Noella was in the laboratory when he returned.
She was bent over a worktable, grinding a mixture of saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur with a mortar and pestle. Her hands were steady, her focus absolute.
The door opened. She didn't look up.
"You're back early."
Volsei stood in the doorway, the smell of pine and cold night air clinging to him. He said nothing.
She finally looked up. Saw the cut on his cheek—a thin, fresh line of dried blood. Saw the intensity in his eyes.
"What happened?"
He walked to the table. Dropped the stolen dispatch bag, the map, and the black book.
"They're mustering at Stonecross. Two hundred and fifty men. Three Soul-Prayer chanters. They plan to reduce Eden to a vassal state. And capture me."
Noella's hands stilled. The numbers hung in the air.
Two hundred and fifty. Against Eden's sixty aging guards and a handful of untrained volunteers.
"When?"
"New moon. Five days."
She put down the pestle. Wiped her hands on a rag. She unrolled the map. Saw the red circle around Eden. Saw the annotations in Tombsrose military shorthand.
"Stonecross is three days' march from here. They'll use Ironridge as a forward base."
"Ironridge is… indisposed," Volsei said.
She looked at him. "Explain."
"I left a message. They won't be hosting anyone for a while."
Noella studied his face. She saw no regret. No doubt. Only a cold, simmering resolve that mirrored her own.
"You engaged them."
"I discouraged them."
She nodded. The action was rash. It would accelerate the timeline. But it also sent a powerful signal.
She picked up the black book. Opened it. The phonetic notations were complex. The language was guttural, alien.
"The Prayer," she whispered. "This is a training manual."
"Yes."
"This changes everything." Her mind was already racing. "If we can analyze the phonetics, understand the vibrational patterns… we could potentially replicate it. Or find its resonant weaknesses."
"Or you could learn to chant it," Volsei said.
Noella shook her head. "It requires precise enunciation. Years of training. We don't have years. We have days."
She set the book aside. "First priority: survival. We need to stop that army before it reaches our walls."
She began to pace. "We cannot meet them in open battle. We'd be slaughtered. We must use terrain. Asymmetry. Your abilities. And my… concoctions."
She stopped. Looked at him. "You said you could cut down an army. Did you mean it?"
"Yes."
"But you'd be one against two hundred fifty. Even you have limits. Soul-fatigue. They have chanters who could disrupt you."
"Then we remove the chanters first. And we thin their numbers before they ever see us."
A plan began to crystallize in Noella's mind. A terrible, beautiful plan.
"The Blackwood," she said. "The main road from Stonecross passes through the eastern stretch. It's narrow there. Thick trees. Perfect for an ambush."
She went to her shelves. Pulled down jars. "I've been refining black powder mixtures. Increasing burn rate and force. I can create charges. Triggered by pressure or tripwires."
She looked at Volsei, her mismatched eyes alight. "We funnel them into the kill zone. Your cuts break their formations, target their officers and chanters. My explosives sow chaos and panic. We hit them at night. When they're tired from the march. When fear multiplies."
Volsei watched her. The cold fire in her. The ruthless logic. It was the most compelling thing he'd ever seen.
"It could work," he said. "But we need to know their exact route. Their marching order."
"We have their map. Their dispatches. We'll extrapolate. And we have you. You can scout them in real-time."
He nodded. "I can."
Noella's expression hardened. "There's a cost. We will be killing men. Many men. Some are just soldiers following orders."
Volsei's face was stone. "They chose to follow orders to destroy a kingdom. To take you. Their choices have consequences."
She knew he was right. This was the world. You ate, or you were eaten.
"We start preparing now," she said. "I'll work on the charges. You need to rest. Heal."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding." She stepped closer. Reached up. Her fingers brushed the cut on his cheek. It was a clinical gesture. Assessing damage.
He didn't flinch. He held very still.
Her touch was cool. Precise.
"It's shallow. Clean. It'll heal." She withdrew her hand. "But you need to be at full capacity. Rest for a few hours. At dawn, we begin."
For a moment, they just looked at each other. The space between them felt charged. Not with romance. With something darker. A shared purpose forged in blood and desperation.
"Alright," he said.
He turned to leave.
"Volsei."
He paused.
"Thank you. For the book. For the warning."
He looked back. "Don't thank me. Just win."
He left.
Noella stood alone in the laboratory. The silence was heavy with impending violence.
She looked at the map. At the black book. At her jars of powder.
Five days.
She moved to her worktable. She began measuring. Mixing. Her hands were steady.
She was no longer a princess in a tower.
She was an engineer of destruction.
And her first major project was an army.
\-\--
Dawn brought a council of war.
It was held in the great hall. King Alistair, Old Kael, Noella, and Volsei.
Noella laid out the plan. Coldly. Clearly.
Alistair paled. "An ambush? Noella, that's… that's not how kings wage war."
"We are not kings," Noella said. "We are survivors. This is how survivors win."
Kael grunted, rubbing his missing arm. "It's dirty. It's mean. I like it. But we need men who can set charges and not blow themselves up. And we need to get them into position without being seen."
"We take volunteers from the new guard," Noella said. "The ones who are agile, smart. We train them today and tomorrow on basic charge placement. Volsei and I will handle the complex positioning."
She looked at Volsei. "We need to scout the ambush site. Today. Plan the kill zones."
He nodded.
Alistair looked defeated. "I cannot order men to what may be their deaths."
"You don't have to," Noella said. "I will. And they will follow me."
There was no arrogance in her voice. Just fact.
She had taken command. The kingdom was hers now.
The meeting broke up. Kael went to gather volunteers. Alistair retreated to his solar, a ghost of a king.
Noella and Volsei prepared to ride out.
In the courtyard, as they mounted horses, a young guard approached. He was barely eighteen, with wide eyes.
"Princess. Sir. I… I want to help. My family is in the east village. The raiders… you saved them. I'll do anything."
Noella looked at him. Saw the fear, and the determination beneath it.
"What's your name?"
"Rylan, Your Highness."
"Can you follow orders exactly, Rylan? Even if they don't make sense?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then report to Kael. You're with us."
The boy's face lit up. He saluted clumsily and ran off.
Volsei watched him go. "He'll probably die."
"Probably," Noella said, tightening the straps on her saddlebag. "But he'll die for something. That's more than most get."
They rode out of the castle gates, side by side.
The people of the town watched them pass. Their faces were a mix of hope and dread.
They knew the storm was coming.
And the only shelter was a ruthless princess and her dark guardian.
The road to the Blackwood stretched before them, dark and winding.
The first move in their desperate game had been made.
Now, they went to prepare the board.