One
The Frozen Prince
50 Years Ago
The heavy beat of the approaching army’s drums echoed through my rib cage. My horse shifted beneath me with a nicker, and my grip on the reins tightened. Not for the first time, Rhyne’s forces had crossed the sea between our countries and landed on the flat edge of Penumbra Glades. Our armada had lost, and now the small town of Moeras was counting on me and my men to protect them. The people might have fled for safety, but their homes were here. Theirliveswere here.
And if I couldn’t save them, I didn’t deserve to call myself their prince.
“Ready yourselves!” I urged my mare forward, and her hooves churned through the soft muck of the marshy battlefield. Thick cattails battered her legs, and the harsh breeze carried the swampy stench of salt and earth. Flat and treeless, the expanse stretched before us, giving my troops full view of the amassing army. Glinting in the morning sun, their severe jade armor sent a chill running down my spine.
For years, that color had haunted my dreams. But no matter how many times I tried, no matter how many letters I sent in hopes of negotiating peace, the royal house of Rhyne would not listen. All they wanted was my head on a pike: a life for a life, a prince for a princess.
Amira. I pushed away the memory of her golden hair and gentle smile. War was no place to get lost in the past. I had other lives depending on me.
With a sharp click of my tongue, my horse leapt into a canter and made for the front line. Thousands of men and women clad in steel armor stared back at me, the griffin crest of Wilheim etched across their hearts. They stood at the ready, their backs ramrod straight and gazes locked forward, the white banners with their purple emblems snapping in the wind. We had no drums. We had no horns. We had no need to declare our presence. This was our home, and the quiet town at our backs was the only reminder we needed.
We would not lose.
As I came to a halt, one man broke rank and guided his stallion to my side. A scraggly beard crawled down his neck, and when he tipped his head in my direction, umber eyes locked with mine. He gripped my shoulder with a smile.
“Let’s get this over with. There’s an ale with my name on it waiting back at camp.” A laugh rumbled through his chest, cut short by a wet cough.
Dread stirred in my gut. “Thaleus?”
My general waved me off. “It’s nothing a little ale won’t fix. Best get on with this so I can wet my whistle.” Straightening, he pounded a closed fist to his chest a few times, seemingly loosening whatever had caught in his throat. The coughing died, but my unease didn’t.
This plague—or whatever it was—was just as skilled at killing my troops as Rhyne had proven to be, and if we didn’t get out of this gods-forsaken marsh soon, I wouldn’t have a kingdom left to defend.
Before I could say anything more, a low horn sounded from across the marsh. It picked up an octave right at the end before dying completely, signaling Rhyne’s attack. The ground rumbled from the sudden quake of hooves and feet, and thousands of jade soldiers crashed through the muddy banks toward our ranks.
Beside me, Thaleus took charge. “Archers!” His voice rang out loud and clear, and the tiniest sliver of relief settled my fear. We’d live to fight another battle together. We had to.
Archers raised their bows to the skies at his command, and Thaleus unsheathed his sword. “Nock!” His bellow was followed by the stretching of string and arrows clacking against wood. Shoulders tense, the archers held position without wavering. I turned my back to them and faced the oncoming threat. Tightened my grip on my sword.
“Steady,” Thaleus called. Blood rushed to my ears, carrying with it the frenzied beat of my heart. I took in a slow breath. Let it out. Repeated the action. Sounds dimmed, and all I could feel was the vibration of pounding feet. The time was here.
“Loose!” Thaleus’s order preceded a volley of arrows that blackened the sky. The sun winked out, and our world was cast into temporary shadow. The low whistle of wood and feathers sang through the air…until metal-tipped heads clanked against armor or sank into flesh, and the definitive sound of bodies hitting the earth interrupted the steady cadence of Rhyne’s war drums. Angered bellows answered our attack, and they broke formation to charge.
Thaleus signaled for another round of arrows before yanking his own sword out of its sheath. Turning to the men at our backs, he raised his weapon high. “Infantry with me. Riders with Prince Aleksander. We will not fall!”
The company of horsemen to my left waited with bated breath, their mounts pawing anxiously at the ground. Among them were three imposing figures clad in mercury armor. Sentinels. Wilheim’s elite force of soldiers tasked with protecting the city and the royal family. An army of them would have destroyed Rhyne’s men in a matter of days. Instead, thousands of men and women, soldiers I’d grown to love over the years, were forced to give up their lives so that my home could be protected.
Despite the war, despite my arguments with Father, the Sentinels of Wilheim remained stationed atop the gleaming diamond and marble walls—save these three. My royal guard.
Frustration brewed in my chest, but I bottled the anger tight and focused on Rhyne’s forces. Father might be able to deny our troops the aid of Sentinels, but he’d never stop me from leading the charge.
“For Lendria!” My war cry burned my throat at the same moment I dug my heels into my mare’s sides. She rocketed forward, and my riders followed. Spears and swords glinted in the sun as we charged toward the thick of the enemy ranks. With every pounding beat of my horse’s hooves, my pulse jumped higher. We rode without fear. We rode without hesitation. We rode without thinking of anything except what lay before us. Our horses crashed into the first wave of men, and soldiers crumpled to the ground as we effortlessly broke the line.
Spears shook and splintered against shields, swords clashed against armor and men. Blood sprayed all around us, and the earthy scent of the marsh was soon coated with an iron tang. And still we rode. I arced my sword high and crashed it against a soldier, meeting the soft spot between neck and shoulder. He fell to the earth only to be replaced by another, and another. Swinging to my left, I caught sight of the morning sky aglow with something other than pale sunlight. Enemy arrows soaked in oil and licking flames careened toward my brigade.
“Shields!” With my free hand, I stripped a shield from my horse’s side and flung it over my head. Arrows thumped into the soft wood, cooking the iron holds and heating my skin. I winced with every hit as each vibration shook through my bones. Once the rain of arrows died, I lowered my arm and continued to push my mare forward. The jarring clatter of armor meeting metal filled the air, and I swiped my blade at an advancing jade-clad soldier. His head hit the ground.
Part of me felt sick. The spray of blood against my horse’s legs turned her snowy-white coat a speckled red, and the sound of death was everywhere. But war was never pretty, and I’d be damned if I left my men to fight a battle I’d started, intentionally or not.
Beside me, the Sentinels were making easy work of our enemies. They’d dismounted and were cleaving through the ranks. Bodies fell in heaps around them, but they did not flinch.
Stomach churning, I stared out over the blood-soaked expanse. The muddy banks and shallow pools of water had turned a murky reddish brown, and the lifeless eyes of many, so many, stared up at me as I passed. It didn’t matter if their armor was jade or steel, their expressions were the same: lost. I hated it. This was a useless war with no end, but one side had to win eventually. One side had to cave.
