📖 POV – The Boy
The march was steady, boots hammering the dirt road with the rhythm of discipline. My men held formation perfectly. For the first time, I allowed myself a flicker of pride.
Then the sound came — the low growl of engines. Dust rose ahead. A convoy.
The road narrowed to a single lane, the kind where protocol could decide life or death. My heart tightened. No ordinary convoy would travel here without clearance.
And then I saw it.
Black flags fluttering, the emblem of the Blackwood crest etched in gold. The Queen's convoy.
Lady Amara Blackwood herself was inside.
"Squad, halt!" My voice cracked slightly but carried enough force to freeze the men.
The convoy slowed, armored vehicles gliding with the precision of a predator. I stepped forward, chest tight, mind racing. This wasn't in the patrol brief. Why here? Why now?
The lead vehicle stopped before me. Doors clicked open, and the smell of polished steel and perfume mixed in the air. Guards in flawless black uniforms stepped out, weapons ready, eyes sharp. Their gaze swept over us like we were ants in their way.
"By protocol," I whispered under my breath, "the road belongs to BAM patrol unless countermanded by royal order."
But this wasn't just any carriage. This was Amara Blackwood — wife of Chris Blackwood, Queen of the Empire.
One of her guards approached. "Step aside. The Queen passes." His voice carried authority, but it wasn't the sharp edge of Soren's. It was polished, rehearsed, as though he expected no resistance.
I swallowed, remembering every lesson drilled into me. Orders are law. But loyalty is survival.
Behind me, my men shifted, waiting for my decision. Every heartbeat stretched like a drum. My first command test, and fate had chosen to place me in the path of royalty.
I lifted my chin, met the guard's eyes, and said, "Protocol requires identification before passage through this route. Even for the Queen." My voice was calm but heavy with the risk of treason.
The guard's hand twitched toward his blade.
And then, from within the convoy, a voice flowed out — clear, regal, soft but commanding.
"Let him come forward."
The world froze. My men stiffened. Even the birds went silent.
Amara Blackwood herself had spoken.
—