams grew quieter, the clash of steel less frequent. Elaine could hear the labored breathing of someone outside the tent, and her heart leapt into her throat. Was it over?
She lay still, not daring to move, her ears straining for any sign of what was happening.
Then, the tent flap rustled, and Elaine's heart nearly stopped. She held her breath, fear gripping her tightly. The silhouette of someone appeared in the entrance—a tall figure, limping slightly, blood dripping from their arm.
"Elaine," came the familiar voice, ragged and tired.
Elaine bolted upright, relief washing over her like a tidal wave as she recognized Prince Stefan. He stepped into the tent, his face pale, his hair disheveled, and his clothes stained with blood, but he was alive.
"Stefan," she whispered, rushing to his side.
He gave her a weak smile, though the weariness in his eyes was unmistakable. "It's over," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elaine's breath hitched, her heart still pounding in her chest. "What happened? Who were they?"
Stefan shook his head, his expression grim. "Bandits. They must have followed us from the outskirts of Calandria. We dealt with them, but..." His voice trailed off as he glanced down at his bloodied sword.
Elaine swallowed hard, the reality of the situation sinking in. She had been so close to danger, so close to losing everything.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Stefan said softly, his voice heavy with regret. "I couldn't let you—"
Elaine shook her head, cutting him off. "You did what you had to. You protected me."
He looked at her, a mixture of relief and guilt in his eyes. "I should've been more prepared. I should've—"
"You did enough," Elaine said firmly, her voice stronger than she felt. She reached out and gently placed a hand on his arm. "We're still here. That's what matters."
Stefan nodded, though the weight of responsibility still hung heavily on his shoulders. He glanced back toward the entrance of the tent, as though still wary of what might be lurking in the shadows.
"Stefan…" Elaine's voice broke the silence, her tone softer now, filled with concern. She moved closer to him, her hands trembling as she took hold of his, gripping them tightly. His hands were cold, shaking slightly from exhaustion, but she held them firmly, not wanting to let go.
"How are you holding up?" she asked gently, her eyes searching his face for any sign of how he was truly feeling. "I'm so sorry I couldn't help. I… I wanted to, but I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry."
Stefan's eyes softened at her words, and he shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Elaine. You did exactly what I needed you to do. You stayed safe."
"But your men…" she whispered, glancing toward the entrance of the tent again. "How many are left?"
Stefan's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if replaying the events of the battle in his mind. "We lost some," he admitted quietly, his voice thick with grief. "Too many."
Elaine's heart clenched painfully, and she squeezed his hands tighter, her own hands still trembling as she tried to offer him some comfort. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice barely audible. "I wish
I could have done more."
Stefan looked down at their joined hands, his expression softening. "You're doing enough," he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. "You're here. That's more than enough."
Elaine felt a tear slip down her cheek, but she quickly brushed it away, not wanting him to see. She was supposed to be reassuring him, giving him strength, but she couldn't stop the tremble in her hands or the ache in her heart.
"You did the best you could," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "You fought for all of us. You kept us safe. You're strong, Stefan. Stronger than you realize."
Stefan's eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, exhaustion, and something else she couldn't quite place. He gave her a small, tired smile, and for the first time that night, Elaine felt a glimmer of hope.
She wasn't sure if her words had made a difference, but she held onto his hands tightly, determined to offer him whatever strength she had left.
They sat there in silence for a long moment, the weight of the night still hanging heavy around them. But in that quiet moment, with their hands clasped together, Elaine felt a strange sense of peace.
**Chapter Three: Shadows in the Dawn (Continued)**
The quiet of the night returned, heavy with the weight of loss and exhaustion. After the chaos had settled and Prince Stefan's men finished tending to the wounded, there wasn't much more they could do but rest. Yet rest seemed nearly impossible after such a brutal attack. Still, Elaine and Stefan knew they needed to gather their strength. They took turns watching over the camp, ensuring no further threats would catch them by surprise, though every sound in the distance set their nerves on edge.
Elaine could barely keep her eyes closed during her turn to rest, her mind racing with the memory of what had happened. The screams, the blood, the fear—it was a nightmare that seemed impossible to escape. But Stefan had remained strong, his presence a constant anchor through the chaos. Now, she could only hope that the light of dawn would bring them some peace.
When the first slivers of daylight touched the horizon, the camp stirred into motion once more. There was a grim determination among the remaining knights as they prepared to leave. Their numbers had been drastically reduced, and some of their horses had been stolen by the bandits. The absence of so many faces weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.
Elaine, still feeling the tremors of last night's terror, mounted the same horse as Prince Stefan. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but with their limited resources, it was the best option. She held onto him tightly as they began their ride back to Calandria, the rhythmic motion of the horse beneath them doing little to settle her nerves.
The journey back was somber, marked by silence and the occasional cough or grunt of pain from one of the wounded soldiers. Elaine could feel the tension in the air, the exhaustion in every breath they took. She herself was still shaken, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, focused on what lay ahead.
When they finally neared the city of Calandria, the landscape began to shift. The trees thinned out, giving way to rolling hills and fields. In the distance, Elaine could see the famous agricultural systems that the city was known for. Vast stretches of farmland, meticulously organized and dotted with crops, spread out before them, their greenery a stark contrast to the bloodied soldiers riding toward the city gates.
As they approached the city, a murmur of activity stirred among the citizens. Doors creaked open, and people stepped out of their homes and shops, drawn by the sight of Prince Stefan and his returning soldiers. At first, the onlookers seemed confused by the state of the group—their armor still covered in blood, their faces etched with weariness and pain. Elaine noticed the way the citizens whispered to each other, their eyes wide with curiosity and concern.
But as they drew closer, the mood began to shift.
Among the crowd were the loved ones of the fallen soldiers—wives, children, parents who had been waiting for their return. At first, there was silence, a stunned disbelief as they looked for familiar faces in the procession. Then, the realization began to set in. Wails of grief erupted from the crowd as mothers and wives spotted the absence of their loved ones. Cries of anguish and fury echoed through the streets, and before long, the citizens were no longer just watching. They were demanding answers.
"Where is my husband?!" a woman cried, stepping forward, her face pale with shock. Her voice trembled as she shouted, "He was supposed to return! He was with you!"
"My son!" another voice screamed, an older man with tears streaming down his face. "Where is my son?!"
The cries grew louder, more desperate, as the families of the soldiers who didn't make it began to block the path, their grief turning into anger. They surged toward the procession, some of them reaching out toward Stefan, others demanding explanations from the remaining knights.
Elaine felt her heart clench painfully as she watched the scene unfold. These were the people who had trusted Stefan and his men to protect them, to return safely. Now, they were met with the harsh reality that not everyone had come back. It was chaos—a wave of grief and anger that threatened to boil over at any moment.
Prince Stefan slowed their horse to a stop, his face tight with emotion. He glanced back at his remaining men, many of whom had their heads bowed in mourning, unable to meet the eyes of the crowd. The weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders like never before.
Elaine, sitting behind him on the horse, could feel the tension radiating from him. She could sense the inner turmoil he was trying so hard to conceal, the burden of leadership and the crushing reality of loss. Without thinking, she placed a comforting hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. She wasn't sure what to say—words seemed so meaningless in the face of such grief—but she hoped that her presence, her support, might offer him some solace.
"Your Highness!" one of the grieving mothers called out, her voice cracking with emotion as she pushed through the crowd. "Please… what happened to my son?"
Stefan's jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath, his gaze steady but filled with sorrow. He dismounted the horse, helping Elaine down as well, and then turned to face the crowd. His men followed suit, their eyes avoiding the painful gazes of the families they had to face.
The crowd parted slightly, allowing him to step forward. The air was thick with tension, the sound of sobs and whispers filling the street. Stefan squared his shoulders and looked into the eyes of the people, his voice strong despite the grief that weighed him down.
"There was an attack," he began, his voice steady but somber. "Bandits ambushed us in the night as we camped on the way back to Calandria. Many of our men fought valiantly, but we lost too many. I am deeply sorry… for those who did not return."
The weight of his words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, the crowd fell silent, absorbing the full impact of the loss. Then, the wailing began again, cries of mourning and disbelief echoing through the streets.
Elaine stood by Stefan's side, her heart breaking for the people who had lost their loved ones. She had seen the devastation firsthand, had witnessed the horrors of the attack, but seeing the raw pain of these families made it all the more real. She wished there was something—anything—she could do to ease their suffering.
One of the knights stepped forward to offer more explanations, trying to calm the crowd as best as he could, but it was clear that no words could soothe the ache of loss. The grief was too fresh, too raw.
Elaine glanced at Stefan, her eyes filled with concern. His face was stoic, but she could see the toll it was taking on him. He had fought bravely to protect them, to lead them back home, but the cost had been too high.
She gently touched his arm again, drawing his attention. "You did everything you could," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "They need to hear that. They need to know you fought for them."
Stefan looked at her, his eyes searching hers for a moment. Then, with a nod, he turned back to the crowd, raising his voice so that all could hear.
"I swear to you," he said, his voice filled with quiet resolve, "those responsible for this attack will be brought to justice. Your loved ones will not be forgotten, and their sacrifice will not be in vain."
The crowd murmured, some of them nodding in agreement, though the grief still lingered heavily in the air. It was a promise, one that Stefan knew he would have to fulfill, but for now, it was the only thing he could offer them.
Elaine felt a sense of pride swell in her chest as she watched him speak. He wasn't just a prince. He was a leader, someone who cared deeply for his people, even in the face of unimaginable loss.
As the crowd began to disperse, their sobs fading into the background, Stefan turned back to Elaine, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of everything settled on him once more.
"I hope I can keep that promise," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Elaine took his hand, holding it tightly, her own hands still trembling from the events of the night before. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with empathy and determination.
"You will," she said softly. "And I'll be here with you, every step of the way."
Stefan met her gaze, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. For the first time since the attack, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.