Weeks passed, and the wounds of the siege began to heal. Damon's hand, though still stiff and bandaged, was mending, and the walls of the Vexin fortress were being rebuilt with a renewed sense of purpose. The scars of the battle remained, but they served as a reminder of their victory. The people of the borderlands, now a unified force, were not just a collection of clans; they were a single, battle-hardened people. The alliance between Damon, Isolde, and Arion was stronger than ever, a testament to the shared hardship they had endured.
In the royal court, news of the King's Guard's defeat and the death of General Valerius had arrived like a dagger to the heart. The King, a man not used to losing, flew into a rage that shook the foundations of his castle. He had lost his personal guard, his most trusted commander, and his authority had been openly defied by a group of rebellious mountain lords.
"They are savages!" he roared, his face a purple mask of fury. "They are not men of honor! I will send a new army, a greater army! I will burn that fortress to the ground!"
But as the King seethed, his Queen, a woman of cold intellect and cunning ambition, spoke with a quiet authority that cut through his rage. "My Lord," she said, her voice like ice, "You cannot break the wolf in its den. It is too strong, too cunning in its own territory. We have lost a thousand men trying to attack their home, a cost we cannot continue to afford."
The King, though furious, listened. "Then what is your counsel?"
The Queen smiled, a chilling, triumphant expression. "We will force them to leave their home. We will not hunt the wolf in its den; we will hunt its pups. We will target their smaller armies, cut off their supply lines, and starve them of their resources. We will bleed them dry on our terms, and we will force them to leave their fortress to face us."
The King, seeing the cold, strategic logic of her plan, nodded his approval. The war had just become a new and more dangerous game.
The Queen's strategy proved to be a formidable threat. A new, professional army, commanded by a ruthless and cunning general, began to hunt the Vexin's smaller, more vulnerable armies in the lowlands. The Vexin, with their combined forces, were fighting a new kind of war, a war not of honor and duels, but of traps and ambushes.
The battle took place in the rolling hills, a place the Vexin knew like the back of their hands. Arion's cavalry, with their hit-and-run tactics, led the main force of the King's army into a deep ravine. There, Damon's men, waiting in ambush, rained down a torrent of arrows and a flurry of steel.
The Vexin won a decisive victory, forcing the enemy to retreat with heavy losses. It was a clear, unassailable triumph, a testament to the new strength of the House of Vexin. The King's army, though a formidable force, had been outmatched not by strength, but by strategy.
That night, in the war council tent, Damon, Isolde, and Arion looked at a map, a triumphant sense of victory in the air. They had won. But they knew this was only a temporary reprieve. The King would not stop. They had proven they could win battles, but the true test was yet to come. They were no longer just defending their home; they were fighting a war for their very existence.