4: Darken War

11: Alexander

Chapter Eleven: Alexander

We arrived home without trouble—an eerie, almost insulting contrast to the chaos we'd left behind. The journey was silent, not a single incident along the road, no dwarven scouts, no hostile movement, no surprise ambushes. Just the sound of hooves, wind, and breathing. You would have thought peace had already won. But we all knew better.

Alexandria had slipped into a coma not long after we'd left the battlefield. One moment she had been trembling in James's arms, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The next, her head lolled against his chest, and her body went slack. She hadn't stirred since.

Now she lay in her chambers under heavy guard, protected more by fear than necessity—no one dared to approach the Great Dragon in such a vulnerable state.

And I? I found myself sitting once more at my old desk, a place of command, of planning, of execution. Maps lay unfurled across the wood grain, the inkwell still half full from yesterday's reports, and yet I couldn't focus. Not on the next battle, not on the next council meeting. My thoughts were consumed by my sister.

Across from me, Alana sat curled in one of the tall armchairs beside the fire, a book resting in her lap. Her right leg was stretched out stiffly, wrapped in clean white linen. She turned a page, her eyes skimming, though I doubted she was truly reading.

Finally, I broke the silence.

"Do you know of any way to help her?"

She looked up slowly, blinking as if pulled from a dream. "She needs to recover her magic," she said, her voice low, tired. "And she cannot do that with the collar still on her. But..." Her brow furrowed. "We don't know if she'll still be under his control once it's removed."

"The original gem of the king," I said slowly, recalling the ancient texts we'd poured over months ago, "could only influence those within a certain radius of its physical presence."

She gave a weary nod. "But that was before he reforged it—before he tied it to her bloodline. Before he changed the rules."

"And that," I said, leaning back, "is the problem."

Alana closed her book and set it aside. She stood slowly, bracing herself on the chair and then limping toward me with the aid of a carved wooden cane. Each step was deliberate. Painful. Yet she never complained.

"I think we need to try," she said softly as she reached me. "If we leave the collar on too long, she may never fully recover. Her magic is part of her now. It's not just a tool—it's her heartbeat."

I exhaled and gently pulled her into my lap, careful not to jar her injured leg. She didn't protest—just melted into the familiar space between my arms, her head resting against my shoulder.

"I know you're probably right," I murmured. "But what worries me is what comes after. She'll have to face him again. To take the gem back. She won't hesitate."

Alana pressed a kiss to my cheek. "Have faith in our Great Dragon," she whispered. "She made a mistake, yes—but she paid dearly for it. And still, we all made it out alive."

I turned and kissed her back, just barely missing her cheek. "I'm the one person who believes in her most," I said. "But James... I worry how he'll handle this."

"He tries so hard to protect her," Alana said, brushing my hair back from my forehead. "But he still hasn't accepted what kind of woman she truly is. There's no keeping her from what she wants. Especially not if what she wants is justice."

Before I could respond, the door burst open.

Thorne stood in the threshold, eyes wide with urgency. "I'm sorry—I should've knocked, but—" he shut the door behind him quickly. "It's Alexandria. Something's wrong. She's getting worse."