Oathbound

Prologue

The clang of steel faded into the background, and for a moment, the only sound Caelan could hear was his own breath. Shallow, uneven. His chest felt tight. Too tight. He couldn't tell if it was from the battle or from what had just happened.

Bodies lay around him—he couldn't count them. He didn't want to. Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have cared. But standing there, sword still wet with blood, Caelan couldn't shake the feeling that none of this mattered anymore.

"Caelan." The voice that called his name was familiar, but it wasn't the way it used to sound. Balric stood a few paces behind him, his expression blank in a way that made Caelan uneasy. Something had changed.

"You are hereby charged with treason."

It took a second for the words to sink in. "Treason?" Caelan repeated. His voice came out rough, like the word was too heavy for his throat. He turned to look at Balric, as if that would help. It didn't. He had known this man for years, fought beside him, bled beside him, trusted him. But the man standing in front of him wasn't someone he recognized anymore.

Balric wasn't his friend. Not now.

"You gave the enemy our plans," Balric said. His voice didn't carry accusation, just cold fact. "You betrayed us."

Caelan felt the air leave his lungs. For a second, he couldn't even find words. How could he defend himself when the world seemed to be spinning out from under him?

"This is a lie," he said, finally. His voice was hoarse, trembling with anger he didn't even know he still had. "You know me, Balric. You know I would never—"

"It's over, Caelan," Balric interrupted, but there was a flicker—just for a second—in his eyes. Guilt? Maybe. Or maybe it was something darker.

"You know who's behind this, don't you?" Caelan asked, feeling the bile rise in his throat. He didn't need Balric to answer. He knew. He had always known. "Soren."

There. The truth, out in the open. It tasted like poison on his tongue.

Lady Soren. She had smiled sweetly when she talked about the future of the kingdom, as if she wasn't playing a game only she knew the rules to. Caelan had tried not to see it, but now it was staring him in the face. She had been in too many places, whispered to too many people.

And now he was paying the price.

"I'm sorry," Balric said, but his face was like stone. There was no apology in his eyes. "You're the Oathbreaker now."

Oathbreaker.

Caelan couldn't breathe. It felt like the word itself had knocked the wind out of him. The weight of it settled over him, heavier than his sword, heavier than his armor. He had spent his whole life serving the crown, and in a single breath, it was all gone.

He wanted to scream. To fight. His hand twitched toward his sword. But even if he fought, even if he killed Balric and every other knight standing there, what then? The kingdom had already turned its back on him. There was no coming back from this.

So he let his hand drop.

"I won't run," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. "I'm not running from this."

Balric's face didn't change. He gestured to the others, and before Caelan could even react, they were on him, yanking his arms back, dragging him toward the horses. It didn't matter how tight they held him—nothing would ever be as tight as the cold grip of failure wrapped around his bones.