Blood and Flame
Lachlan heard a scream.
Sharp. Distant. Female.
His heart seized, then lurched back to life with a fury. Isla.
Another scream rang out, closer now. He didn’t need to think. His legs moved of their own accord, thundering through the corridor. Soldiers shouted orders around him, steel clanged against steel as the castle stirred into chaos. Then a whisper brushed his mind—soft, feminine, urgent.
Danger. She’s in danger.
Lachlan ran faster.
Voices echoed down the hallway. He heard Alastair yell, “Where is the Princess?”
A panicked answer followed, but Lachlan didn’t stop to listen. The thread of connection between him and Isla vibrated like a war drum in his bones. He felt her fear, the way it bloomed like poison in his chest.
He drew his sword.
Not today.
Not her.
Rounding the front of the castle, he burst into the courtyard. Archers were already on the ramparts, eyes scanning, bows drawn. His general fell into step beside him, sword raised. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alastair, hands glowing with fire, ready to strike.
Then he heard it—his name.
“Lachlan! Help!”
Her voice, raw and terrified.
He turned just in time to see her: Isla, sprinting across the courtyard, cloak missing, blood running down her arm. She stumbled, barefoot, as an arrow cut through the air toward her.
“DOWN!” Lachlan bellowed.
In one heartbeat, Alastair hurled a ball of fire, striking the arrow midair and blasting it into ash. Lachlan’s blood roared. He saw the lone figure on the rooftop, bow drawn again.
“KEEP HIM ALIVE!” Lachlan shouted to his men.
He ran to Isla, catching her just as her legs buckled. She collapsed into his arms, trembling, gasping for breath. Her blood soaked into his tunic.
“Are you hurt? Gods, Isla, where are you hit?”
“My arm,” she panted. “It’s my arm.”
He held her tighter, shielding her as more soldiers rushed in. Alastair leapt into the air, flames lighting the sky as he and a team of guards subdued the assassin. Shouts rang out, a thud, a cry. Then silence.
Lachlan pressed his forehead to Isla’s temple. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Her heart thundered against his. “You came for me.”
“Always.”
Alastair returned moments later, holding one of the arrows in his hand. He crouched near them, face grim.
Lachlan and Isla asked in unison: “What is it?”
Alastair rotated the arrowhead between his fingers. “This isn’t just any arrow. It’s laced with dark magic. Look at the fletching—royal colors from Dracona.”
Lachlan narrowed his eyes. “Dracona?”
Alastair nodded. “A kingdom south of ours. Thought to be legend, but this... this is a declaration. Someone doesn’t want her alive.”
Isla swallowed hard. “Why me?”
Lachlan rose, still holding her hand. “Because you matter more than you realize. And now, they know it too.”
The breeze carried the scent of ash and blood.
In that moment, Lachlan made a silent vow: whoever sent that assassin would pay. The prophecy, the doubt, the tension with Alastair—none of it mattered as much as the weight of Isla’s trembling body in his arms.
She was no longer just a mystery.
She was his.
And he would burn the world before letting anyone take her away.
—
The courtyard quieted, but the air still crackled with tension. Guards moved like shadows, sweeping the ramparts, checking for more threats. Somewhere, a bell tolled—late, useless, but a reminder that the castle had been breached.
Lachlan helped Isla to her feet, careful not to jostle her wounded arm. She winced, but didn’t pull away. Her fingers clung to his sleeve like a lifeline.
“We need a healer,” he said, voice low but urgent.
“I’ve already summoned Elspeth,” came a voice behind them.
Vaelen stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with concern. The royal mage moved with quiet authority, his cloak trailing behind him like smoke. “She’s preparing the warded chamber now.”
Lachlan nodded, grateful. “She’ll be safe there.”
Isla’s knees buckled again, and he caught her before she fell. Her skin was cold, her breath shallow.
“I didn’t see him at first,” she whispered. “I was walking the garden. After you left me in the corridor, I needed air. I thought the courtyard would be quiet.”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”
“I heard the birds first. They scattered from the orchard all at once. Then—” she swallowed, voice shaking, “an arrow landed right at my feet. I looked around, but there was no one. Then he stepped out from behind a tree. Bow drawn.”
She closed her eyes, reliving it.
“I screamed and ran. I felt the sting on my arm—just a graze, I think. But I tripped on my dress. Fell hard. My knees, my hands—” she held them up, scraped and bloodied. “I tried to get up, but another arrow came. It missed, but it cut my cheek.”
Lachlan’s hand trembled as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. A thin line of blood traced her cheekbone.
“You were lucky,” Vaelen said quietly. “Too lucky. That was no ordinary assassin.”
“No,” Lachlan agreed. “He was sent to send a message.”
They reached the warded chamber just as Elspeth arrived, her long dark robes whispering across the stone floor. Her silver hair was braided with tiny bones and feathers, and her eyes glowed faintly with power.
“Lay her down,” she said, already lighting candles with a flick of her fingers. “The magic in that arrow is old. Poisonous. But not beyond my reach.”
Lachlan obeyed, easing Isla onto the cot. She hissed in pain as her arm brushed the cushion.
Elspeth hovered her hands over the wound, murmuring in a language older than the kingdom itself. The air thickened, pulsing with unseen energy. A dark mist rose from Isla’s skin, curling like smoke before vanishing into the air.
“She’ll live,” Elspeth said at last. “But this was no accident. That magic was meant to mark her. To track her.”
Vaelen’s expression darkened. “Then we must assume more are coming.”
Lachlan didn’t flinch. “Let them.”
He stayed by Isla’s side long after the others left. Her breathing slowed, her lashes fluttered. Even in sleep, her fingers sought his.
She wasn’t just a princess.
She was a target.
A symbol.
A spark.
And Lachlan knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that this was only the beginning.