Strategising

Strategising
The room was suffocating, thick with the weight of unspoken truths. The flickering light of the chandelier cast long, haunted shadows on the walls, and I could feel every heartbeat in my chest as I walked into the war room. The doors shut behind me with a resonating boom, sealing me into this haven of dark decisions.

Gwynne, pale and bruised, sat at the table, the remnants of a bandage loosely wrapped around his arm, but it was clear from the pallor of his skin that the injury was much more serious than he was letting on. His usual glibness was gone, replaced by a sullen silence that hung in the air like an oppressive fog. The humor I knew so well had drained from him, leaving behind only the sharp edge of something darker.

Saelene, ever regal and calculating, stood near the hearth, her arms crossed as she observed the room with a hawk-like intensity. Her icy gaze flickered momentarily to Gwynne, but she said nothing. In the corner, Fionn—a shadow among shadows—watched me with an unreadable expression, his posture tense but not quite threatening. He had never quite forgiven me, not for taking him in and not for the years of servitude to my will.

But tonight was different. Something had changed in all of us, and it felt like a storm, brewing beneath the surface, just waiting to break.

I moved toward Gwynne, my gaze softening as I approached him. The bandages were far too soaked for this to be a scratch, and though his bravado had always been a mask, now it felt like a brittle thing ready to shatter.

Without warning, I stepped forward, pulled him into a hug. I could feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of his clothes, but it was the tremor beneath his skin that told me the truth—he was fading fast.

His hand came up to clutch at my shoulder, the pressure light, as if afraid he might break. “I’m fine, Lucien. Really.” His voice was weak, but there was a shadow of his old self there—underneath the exhaustion, the blood loss. But I knew better.

“You’re not fine,” I growled softly, pulling him closer, feeling the quiet desperation that he no longer cared to hide. “You should have been more careful.”

“I didn’t expect him,” he muttered, his breath shaky. The words seemed to hang between us like an unsaid truth. But I didn’t press him further, not now. There would be time for that later, when the danger had passed.

Saelene broke the silence. “The Everleighs will come again. They will not stop.”

Her voice was sharp, like the chill that always seemed to cling to her skin. Her gaze flickered toward Fionn, who had yet to speak. The air between them was thick, but neither of them made a move to address the awkwardness.

“We will stop them,” Fionn said abruptly, his voice low and heavy with something unreadable. “We can’t let them have another chance.”

“I never said we would,” Saelene replied, her tone laced with ice. “But we cannot underestimate their resolve.”

Gwynne shifted in my arms, his head pressing against my chest. “You’re too soft on them, Lucien. They won’t listen.”

I said nothing, my gaze drifting to the door as I considered the looming reality. How much longer would we have before the Everleighs arrived? How much time did we truly have?

I looked down at Gwynne, his eyes closed, his breath ragged. He looked like he was about to slip away into the dark abyss—like he would fade out of existence if I loosened my hold on him for a second.

But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen.

I felt the rawness of it, the sharp sting of fear, and it made my chest ache in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in ages. Gwynne was more than just a part of my court. He was a thread that tied me to the living, to the part of myself that still felt, still cared. And I couldn’t lose him—not like this.

Saelene’s voice broke the tension like a blade through silk. “We’ll need a strategy. A real plan. And to action it. Now.”

Her words were cold, calculating. Always so pragmatic, even in the face of death. She began outlining the defense protocols, though I could barely focus on her. My thoughts kept drifting to Gwynne, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

Fionn’s voice, strained and tired, drifted over to me. “I’ll make sure the west entrance is reinforced. If they come, they’ll be forced to fight for every inch of ground.”

His words were a distraction. But I saw through it. He was afraid. He was afraid of losing what little he had left of me—afraid of the inevitable storm that was coming. But I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we were all already in its eye.

"Sleep, all of you," I said. "We'll meet tomorrow at midnight and discuss."

We all knew the truth: the battle was inevitable, and so was the price we’d all pay.