Fated To The Fae King

Chapter 27

▪️G O L N A R▪️

With a weariness that mirrored his own, I watched as Alaric's gaze shifted from the tumultuous battlefield to the horizon beyond.

The once-vibrant landscape lay scarred and battered, the echoes of conflict still ringing in the air. Smoke billowed from smouldering ruins, and the acrid scent of burning ash hung heavy on the breeze. The ground beneath us bore witness to the fierce struggle that had unfolded upon its soil, stained with the blood of fallen warriors and littered with the debris of war.

In that moment, as the full extent of the battle's impact became painfully apparent, I felt a surge of empathy for my husband. The weight of leadership, the burden of guiding our people through the darkest of times, bore down upon him with crushing force.

I could tell that the battle had taken a heavy toll on Alaric.

His once-mighty frame, usually brimming with strength and determination, now appeared frail and weary. I could see the fatigue etched into every line of his face, the weariness in his eyes mirroring the exhaustion that seemed to permeate his very being.

Yet, as I watched him, I noticed a subtle change in his breathing. It grew shallower, each inhalation sounding like a struggle against unseen forces. The lines of pain etched on his face deepened, and a furrow appeared between his brows, betraying the discomfort he was experiencing.

"Alaric! Are you alright?" I asked.

His response was a weak nod, his eyes struggling to focus as he glanced at me. The weariness etched into his features tugged at my heartstrings, filling me with a deep sense of unease. I could see the flicker of determination in his eyes, even as his strength waned.

Suddenly, as if his body had reached its limit, Alaric swayed unsteadily on his feet. His grip on my hand tightened briefly before slackening, his fingers growing limp as his eyes fluttered shut. Before I could react, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

My heart skipped a beat as I watched him fall, a sharp pang of fear coursing through me. Dropping to my knees beside him, I cradled his head in my arms, my fingers brushing gently against his clammy forehead. His breathing was shallow and ragged, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.

"Alaric," I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur. "Stay with me."

With trembling hands, I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, my gaze lingering on his peaceful features. Despite the chaos that surrounded us, he appeared serene in his unconscious state, a stark contrast to the turmoil of battle that had ravaged our kingdom.

Before long, the sound of hurried footsteps reached my ears, and I looked up to see Baldur and the others rushing to our side. Their expressions were a mix of concern and relief as they assessed Alaric's condition, their presence a reassuring reminder that we were not alone in this moment of uncertainty.

"Golnar, what happened?" Baldur asked, his voice thick with worry.

"He just collapsed," I replied, my own voice trembling with emotion. "I suppose syphoning all of our magic was too much for him."

Without hesitation, Baldur knelt beside us, his hands gently checking Alaric's pulse before saying, "Khagra, Kieran, help me carry him."

As Baldur and the others lifted Alaric's limp form, I turned to the nearest soldiers, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within me. "Gather a stretcher," I ordered, my tone firm and resolute. "We need to get him back to the castle, quickly."

With a bow, the soldiers hurried to carry out my command.

I cast a glance towards the castle, only to find it half-destroyed, its once-proud towers reduced to rubble by the ferocity of the battle. Panic threatened to overtake me, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.