Chapter 62

And we did.

Sword in one hand, lightning in the other, I felt it all — the rush, the fear, the strange calm. My magic hummed in sync with the storm overhead now. Every strike I made lit up the battlefield like midday sun.

But there were too many.

By the time we cleared the first wave, two knights had already fallen — their bodies dragged back by comrades while healers worked frantically in the background.

I gritted my teeth, breath fogging in the cold.

“Again,” I said, voice raw.

Alaric stepped beside me, his hand on my shoulder just briefly — grounding. “We’re not done yet.”

A second wave came, bigger and uglier. Orc-like things with jagged bone armor and butterfly-winged creatures that dripped poison from their mouths.

The fight blurred after that.

Magic. Blood. Lightning. Shadow.

Me and Alaric moving like two halves of the same blade — cutting down everything in our path.

And then, as the last monster fell, silence finally returned.

Smoke curled from the edges of the Rift. We stood together, breath ragged, surrounded by fallen bodies — some ours, most theirs.

Slowly, the rift pulsed one final time...and closed.

I let out a shaking laugh, wiping blood off my cheek. Alaric turned toward me, eyes dark and hot, and for a moment there was nothing else.

No prince. No court. No prophecy.

Just me and him.

“I told you I could handle myself,” I murmured.

“I never doubted it,” he said, voice low.

His hand brushed mine — a quiet, deliberate thing.

We didn’t need words after that.

Just the storm. And us.

Alaric POV

The moment we stepped back from the rift zone, the weight of the battle settled on my shoulders like iron chains. My gauntlets were stained—some of it monster blood, most of it ours. Abby was beside me, breathing hard but steady, lightning still flickering faintly around her like her body refused to let the storm sleep.

We hadn’t even cleared the first wave.

Not really.

There were too many. Too organized.

And worse—the rift wasn’t closing. It was pulsing. Slow. Steady. Alive.

By the time we pulled back to camp, we had lost three knights. Two others were too wounded to stand. Abby walked with her head high, but I saw her glancing back over her shoulder toward the rift’s dark outline in the distance.

When I caught her arm, she didn’t pull away.

“We’ll regroup,” I said, voice low. “We camp here tonight.”

She didn’t argue. Just nodded once and flicked her fingers toward the remaining guards.

By the time we had tents up again, the sun had fallen completely. The valley around us glowed only from campfires and the quiet shimmer of enchanted wards placed by the mages. A heavy tension hung in the air. The kind that came after a fight you knew wasn’t finished.

I stood outside my tent, watching the knights move in tired, grim patterns. Checking supplies. Sharpening weapons with faces like stone.

Lucien was sitting with the healers, shadows curling faintly at his feet as he watched one of the wounded knights. I didn’t look at him long.

Instead, my eyes always drifted back to Abby.

She was by the lake edge again, kneeling with her hands in the water, rinsing monster blood from her blade. The moonlight caught her hair. Storm-blue cloak draped over her shoulders like a second skin.

And I knew—if she pushed herself any harder, she’d burn herself out.

I moved toward her quietly, boots crunching over frost-bitten grass.

“You should rest.”

“I will,” she said without looking up. “After I’m sure everyone else is settled.”

Her voice was steady. Too steady.

I crouched beside her, watching the ripples in the lake.

“The rift isn’t like the others,” I said finally. “You feel it too.”

She nodded once. “It’s...older. Stronger.”

I didn’t say it, but we both knew it meant trouble. A rift like that meant layered waves. Multiple bosses. Things the kingdom hadn’t seen in decades.

My hand brushed her shoulder without thinking, just a quiet weight.

She glanced at me, tired eyes softening. And when I saw that flicker of storm magic still around her fingertips, I couldn’t help it—I let my own mana flare, a steady hum of warmth against hers.

We stayed like that for a long moment. Silent. Together.

Until Norma’s voice echoed from the main camp.

“Oi! Your Grace! Lady Abby! Food’s ready before it gets colder than your flirting!”

Abby snorted. Her mouth twitched like she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or glare.

I stood up first, offering her my hand.

“Come on,” I said. “Before Norma sets the stew on fire just to prove a point.”

Her fingers slid into mine easily. No hesitation. Just lightning meeting flame.

By the time we made it back to the central firepit, the knights had gathered around in quiet clumps. Stew bubbled in a large iron pot. Sausages and dried meat, too—nothing fancy, but hot food was always welcome after blood.

Abby sat beside me, and for once Lucien didn’t hover close. I noticed that. I noticed everything.

From the way her hand brushed my knee under the table, quiet and deliberate—

—to the way the men glanced between us, whispering their own theories.

Let them.

I’d already made my choice.

Later, when the food was gone and the fires burned low, I walked the perimeter alone. Abby’s tent was set just far enough away to give her privacy, but not so far that I couldn’t reach her if I needed to.

The sky above was a flat stretch of dark clouds. The rift pulsed on the horizon—quiet now. Waiting.

And I stood there, fingers resting on the hilt of my sword, feeling like this was just the calm before something much, much worse.