𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

꧁꧂

    Zaahir and (Y/N) met up with a group of guards that were already staving off the worst of the enemies numbers, having to jump in and assist them when seeing how they were kept being pushed back. After being informed of what Adrian had ordered and rounding up all the rebels, the knights thanked (Y/N) and Zaahir for their service before they marched in the King's direction, leaving the two once again on their own, and once again having to face each other.

But that didn't last long.

Before either of them could process what was happening, a sword was already to (Y/N)'s throat, her body pressed against another's.

Her entire expression stiffened.

"Hey!" Zaahir yelled, already raising his own weapon at the attacker only for a flicker of recognization to pass across his features, his sword then lowering. "Advisor... Oman?"

"What?" (Y/N) blinked.

"Oh? So it's just a servant," the voice of Basile spoke up.

His sword then lowered from (Y/N)'s neck, allowing her to rub her throat in slight irritation. Turning, she found Basile standing before her, his usual neat attire now rumpled and marked with burns and blood, his weapon also coated in the scarlet substance that he was currently wiping off with a handkerchief in hand. His spectacles were nowhere to be found.

"I assume that the royal family is safe?" He questioned, turning to face the two, however disarrayed his clothing was, his usual poise and strict manner having not dissipated.

"Yes, Mr. Oman," Zaahir nodded, lowering his gaze respectfully to the ground.

"I see, and where are they now?"

"They should be in the med wing of the western palace's building," (Y/N) continued, watching as Basile's expression twitched in apprehension, making her want to elaborate. "The King... His Majesty was shot, and His Highness, the Prince, was stabbed, however is still upright and moving. Her Majesty, the Queen, and Her Highness, the Princess, are also there, but unharmed. A doctor is currently treating His Majesty as we speak."

"I... see," he replied once more, a small sigh escaping his nostrils as he looked in that direction. "And what about the guards? The servants? The other advisors?"

"The guards are rounding up the last of the enemy, sir, and the servants are dousing the fires," (Y/N) mentioned when exchanging a glance with Zaahir who nodded at her to confined. "As for the other advisors... you're the first we've come across."

"Hm..." he nodded, turning to face them. "At least there's some semblance of control. And... what are you two specifically supposed to be doing? I can't believe that you would just be wandering in hopes of finding someone, isn't that right?"

"The Prince instructed us to help in rounding up the rebels, along with making sure the fire gets put out, sir," Zaahir enunciated.

Basile didn't say anything more as he searched Zaahir's and (Y/N)'s faces, seeming to evaluate their story from the look in his eyes. However, he gave them neither an answer nor instruction save for a curt nod before turning and walking away, his sword still clutched tightly in his hand. (Y/N) released a breath she hadn't known she was holding once his presence had disappeared, finding Basile more intimidating than she wanted to admit.

    "I've never seen Sir Oman like that before," Zaahir then commented in a low murmur, perplexed.

    "Well, in an adviser position, I'm sure most of his time was consumed aiding His Majesty rather than fight," (Y/N) replied, also having never thought he would be able to wield a sword. "But, it's an advantage for us. The more people who can fight and know how to use a weapon properly are a resource we desperately need at the moment."

"True," Zaahir nodded in understanding. "It's better to be prepared for all possibilities."

    As the two continued scouring the hallways and foyers, helping anywhere they could, they eventually completed all of the west section of the palace considering the east side had been completely burned down. There was so much destruction, and so many bodies—enemies and allies alike—that littered the now desolate and abandoned corridors. If anything, the palace looked more haunted than anything, no longer the glorious and imposing structure that it once was.

Now, it was reduced to that of a skeleton.

Hollow and brittle.

Retracing their steps, Zaahir and (Y/N) found the groups of servants aiding in putting out the fires still raging out of control, putting their swords away for the moment to help in any way they could.

They had to.

Placing their lives on the line, they fought off enemies and raced into a biting blaze to protect their kingdom and their rulers. No doubt a test of their loyalty, the servants steeled their nerves so as not to abandon all thoughts and race for the hills as some did, believing that rewards would soon come for their bravery and courage. Not only that, but a type of valor for their very country races through their veins, forcing them to remain to defend both their honor and die ignite against foreign invaders.

Twenty-nine hours.

    That was how long it had taken since the enemy first attacked to subdue them and place down the fires. But even then, many servants and guards were missing, all presumed dead since there were no reports that the enemy sparred anyone, whether they be men or women, children or adults. Now, Adrian faced the remaining subjects of his castle, he on the raised balcony of the western palace while they stood in the courtyard, the multiple pairs of eyes turned upward toward him not fazing him in the slightest.

(Y/N) was among the crowd staring up at him, adrenaline still coursing through her body.

Her very nerves thrummed.

Perhaps it was because she was so used to defending ruthlessly what she sought to protect that the very idea of someone coming into her homeland wasn't something she accepted easily. In fact, as Adrian met her eyes somehow in the sea of faces, her eyes flamed with a war cry.

Adrian smiled.

꧁꧂