(Zetulah's POV)
The air clung to my tongue, bitter and metallic, like I'd licked a battery. My throat tightened with every breath. Each step sucked at my boots, mud seeping over the soles, cold and thick as it gripped my calves. I told myself not to think about what else was in it—rotted things, maybe, or worse. "Focus." But my pulse thrummed in my ears, drowning out reason. His stench cut through everything else: woodsmoke and sweat, a sharp cologne that made my jaw clench. It was the smell of someone leaning back in a chair, boots on the table, grinning like the world owed him a favor. I hated how familiar it felt.
Kaelith.
He appeared out of the haze, flames curling around his fists like serpents. The fire licked the air, teasing it with heat that made my skin burn. My sword felt too heavy now, its weight dragging at me. Since when did he fight like this? The last time we'd clashed, he'd been brute force and sharp edges. Now he was fluid, graceful—like a predator, coiled tight, waiting for the strike.
"Princess," he grinned, his teeth gleaming like daggers in the dark. "Miss me?"
I swung. His blade met mine with a sickening crack, sending jolts up my arm. Fire screamed past my ear, my braid searing in the heat. Bastard.
My ankle hooked something solid—a leg, maybe an arm—and I staggered, ribs slamming into my own knee as I fought to stay upright. The corpse didn't give, just lay there, cold and indifferent. My breath tore out ragged, thighs burning. Then his laugh hit me: low, wet, a sound that crawled up my neck like fingers. It wasn't just noise. It was him, "here", close enough to whisper. My teeth ground so hard my skull ached.
"Getting sloppy," he purred, circling me like a wolf with its prey.
"Shut. Up." My teeth clenched as my next strike barely missed his ribs. His breath hissed through his teeth—finally, a crack in the mask.
But then the fire surged—hotter, wilder. My armor seared, the metal clinging to my skin. Screw this.
I tore off my pauldron, hurling it into the muck. The metal hissed, its fall drowned out by the deafening roar of the flames.
"Come on then!" I taunted, my voice raw. "Or are you all talk?"
His eyes flashed, a split second of something I couldn't name—vulnerability, a boy beneath the monster. Then it was gone, replaced by something cold and deadly. "You're still playing with fire, Princess."
---
(Kaelith's POV)
Her blade bit into my shoulder. Just a scratch, I thought at first—until everything tilted.
Poison.
My legs buckled beneath me. Sweat, blood, or both—trickled down my spine, cold and clinging. My vision blurred, everything spinning in slow motion.
Then the assassin came—fast, silent. His dagger gleaming in the dim light, aimed straight for my throat.
Well, shit.
This wasn't how I was supposed to die. Not like this. Not by some nameless grunt. But before I could react, she was there.
Zetulah. She cut through the fog like a storm. One slash, and the assassin's head hit the dirt with a sickening thud.
She didn't even look at me. Didn't say a word. Just stood there, breathing hard, her sword dripping on my boots.
"Why?" I rasped, my chest tight with something I couldn't explain.
Her jaw twitched, and I knew—she was lying.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, kicking the dagger toward me. "I want the kill."
I saw the shake in her hands. A lie.
---
(Zetulah's POV)
Stupid. Reckless. Sentimental.
My wolves were winning, but all I could see was his blood. His blood. On my blade. Not the assassin's. Why?
"Captain!" My lieutenant gripped my arm, his voice urgent, frantic. "The eastern flank—"
"Burn it." My words were ash in my mouth. Just like him.
I glanced over my shoulder. Kaelith was on his feet, swaying. But alive. And for a brief moment, our eyes locked. His sword was raised—not at me, but at one of mine.
No. Move.
But my body didn't respond.
I didn't move.
I watched—frozen—as Kaelith sliced through my soldier. Watched him fall to the earth in a spray of blood. I should stop him. I should—
But I didn't.
---
(Kaelith's POV)
Her soldier came at me with curses spewing from his lips, a wild scream that only fueled my rage. I gutted him. Easy. His body crumpled, lifeless.
But then her face—gods, her face—flashed in my mind.
It wasn't rage that twisted her features. It was something worse. Disappointment.
I fought harder. Wilder. The poison clawing at my veins, but I welcomed it. Let it fuel the fire. The fire that burned all the doubt I had about her. Let it burn the memory of her saving me, of her face when I rose again.
The wolf howled—her signal. Retreat.
"Cowards!" I bellowed, my voice raw, but my men were already fleeing, abandoning me. Traitors.
I stared back toward her, standing high amidst the corpses of our fallen, her face unreadable. She was always watching. Always.
And in that moment, I wondered—what had I become to her?
The field fell silent, save for the cawing of crows and the soft groans of dying men.
Blood dripped from my mouth, staining the ground. "Next time, Princess," I spat, my voice ragged.
She sheathed her sword, her eyes dark as night. "Next time, Prince."
Neither of us moved.
Somewhere, a drumbeat thrummed in the distance. The heartbeat of war—or ours.