Chapter 89: WILD ANIMAL

(Valen pov)

The barrier did not yield, no matter how much force they drove into it. Valen stood before it, watching the faint distortion in the air where something unseen held fast.

At his signal, two shield-bearers stepped forward again, digging into the earth as they braced and struck together, the force of it shuddering back through their arms hard enough to make them falter. The barrier itself did not give.

Frustration in his chest. The beast that took Keira had slipped through easily, while every attempt he made met with failure. Why could it breach what neither he nor his entire army could touch?

They could be here far longer than he had intended.

That thought pressed on his nerves, unwelcome, as he stormed back toward the rise. From there, he surveyed his camp and the nervous energy prickling between every man.

This isn’t how Valen fought and won a battle.

His victories were built on momentum that broke the enemy, leaving them no time to recover. This was something else, a standstill enforced by magic that did not answer to strength alone.

He stopped at the crest of the rise and looked back at the castle, tracing the walls, the towers, the battlements where he had last seen her, and, despite himself, the memory rose again.

Keira.

Not as she had stood beside him in battle, but as she had been in that moment, held where she did not belong, another man’s hand on her, her body still in a way that did not fit with anything he knew of her, the image had burned into him; it did not sit right.

Valen’s jaw tightened slightly as he drew a slow breath, forcing the thought into order rather than letting it spread unchecked.

He had seen something he did not understand.

Aeden would have found her by now. If anyone could follow her trail through the chaos, it would be him, and Aeden did not return empty-handed.

He would bring answers. He would bring truth.

Valen held to that.

Footsteps approached behind him, closing the distance without pause; he knew before she spoke that it was not one of his men.

Brenda came to stand beside him, her presence composed and far more aware than she allowed others to see. Valen remained attuned to every shift in her posture, recognizing a perspective different from his own as it entered the conversation.

For a moment, she said nothing, looking to the castle as he had, and when she finally spoke, her manner carried only calm observation.

“You expected to take it quickly.”

Valen did not look at her.

“I expected a fight,” he replied, his speech even. “Not this witchcraft.”

“Even weak kings know they cannot stand alone,” she said.

The words stood between them.

“This is not strength,” he said. “This King is a coward.”

She did not turn immediately, though something in the set of her shoulders had changed, something less guarded.

“I am here because it was decided for me,” she continued. “Not because I chose it.”

Valen studied her in silence.

“You are your father’s heir,” he said. “You command men. You fight your own battles.”

“That is what is seen,” she replied, and now she did turn, meeting him directly, without hesitation. “Not what it costs.”

For a moment, Valen saw her not as the daughter of a powerful house or the woman placed at his side for alliance, but as something else entirely.

Placed into position and used.

“We are both pawns,” she said.

Her words hurt, but it was the truth.

“Yes,” he agreed.

It was not the agreement she might have wanted, but it was not dismissal. That small space between them became a place of proximity.

Her hand lifted as she spoke again, the movement natural, unforced, and in the turn of it her fingers caressed lightly against his wrist.

Valen’s look dropped briefly to the contact before returning to her face.

Brenda did not withdraw at once.

She let the moment exist, then allowed her hand to fall as though nothing of consequence had passed between them, though the intention behind it remained clear.

She was not without skill.

Below them, his men shifted as she moved along the ridge, the change mild yet unmistakable, a widening of space, a reluctance to close ranks around her that had never existed with Keira.

He had seen how they had stood with the warcat, how they had followed her without question, how respect had come to her without effort, built on what she had proven rather than what she represented.

This was different.

Brenda was acknowledged, she was not followed.

“Your men do not trust me,” she said quietly.

“They do not know you,” Valen replied.

“They did not need to know her.”

The words came easily.

“No,” he said. “They did not.”

Brenda watched him for a moment, something thoughtful passing through her expression before it settled again.

“I am not her,” she said.

“No,” Valen replied.

Something in his tone made her stop.

“I will prove what I am,” she said.

Valen did not answer.

The light faded, the camp shifted toward night, fires were lit, and watch rotations changed. This was about endurance, not immediate battle.

Valen remained where he was, his attention fixed outward, his thoughts moving through the problem in front of him and refusing to settle on anything that did not lead to an answer.

Magic held the walls.

Time would break his men before it broke that barrier.

That much was clear.

The first scream cut through the camp without warning.

It came from the outer lines, sharp and sudden, not the cry of a man calling out to another, but the kind born of shock more than pain, and it was followed almost immediately by men shouting.

Valen turned at once.

A runner was already moving toward him, breathing hard, eyes wide in a way that did not belong to a trained soldier.

“Something hit the perimeter,” he said, the words coming fast. “One of the outer watch posts went quiet, then we heard…” He cut himself off, swallowing hard before continuing. “We found them. Two men. Throats torn out.”

Valen’s gaze sharpened.

“Wolves?” he asked.

The man shook his head.

“No tracks we can follow, no scent that holds. Horses are unsettled. Won’t go near that stretch of ground.”

Another voice carried up from below, sharper this time, edged with anger rather than fear.

“It moved through them too quickly.”

Valen’s attention flicked toward the line where the disturbance had begun, his expression hardening as he took in the way the men had drawn together.

“What did you see?” he asked.

The runner hesitated.

“Nothing clear,” he admitted. “A shape, maybe. It could be a wild animal.”

The words did not convince him.

“Double the watch,” he said. “No one stands alone. Firelight on every post.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man moved to obey, and Valen remained where he was, his hand resting lightly against the hilt at his side, his gaze fixed on the darkness that had gathered between his army and the walls he had yet to breach.

Whatever had moved through his men…

…it had not done so by chance