The rejected crown (book 1)

We meet again

Giovanna and ezra

The clash of metal against metal reverberated through the battlefield as Ezra and Balaric met once again, their swords singing a song of violence. The giant barbarian's strength was legendary, his blows as heavy as thunder, but Ezra, faster and more agile than his opponent, danced just out of reach, his muscles honed from years in the gladiator pits and the rebellion he had started.

Ezra's thoughts were split as he fought. His mind raced—not just with the need to win, but with the confusion gnawing at him ever since he'd seen her again, across the chaos of this battlefield. Giovanna.

The princess. The exile.

She had been lost to him for so long. After her exile, there had been rumors, whispers that she was dead, that she had disappeared, or worse, that Richard's men had finally silenced her. No one had seen her in years. But now, here she was, a mere glimpse in the distance. She was alive. She was standing there, watching the fight unfold.

Ezra's sword locked with Balaric's once again, the barbarian's brute strength nearly knocking him to his knees. Sweat poured down his face as he twisted, using the momentum to bring his blade up, catching Balaric's throat just enough to draw blood. The larger man grunted, staggered back, but quickly recovered, eyes blazing with fury.

Ezra's breath came in heavy gasps, his mind still swirling. He'd started this rebellion—raised banners in her name, spread the word that the true heir had returned, that Giovanna was still alive, and the kingdom could still be saved. But now, seeing her here, a mere shadow of the woman he had once known, the woman who had once been destined for a crown—Ezra's certainty wavered. Had he been wrong to do this in her name? Had he overestimated the power she still held?

The rebellion he had built, the banners he had raised, had been for her. But had she even known? Had she asked for this?

The princess he had known was no longer the same person. She had endured, yes, but she had also been forced into survival. How much of her idealism remained?

Before he could answer his own question, Balaric charged again, swinging his massive axe in a deadly arc. Ezra barely had time to raise his blade to block, the force of the blow knocking him back several paces. He staggered, breath coming in shallow bursts, but then, he heard it—the familiar sound of hooves and the distant shout of his soldiers rallying. The rebellion had begun in earnest, and it was now or never.

Ezra's eyes flicked once more to the far side of the battlefield, his heart skipping a beat as he locked eyes with Giovanna. She was still there, still watching, still in danger. He couldn't help the conflicting emotions that surged inside him—frustration, fear, and a desperate need to protect her, even though she had long since slipped beyond his reach.

She's alive, he thought, and the realization hit him like a blow to the chest. But what did it mean? She was living in a foreign world now, a wife to a brutal warlord who had claimed her as his own. Would she even recognize him, the man she had once known? Would she see him as the same person? Or would she see only the rebellion he had led in her name, a rebellion that had nearly cost both of them everything?

Balaric surged forward again, his weapon aimed directly for Ezra's chest. But this time, Ezra was ready. With a swift movement, he dodged to the side, letting Balaric's momentum carry him past. Then, Ezra lunged forward, driving his sword deep into the side of the barbarian's exposed ribs. The brute let out a strangled roar as he staggered back, collapsing onto one knee.

Ezra stood over him, chest heaving, his sword still embedded in Balaric's side. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to quiet around him, the chaos slowing as he caught his breath. His gaze found Giovanna again, standing frozen, her wide eyes locked on him.