The rejected crown (book 1)

Years between us

Edweyn

The sun hung low in the sky, a dim orange glow bleeding across the horizon. Edweyn marched at the head of the column, his armor catching the last traces of light as the army moved eastward. The sound of boots crunching against the dry earth filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of steel. Tension weighed heavy on the soldiers; they were heading toward a rebel encampment rumored to be fortified by numbers and spirit.

As the ridge came into view, a scout rode back with haste, his face pale beneath his helm.

"Captain Robert," the scout began, breathless as his horse stamped nervously beneath him. "There's... there's more than rebels. Balaric's tribe is here."

Robert cursed, his hand gripping the reins of his horse. Balaric's name carried weight—a chieftain whose tribe had grown so powerful even King Richard dared not cross them. Ruthless and calculating, Balaric had expanded his influence, and his warriors were said to be unmatched in ferocity. But why they were here, so far from their territory, remained a mystery.

Edweyn frowned, scanning the ridge ahead. "Why would they be fighting the rebels? They've never concerned themselves with Richard's kingdom."

The scout shook his head. "I don't know, sir. But it's chaos down there. The rebels are holding their ground, and Balaric's men... they've taken prisoners. It's not a battle; it's a slaughter."

The column slowed as Edweyn and Robert urged their mounts forward, reaching the crest of the ridge. From there, they could see the valley below—a sprawling battlefield of blood and ash. Rebel fighters clashed with Balaric's warriors in scattered skirmishes, the ground littered with the fallen. Smoke rose from burning tents, and the cries of the wounded carried on the wind.

Then Edweyn saw her.

At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, a ghost conjured by the guilt and longing that had plagued him for years. But as his gaze focused, his breath caught in his chest. Giovanna.

She wasn't fighting but was struggling against the iron grip of Balaric himself, her frame dwarfed by his towering presence. Her blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders, and though she strained to free herself, her expression remained defiant.

"She's alive," Robert whispered, his tone laced with disbelief. "Gods above, it's her."

Before Edweyn could process the shock, another figure burst into view—a rebel fighter with a blade in hand. The man lunged at Balaric, his movements quick and precise. He fought with the desperation of someone willing to die for what he believed in. Edweyn's heart raced as the scene unfolded: the man's strikes forcing Balaric to release Giovanna, the two locked in a brutal exchange.

"She's married to him," Robert muttered, his eyes wide. "To Balaric. That's why his tribe is here."

Edweyn couldn't answer. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Giovanna, standing amidst the chaos, her presence commanding and unmistakable. She had changed—her posture, her expression. She wasn't the young woman he had known five years ago. She was a queen in exile, a symbol reborn in fire and rebellion.

"Orders, sir?" one of the soldiers asked, breaking Edweyn's trance.

He turned to Robert, who looked just as shaken. "We don't move," Edweyn said finally, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. "We observe for now. No one engages."

Robert hesitated but nodded. "And Giovanna?"

Edweyn didn't answer. His mind was already racing with a plan.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Edweyn sat alone in his tent. The memory of Giovanna on the battlefield burned in his mind. He couldn't ignore the pull of the past, the memories of stolen moments and whispered promises. He had loved her once—perhaps still did. But the woman he had seen today was no longer the woman he had known. She had become something else, something foreign and dangerous.

He picked up a small piece of parchment, his hand trembling as he began to write.

You have a choice to make, Giovanna. Do not let the world decide for you.

He hesitated, then folded the parchment and sealed it, leaving it unsigned. A trusted courier would deliver it to her—an olive branch from a man torn between loyalty and love.

The next evening, Edweyn stood at the edge of the forest, waiting. He had chosen a secluded spot, far from the camp. The letter had been delivered hours ago, and now he could only hope she would come.

When she appeared, it was as if the night itself bent to her will. She stepped into the moonlight, her cloak brushing against the leaves. Her face was shadowed, her expression unreadable. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, the silence heavy with unspoken words.
"You came..." edweyn said finally.
But she simply just stared at him.
"You've changed," he said again, his voice low.

"So have you," Giovanna replied finally, her tone sharp but not unkind. "I didn't expect to see you here, Edweyn."

"I didn't expect to find you alive," he admitted. "Or to find you fighting for Balaric."

She tilted her head, studying him. "You don't understand, do you? I'm not fighting for Balaric. I'm forced to do this for the kingdom—for the people Richard abandoned."

"By allying with a warlord?" Edweyn countered, his voice rising. "You've turned your back on everything you once stood for."

Giovanna stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "And what do you stand for, Edweyn? The man I knew would never bow to a tyrant like Richard. But here you are, wearing his colors, carrying his banner."

His chest tightened. "I swore an oath."

"And I broke mine," she said softly, her voice cutting through his defenses. "Because it was the right thing to do. Because saving the witches, protecting the innocent—it mattered more than my crown, more than my life."

The weight of her words pressed down on him, and for a moment, he felt as if he couldn't breathe. "Giovanna..." he began, his voice cracking.

"You were the only one who ever believed in me," she interrupted, her tone gentler now. "But you left me when I needed you most."

Her words struck deep, reopening old wounds. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

"I don't need your pity, Edweyn," she said, her voice trembling. "I need you to decide who you are. Are you the man who fights for a king? Or the man who fights for a kingdom?"

As she turned to leave, Edweyn called after her. "You have a choice to make too, Giovanna."

She paused, her back to him. "I made my choice five years ago. And I've been paying for it ever since."

With that, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Edweyn alone with the weight of her words and the storm brewing in his heart.