Kaelen's POV.
The morning air in the war command tent was thick. Fenrir walked in first, his heavy boots thumping against the dirt floor. I followed a step behind, the back of my tunic held together by a spare leather cloak I'd scavenged. My neck still felt like it was on fire from the night before.
Twelve generals were already gathered around the central table. They stopped talking the moment they saw me.
"Your Majesty," General Jaxon said, his eyes flicking to me with a sneer. "We are about to discuss the Siege of Blackwater Pass. This is a classified strategic briefing. Why is the Blue Moon rabbit here?"
Fenrir didn't look at him. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and sat down. "He stays."
"Sire, with all due respect," a younger general named Krov added, "the boy is an Omega. He belongs in the healers' tents or the kitchens, not over a map of the Imperial borders. He wouldn't know a pincer maneuver from a needle and thread."
"Sit down, Krov," Fenrir commanded. He looked at me, his golden eyes unreadable.
"Linus says he knows war. He says I don't know how to use my power. I want to see if he can back up that mouth."
I walked to the edge of the table, ignoring the glares.
"What is the current plan?" I asked.
Jaxon sighed, pointing a calloused finger at the narrowest part of the map. "We march the heavy cavalry through the Blackwater Gorge at dawn. We'll crush the rebel encampment on the other side before they can mount their horses. Simple and effective."
I looked at the map for ten seconds. Then I started laughing. It was a cold, humourless sound that made Jaxon's face turn red.
"What is so funny, little prince?" Jaxon hissed.
"You're not planning a victory," I said, leaning over the table. "You're planning a funeral for five thousand men. Look at the elevation markers. You're funneling your best troops into a kill zone."
"It's a direct strike!" Krov shouted.
"It's a suicide run," I countered. "The rebels aren't in the camp on the other side. If they have any sense, they're already on the ridges above the gorge. While your horses are slipping on the wet rocks below, they'll be dropping boulders and fire-oil on your heads. You'll be trapped in a stone coffin."
"The rebels are disorganized farmers!" Jaxon roared. "They don't have the discipline for a ridge ambush."
"Farmers who are fighting for their homes have more discipline than soldiers fighting for a paycheck," I said. I grabbed a black marker stone and moved it to a small, jagged line north of the pass. "What is this?"
"A sheep track," Jaxon said dismissively. "It's too narrow for a formation."
"It's wide enough for light infantry and scouts," I said. "You send three hundred men up that track tonight. They take the heights while the rebels are sleeping. When dawn breaks, your 'farmers' find themselves caught between your men on the ridge and your cavalry in the gorge. It's a classic pincer, but you're too obsessed with brute force to see it."
"This is nonsense," Krov said, looking at Fenrir. "Sire, are you really listening to this? He's talking about tactics from a century ago. War has changed."
"Has it?" I asked, looking Krov in the eye.
"Does gravity work differently now? Do boulders hurt less when they hit your head in 1304 than they did in 1204? Strategy isn't a fashion trend, General. It's math."
Fenrir finally spoke. "You're certain they are on the ridges?"
"I'd bet my life on it," I said. "In fact, I am betting my life on it, aren't I?"
Fenrir looked at Jaxon. "Send the scouts to the sheep track. Now. If the ridges are clear, we proceed with Jaxon's plan and Linus goes to the cages. If the ridges are occupied... we do it his way."
The generals filed out, muttering under their breaths. For the next hour, the tent was silent. Fenrir stayed in his chair, sharpening a dagger. I stood by the map, memorizing the terrain.
The silence was broken by the sound of a horse galloping at full tilt. A scout burst into the tent, his face pale and covered in mud.
"Report!" Fenrir shouted.
"The Prince was right, Sire!" the scout gasped, clutching his side. "The ridges are crawling with them. Thousands of rebels. They've moved oil barrels and massive stones to the cliff edges. They were waiting for the dawn march. If we had entered that gorge, not a soul would have come out."
The air in the tent changed. I felt Fenrir's gaze on me. He stood up slowly, the dagger clicking as he sheathed it.
"Leave us," Fenrir told the scout.
Once the man was gone, Fenrir walked toward me. He didn't look impressed. He looked terrified and furious. He grabbed my arm and spun me around, pinning me back against the war table. The wooden blocks clattered to the floor.
"Who are you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "No prince of the Blue Moon knows the geography of Blackwater. No Omega knows how to read a ridge ambush from a schematic."
"I told you," I said, my voice cold. "I was a King. I've spilled more blood on maps like this than you've seen in your entire life."
"You're a liar," Fenrir said, his grip tightening until I knew I'd have bruises. "You're a spy, or a demon, or a ghost. Which is it?"
"Does it matter?" I asked. I didn't struggle against him, I just leaned forward. "I just saved your army and proved I'm the most valuable person in this camp. And it's eating you alive, isn't it? You wanted a toy you could control, and instead, you found a master."
Fenrir's golden eyes flashed. He looked down at my mouth, his jaw working. He wanted to crush me, to prove his dominance, but he hesitated. For the first time, I saw doubt in him.
"You think you can manipulate me with a few correct guesses?" he growled.
"It wasn't a guess," I whispered. "It was knowledge. You can't command what you don't understand, Fenrir. You understand how to kill, but you don't understand how to lead a war. Not yet."
Fenrir let out a sharp, frustrated breath. He released my arm and stepped back, pacing the tent.
"Jaxon!" he screamed.
The General reappeared at the tent flap, looking shaken. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"The plan is changed," Fenrir said, pointing at me but looking at Jaxon. "We use the sheep track. We take the heights tonight. And the Prince is coming with us."
Jaxon blinked. "Sire? To the front lines? In his...condition?"
"He says he knows war," Fenrir said, a dark smirk finally appearing on his face. "Let's see how he handles the smell of the blood he's so fond of. He rides with me. At the head of the column."
I straightened my tunic, my eyes locking onto Fenrir's. "Good. I was getting bored of the palace walls anyway."
"Don't get too comfortable, Linus," Fenrir said, stepping closer one last time. "If you trip or fall, I won't stop the horses for you. If you're a weapon, prove you don't break under pressure."
"I think you forget who you are speaking to." I said.
Fenrir turned to Jaxon. "Move the men. We ride at midnight."
As the General hurried away to relay the orders, I looked back at the map. The sheep track was the right move, but the war was just beginning. I could feel the Mate Bond humming in my blood, a constant, irritating reminder of the body I was trapped in.
I had twenty-four hours to turn this frail body into something that could survive a mountain climb. I didn't need their respect, I just needed their obedience. And after today, they knew better than to question the "rabbit".