4: Darken War

15: James

Chapter Fifteen: James

She had really done as she said.

For several days, we trained together—every morning at sunrise and often again at dusk. The sting in my fingers eventually dulled, replaced by the proud ache of growing skill. The blisters hardened into calluses. My form improved. My aim sharpened.

And when she finally saw the signs she'd been waiting for—those quiet markers of progress—she smiled and nodded, easing up.

"Now it's a part of you," she said, brushing her fingers gently over the rough skin of my hand. "You won't need the ointment anymore. Nor will you need to train this hard every day. But keep practicing. Make it yours. I've taught you all I can."

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her softly. "Thank you, dear."

She smiled up at me, violet eyes glowing like firelit gems. "It's something you asked of me years ago," she said. "I just finally had both the reason and the time to teach you."

But her smile faded. A shadow crossed her expression.

"If anything happens to me," she murmured, voice low, "make sure the kids learn what I taught you. It's part of their heritage. Part of me."

I took her hand and kissed it. "Nothing will happen to you."

"Anything could, James." She gave me a quiet smile. "You know that better than most."

A voice cut through the moment behind us.

"It's time," Thorne said simply, his tone grim.

And we knew exactly what he meant.

It was time to reclaim what rightfully belonged to my wife—the gem, the throne, and the peace stolen from her by her cursed bloodline. By Theo.

Alexandria lifted her travel pack and slung it over one shoulder, her armor already strapped into place. She didn't speak as we left the training grounds and followed Thorne to the stables. I stayed close at her side, every part of me on edge.

Our horses were waiting—battle saddles, polished reins, enchantments quietly pulsing through the leather and buckles. Our generals were already mounted: the commanders of the human army, the fairy battalion leaders, and the elven captains. Alana and Alexander stood ready as well, armored and silent. Thorne, as always, looked calm—deadly, but calm.

Alexandria mounted first. She looked over us all, her gaze sweeping from face to face. Her expression didn't waver. She simply nodded—and took off down the cobbled streets.

The rest of us followed.

We rode through the capital in formation, our hooves echoing across the stone. People parted to let us through, crowding the sides of the streets to watch. Some clutched their children. Others held banners. A few brave ones cheered. A group of children even waved little toy swords and dragon flags.

But Alexandria didn't acknowledge any of them.

Her face was a mask—hardened, unreadable. She rode like a general, not a queen. Like a woman on a mission, not a mother about to risk everything for peace.

And maybe she was all of that. Maybe that was the tragedy.

We reached the city gates where the rest of the army awaited—thousands of soldiers lined in organized rows. Armor glinted in the morning sun, banners fluttered, and the tension hung so thick you could taste it.

When Alexandria passed the final gate, the army moved.

And we marched to war.

The plan had already been set in motion. Alexandria and Alexander would split off during the battle, finding a hidden path into the heart of Dourhold to seek out Theo. That mission was theirs alone.