The Northern Pass was a narrow ribbon of stone squeezed between two towering cliffs. The wind howled through the gorge, carrying with it the stinging bite of a winter storm. Kaia led the rebel column, her eyes scanning the ridgeline above. Something felt wrong. The silence was too heavy, even for a midnight march.
"Where are they?" Silas hissed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You said the King's guard would be here, Kaia. All I see is snow and shadows."
"They're coming," Kaia whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked ahead and saw a small flickering light—a single lantern held by a man in white robes, the universal sign of a diplomat.
"There!" Silas pointed his blade. "The King's envoy. Kill him!"
"No!" Kaia shouted, grabbing Silas's arm. "Look at his hands, Silas! He's unarmed! He carries the seal of the Great Peace. Alaric isn't here to fight. He's here to talk!"
Silas froze, his eyes narrowing in the darkness. "Talk? After all the blood? You've led us into a trap of words, Kaia!"
But before Silas could react, a sharp twang echoed from the cliffs above. A black-feathered arrow hissed through the air, piercing the diplomat's chest. The man fell silently into the snow, the lantern shattering and extinguishing his small light.
"Archers!" Kaia screamed. "Take cover!"
Arrows began to rain down from both sides of the pass. These weren't the King's men, and they weren't rebels. They were Lord Thorne's private assassins, dressed in black to blend into the night.
"They're killing everyone!" Silas roared, shielding his face as a rebel soldier fell beside him. "The King has betrayed us!"
"It's not the King!" Kaia cried out, pulling her own dagger. "Look at the fletching on the arrows—it's the crest of the High Council! Thorne is trying to murder us all!"
From the other end of the pass, a group of royal knights charged forward, led by a man on a white stallion. It was Alaric. He rode into the chaos, his sword glowing in the moonlight as he deflected arrows meant for Kaia.
"Alaric, get back!" Kaia yelled, running toward him. "It's an ambush from the inside!"
Alaric leaped from his horse, standing back-to-back with Kaia as the assassins began to descend from the cliffs on ropes. "I know," he grunted, parrying a blow from a black-clad attacker. "Thorne has declared me a traitor for seeking peace. My own army is divided."
For the first time in history, the Black Wolf of the rebellion and the Golden Lion of the crown fought side-by-side. Silas, seeing the King defending Kaia, hesitated for only a second before joining the fray.
"For House Valerius!" Silas roared, burying his axe in an assassin's shoulder.
The pass became a whirlwind of steel and screams. Kaia moved with a deadly grace she had forgotten she possessed, her mind focused only on keeping Alaric alive. But even as they fought, she saw more torches appearing on the ridgeline.
"We're surrounded," Alaric whispered, his breathing heavy. "If we don't break through now, the Northern Pass will be our shared grave."
Kaia looked at the steep cliffside. "There's a hidden path, an old smuggler's route my father showed me. If we can reach the cave entrance, we can get behind them."
"Lead the way," Alaric said, his hand briefly gripping hers. "I'll cover the rear."
As they fought their way toward the cliff, Kaia realized the war had changed. It was no longer Rebels versus the Crown. It was those who wanted peace versus those who thrived on blood. And for the first time, she wasn't just fighting for her father's memory—she was fighting for a future she never thought possible