The day Queen Rhoslyn announced her pregnancy, she wept for her homeland. The King indulged her, leaving with 10,000 guards to escort her to Maira. The moment they departed, the Vargr Horde attacked. My betrothed died defending the gates. The Queen Mother saved me—at the cost of her honor and life. When the King returned, I knelt before him in my mother’s blood. In the final battle, he shot Queen Rhoslyn himself when she was taken hostage. After victory, the people hailed me as "The Shield of Aethelgard" and built a monument in my honor. The night before its dedication, the King dragged me to the dungeons. "You were the traitor," he hissed, carving into my flesh with a dagger. "You sacrificed her for fame." 1 Before the last echo of agony could fade, a hand gripped my wrist, yanking me back to a world of fire and screams. “Pearl, run! The secret passage… get through the catacombs, ride out of the city, and find your brother!” My mother’s urgent voice shattered the phantom memory. I looked at the fresh bloodstains splattered across her regal gown and understood. This was real. I had been reborn into this nightmare. In my last life, she had said these very words. She had pushed me into the darkness of the passage and then turned, a lone, graceful figure, to face the Vargr chieftain with her own fragile body. To buy me time, she had feigned surrender, a diplomatic dance that ended with her being slain by the chieftain's own hand. A queen of virtue and grace, her name defiled, her body cast into the streets. The thought made me clutch her hand with desperate strength. “Pearl, what are you doing?” she faltered. “I have ways of dealing with these brutes. Trust me…” “No,” I said, my voice steady as I pulled a heavy sigil from my tunic. “Mother, it’s too late to chase after the King. Even if his army turned back now, Aethelgard would fall. The Vargr are butchers. If they breach the walls, not a single soul in this city will be left alive!” In my past life, it took me three agonizing days to intercept my brother’s caravan at the river crossing. By then, the capital had already fallen. Its people, slaughtered. My fiancé, Lord Robin of House Valerius, had died refusing to surrender the main gate, his body pierced by a hundred arrows. The image of his broken form, barely recognizable, sent a spike of ice through my heart. As I spoke, a blade whistled through the air, aimed for my mother’s neck. My eyes flew wide. There was no time to think. I threw myself in front of her. The pain never came. A flash of steel intercepted the dagger, and Robin was there, his own sword sinking into the chest of the attacker. My mother gasped. “Lady Elspeth!” Elspeth had been my mother’s lady-in-waiting for decades, a trusted companion. Now, a Vargr spy. The palace, I realized with a cold dread, was already infested. Robin stood before us, a grim guardian. “Pearl, the Horde is at the gates! Why haven’t you ridden to the garrison at the city's edge for aid?” He scowled, his frustration clear. “The King’s carriage had only just departed when the Vargr appeared. I sent a raven immediately, but there has been no reply…” I shook my head, a heavy sadness settling over me. “It’s no use, Robin. He won’t believe it.” Before he left, the Queen, Rhoslyn, had complained of my "childish pranks," and used it as an excuse to give the garrison a direct, unassailable order: no matter what happened in the capital, they were not to mobilize their troops. I held up the sigil. “Our only chance now is this forged command…” “Are you mad?” Robin retorted, his voice sharp. “Military orders are not a child’s game! The raven should have reached the King by now. We must hold the walls! Reinforcements will come!” As if on cue, a royal messenger, pale and stumbling, burst into the room, clutching a scroll. Robin’s face lit up with hope as he rushed to meet him. 2 “What did the King say? Is the army returning?” His hands trembled as he broke the seal on the scroll. I watched as the hope on his face curdled, first to confusion, then to ashen disbelief. My mother snatched the scroll from his limp fingers. She read it, cried out, and collapsed to the floor. “Gods have mercy… What have we done?” On the parchment, my brother raged. He accused the messenger of spreading treasonous lies, claiming his journey to Maira had been peaceful and serene, with no sign of any Vargr invasion. “Is my sister Pearl so bored that she now invents military crises for sport? Robin, if you continue to indulge her whims, do not be surprised when I return and punish you both!” The young messenger prostrated himself, his voice cracking. “Lord General, Princess… the Vargr… they are massing at the Sunken Gate…” Robin wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his brow. He gripped the hilt of his sword, his jaw set like stone. Without a word, he turned to head for the battlements. “The men of my House live and die with this city,” he declared, his voice ringing with grim finality. “We do not surrender!” He was going to do it. Just like the last time. He would lead the last of his family’s elite guard in a hopeless defense of the walls. I shoved the forged sigil into the hands of a loyal page. “The secret passage,” I commanded. “Ride to the garrison. Bring back help.” Then I tore a strip of velvet from my sleeve, tied it over the lower half of my face, and followed Robin to the top of the wall. He raised his arm, a signal. Below, his men roared. They were going out. With Robin’s final command, the massive gate boomed shut behind him, leaving three thousand of our finest soldiers to face a tide of fifty thousand Vargr. He raised his family’s banner, his teeth gritted. “For House Valerius! For Aethelgard! Charge!” “CHARGE!” Fueled by the certainty of death, the three thousand smashed into the Vargr line like a thunderbolt, tearing a bloody path straight toward the chieftain. Robin’s longsword was a blur of silver, nearly piercing the chieftain’s skull. But in the next instant, an arrow flew from behind him, a black streak against the sky. An arrow from within his own ranks. My own bow was in my hands before I knew it. My fingers, trembling, drew the string taut. I loosed an arrow of my own, a desperate prayer. It struck the shaft of the poisoned arrow mid-flight, deflecting it just enough that it grazed Robin’s pauldron instead of his neck. But the moment was lost. The chieftain was on horseback now, surrounded by a wall of shields. The chance for a killing blow was gone. I lowered my bow, my heart hammering against my ribs. So that was it. In my past life, that poison arrow, the one that had thrown him from his horse and left his body to rot, had come from his own men. His most trusted comrade had delivered the fatal blow. Realizing there was a traitor in his midst, Robin abandoned the suicidal charge, his brow furrowed as he bellowed the order to retreat to the gate. 3 I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my knees giving way as I sank against the cold stone of the parapet. But as I started to descend the stairs, I saw Robin’s body go rigid on his horse. A masked soldier, the one riding closest to him, pulled a long, blood-slick sword from Robin’s back. He swayed, clutching his chest, and tumbled from the saddle. “Robin…” My world narrowed to a single point of horror. The gate creaked open, and I ran, tears streaming down my face, not caring about the chaos around me. I threw myself to my knees beside him. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. He coughed, a spray of dark blood staining his lips. Yet he still raised a trembling hand, trying to wipe the tears from my cheek. “Pearl… don’t cry. I’m… I’m alright.” I pressed my hands against the gaping wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but the blood just flowed faster, slick and hot between my fingers. Why? Why was it happening again? Was I doomed to watch him die in my arms a second time? Through my haze of grief, my mother arrived, dragging the royal physician with her. “Don’t just stand there, you fool! Heal him!” The sword had missed his heart by a mere inch. But the physician’s face was grim. The blade had been poisoned. “A rare venom from the Western Isles,” he murmured, shaking his head. “In all my years, I have never seen its like.” Without the antidote, Robin wouldn’t last three days. Looking at his deathly pale face, I bit my lip until it bled and ran for the palace gates. I knew the poison. And I knew that the only antidote, the Serpent’s Kiss orchid, grew only on Mount Cinder, a peak shrouded in toxic fumes just beyond the city’s edge. Three days. It was just enough time to get there and back. But the page I’d sent with the forged sigil hadn’t returned. The garrison commander must have seen through the forgery. If I went now, he would likely imprison me for treason. I had no other choice. Three days from now was also when the Vargr planned their final assault. If I failed, it wouldn’t just be Robin who died. It would be everyone. 4 I slipped out through the secret passage, emerging into the cold, dark water of the city’s moat. I swam for my life, my lungs burning. A cold arrow grazed my leg, but I didn’t dare make a sound, just bit down on the pain and swam deeper. By the time I clawed my way to the bank near the garrison, I was a shivering, bleeding mess. I didn’t even have time to speak before a heavy blow struck the back of my neck, and the world went black. When I opened my eyes, it was to the damp, musty dark of a dungeon cell. The garrison commander, General Valerius, was an old veteran who had fought alongside my brother to win the throne. He was also our mentor, the man who had taught both me and Robin how to wield a sword. Tears burned my eyes, and I fell to my knees. “Master! The Vargr are at the gates, Aethelgard is about to fall! Robin is dying! I beg you, mobilize the army!” General Valerius stepped out of the shadows. The familiar warmth was gone from his face, replaced by an iron-hard mask of fury. “Pearl,” he said, his voice cold as stone. “The Queen’s urgent dispatch arrived not an hour ago. How long were you going to lie to me?” At his command, a guard dragged forward the bloody, beaten form of my young page. He threw my forged sigil at my feet. “The Queen was right. You forged a royal command and fabricated a military crisis. Princess or not, that is treason. A crime punishable by death.” His voice dripped with disappointment. “Is your petty jealousy of the Queen so great that you would stoop to this?” His accusation struck me like a physical blow. I sank to the floor. My hands shook as I pulled out the decree my mother had given me. “Master, I had no choice! The Vargr Horde truly is at our walls! If there had been any other way, I would never have defied a royal order…” I held it out to him. “This is a mobilization order written in my mother’s own hand, bearing her royal seal. If you do not believe me, do you also doubt the Queen Mother?” He snatched the scroll from my hand with a cold snort. I looked up, a sliver of hope piercing my despair, only to watch him tear the Queen Mother’s decree to shreds. Then he picked up a whip. “Do you take me for a fool? If you can forge a sigil, you can forge your mother’s hand. You are closer to her than anyone. Stealing her seal would be a simple matter for you.” He raised the whip. “I am warning you, Pearl. Stop these games. If you persist, this will not end with a simple flogging.”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393325", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel