ROYAL BLOOD 👑

Chapter 13: The Attack

*Trigger warnings*

⊱⋅ ───── 🍂 ───── ⋅⊰

Elara's worst fears were realized as the chaos of battle erupted around them. Before they could even reach their planned destination, they were ambushed by the queen's guards, their numbers far exceeding their own. The clatter of armor and weapons filled the air, mingling with the shouts and cries of men locked in mortal combat. Panic seized Elara's heart as she realized they were outnumbered and outmatched, trapped in the midst of a deadly skirmish in the dim light of dawn.

The sight of the enemy forces closing in sent a shiver down Elara's spine, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she struggled to maintain her composure amidst the chaos. Her hands trembled as she clutched at the hilt of a dagger, a weapon she had never before wielded in earnest.

Around her, the men of Lysander's party fought valiantly, their faces contorted in grim determination as they clashed with their adversaries. Swords flashed in the dim light, the metallic clang of steel ringing out with each clash, while arrows whistled through the air, finding their marks with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the melee, Elara felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, lending her strength and clarity of purpose. With no combat training to speak of, she knew she had to rely on her wits and instincts to survive. Desperation fueled her movements as she dodged and weaved through the fray, seeking out any opportunity for escape.

As the battle raged on, Elara's thoughts were consumed by the singular goal of self-preservation. Gone was her concern for Lysander's opinion of her loyalty; all that mattered now was surviving the brutal onslaught unfolding around her. With each step she took, she pushed herself harder, driven by a primal instinct to evade the clutches of death that threatened to consume her at every turn.

As Elara darted through the chaos of the ambush, her heart pounding with fear, she felt a sudden tug at her clothes, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground. Before she could react, a pair of strong hands closed around her arms, wrenching her roughly to her feet. Panic surged through her veins as she found herself face to face with one of the queen's guards, his expression twisted into a sneer of triumph.

With a surge of adrenaline, Elara fought against his grip, but his strength was overwhelming. She could feel her breath coming in short, frantic gasps as he dragged her toward him, his grip unyielding.

"No! Let me go!" she cried out, her voice choked with desperation. But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the guard tightened his hold, his gaze cold and unrelenting.

In a desperate bid for freedom, Elara kicked out with all her might, striking the guard squarely in the shin. He grunted in pain, but his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh like steel claws.

With a defiant yell, Elara lashed out, striking the guard with all the force she could muster. He staggered, momentarily stunned by her unexpected resilience, but his fury quickly reignited as he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently. Through the haze of pain, Elara's mind raced, searching for any means of escape.

In a desperate bid for freedom, she raised her head and delivered a sharp blow to the guard's jaw, causing him to stumble backward in surprise. Seizing the opportunity, Elara scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest as she darted away from her assailant.

But her escape was short-lived as the guard, fueled by rage and determination, pursued her relentlessly. With a swift motion, he reached out and tore away her mask, revealing her identity to the world.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the guard stared at Elara in disbelief, his features contorted with shock. It was then that the full weight of her predicament crashed down upon her, leaving her vulnerable and exposed in the face of her enemy's wrath.

Amidst the chaos of the skirmish, an arrow suddenly whistled through the air, finding its mark with deadly accuracy as it pierced the guard's neck. Elara's scream echoed through the tumult, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched in stunned disbelief.

Before she could fully comprehend what had happened, Lysander was at her side, his strong arms wrapping around her protectively as he checked her for any signs of injury. Lysander's eyes blazed with fury as he demanded an answer from Elara, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. "What are you doing here?!" he bellowed, his tone laced with anger and disbelief.

Elara recoiled at the intensity of his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to form a coherent response. Before she could utter a word, Lysander seized her by the arm, his grip firm and unyielding as he dragged her close to his side, his face contorted with rage.

"There's no time for games, Elara," he spat, his words dripping with contempt. "You have no business being here."

The weight of his accusation hung heavy in the air, suffocating Elara with guilt and shame. She opened her mouth to protest, to explain herself, but Lysander's scathing glare silenced her, leaving her feeling small and insignificant in the face of his wrath.

With a final, seething glare, Lysander pushed forward into the fray, dragging Elara along with him as they plunged headlong into the heart of battle. As they fought side by side, Elara couldn't shake the feeling of Lysander's simmering anger, a palpable presence that hung between them like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over their every move.

⊱⋅ ───── 🍂 ───── ⋅⊰

The aftermath of the battle left everyone drained and weary, their bodies aching from the exertion and their spirits battered by the violence they had witnessed. With the queen's guards either defeated or captured, and Lysander's men nursing their wounds, the decision was made to set up camp in the clearing, seeking respite from the chaos that had consumed them.

As the men worked to pitch tents and tend to the wounded, Elara found herself standing on the outskirts of the makeshift camp, her heart heavy with guilt and apprehension. She knew she would have to face Lysander eventually, but the thought filled her with a sense of dread.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Lysander sought her out, his expression dark and stormy as he approached. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow him to his tent, his demeanor leaving no room for argument.

Elara obeyed in silence, her steps heavy with trepidation as she entered the confines of Lysander's tent. The air crackled with tension as he rounded on her, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," he began, his voice cold and clipped. "I want answers, and I want them now."

Elara's resolve hardened at Lysander's demand, a spark of defiance igniting within her as she met his gaze head-on. "You want answers?" she retorted, her voice edged with frustration. "Fine. How about the fact that this mission was your own order?"

Lysander's expression faltered, his features registering genuine surprise at her accusation. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, his tone incredulous.

"You heard me," Elara pressed on, her anger bubbling to the surface. "You sent me on this mission, didn't you?

Lysander's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes searching hers for any hint of deceit. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I never ordered you to join this mission. I would never put you in harm's way like this."

Elara's heart sank at his words, the realization dawning on her that she had been set up.

Fury flickered in Lysander's eyes as the truth sank in, his jaw clenching with barely contained rage. Without another word, he stormed out of the tent, leaving Elara dumbfounded in his wake. The weight of his anger hung heavy in the air, suffocating her with its intensity.

Alone in the dimly lit tent, Elara's mind raced with questions, each one more confounding than the last. Who had orchestrated this deception, and why? And what did they hope to gain by manipulating her into such a dangerous situation?