Taste of ecstasy

Chapter 47.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘐𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘳.
⸻
The banners of Idris cracked like thunder in the wind, their golden light catching the flames of a thousand torches. What had begun as a gathering in the square of Alicante was now a living storm moving southward steel, horseflesh, and voices rising like a hymn of war. Alec rode at the head. His posture was unyielding despite the fresh bandages across his ribs, the faint ache that clung to his every movement. He wore no crown; instead, the circlet of his forebears was bound into the saddlebag at his side. Tonight he was not a king to be gilded he was a general, a husband, a man with fury to burn the world. On either side of him rode his guard Jace, golden and reckless, his blade already thirsty; Raphael, quiet as the grave, eyes calculating every shadow Cezar, solemn, carrying the war-standard of the Lightwoods aloft; and Thane, his father's old shield, a veteran forged in blood, who kept close watch on the young king's flank. Behind them, the tide swelled soldiers in black and gold, their boots striking the earth in unison. The sound was a drumbeat, rolling through the valleys, a promise to friend and foe alike Idris marches.

The people of the villages came out to see them pass. Men lifted their caps, women clutched their children, lanterns flickered in the windows. Some knelt some wept all stared at the sight of their king leading the host into the dark. And as Alec passed, he felt the weight of every gaze press onto his shoulders, but he did not falter. He could feel Magnus still. Somewhere far, the bond burned faint tugging at him like a distant star, like the cry of a bird carried on wind. It was pain, but it was alive. His Magnus breathed, and that was enough to keep Alec moving. "South," Alec said, his voice carrying above the march. "We burn through the Rise. We break the border. We do not stop until Calmaria bends to Idris."

The order echoed down the lines. Trumpets answered, steel clashed as men tightened their ranks. The march slowed as the terrain roughened, hills unfurling into forests, the faint outline of the Blood Forest looming black against the horizon.

Jace leaned in, his grin fierce. "You have got that look in your eyes again. The one that says you won't be satisfied until you have cut Killian's head from his shoulders." Alec's jaw tightened, his blue gaze never wavering from the horizon. "Not his head," he said, voice like steel dragged across stone. "His world." The words struck through the ranks like a vow. Men shouted, voices lifting in raw hunger for vengeance. The banners swayed like flames, the march pressing faster. Behind them, the sky over Alicante still glowed faint with torchlight, a reminder of the home they left behind. Ahead only the storm, only shadow, only war. But Alec's heart burned brighter than fear. For Magnus. For the child they had sworn to protect. For Idris, for every life Killian had sought to break. And so the King of Idris marched south beneath the banners of fire and steel, the earth itself seeming to tremble beneath his vow.

The Rise was no wall of stone, no citadel crafted by mortal hands it was the earth itself. A jagged spine of cliffs and crags, deep valleys strangled by gnarled roots, and beyond it, the shadowed maw of the Blood Forest. It had always been a border no army willingly crossed, for the forest was said to drink the blood of those who dared, a place of cravens and monsters whispered about in old fireside tales. But tonight, the Rise was alive.

The wind carried it first: the hiss of wings, the guttural growl of beasts not made of flesh alone but something older, fouler. Then the stench iron and rot, as if the earth itself bled. And then, at last, the sound of claws striking stone, a thousand-fold, like drums in the deep. The men of Idris faltered as the noise rolled out of the forest. Horses reared, armour clattered. Even the bravest among them knew this sound belonged not to anything of man's realm. At the head, Alec reined his stallion hard, his gaze fixed upon the black treeline that writhed in the distance. The bond inside him pulsed Magnus's pain, his absence a fury that steadied Alec's hand as he drew his sword. The blade caught the torchlight, burning like a promise.