Chapter 496: Morning and Next Phase (1)
Lyan woke slowly to the faint glow of dawn filtering through the heavy canvas of the command tent. The first thing he noticed was warmth—a half-sleeping weight draped over one shoulder, another nestled against his hip, the faint tickle of stray hair across his throat. Lavender, pine resin, and a hint of last night’s camp-fire smoke mingled in the hush. He let the moment sit, heart beating in time with the soft breaths surrounding him.
Josephine’s crimson curls splayed across his shoulder like spilled wine. She muttered something in her sleep—probably another daring wager—then nuzzled closer, a lazy smile ghosting her lips. Wilhelmina, ever the picture of control, lay on his other side. Her pink braid had slipped free of its tie, stray strands framing a face that almost never looked this relaxed. Belle’s purplish-pink hair fanned over the blankets near his waist, her cheeks flushed with contentment. Beside her, Alicia rested lightly, platinum lashes fluttering as if she sparred with dream-figures. Xena and Ravia were a tangle of limbs at the foot of the bed, the former’s sun-bright curls contrasted sharply against the latter’s midnight braid.
(Don’t stare too long. Someone will notice your lecherous gaze.) Cynthia’s cool amusement echoed in his mind. A phantom finger tapped his temple.
Lilith chimed in, velvet and wicked. (Besides, if Josephine catches you, she’ll charge interest.)
Griselda crackled sparks of impatience. (Enough mooning. Steel waits, not women.)
Lyan exhaled, careful not to disturb the sleepers, and eased himself free. Each movement felt like pulling a thread from a tapestry—one wrong tug and the whole weave might unravel. When he slipped from the blankets, a cold shiver raced over his skin, reminding him how sheltered the night had been.
He dressed quickly, tugging on trousers, tunic, and his travel-worn cloak. The clasp—a plain steel hawk—caught a finger of dawn light, winking like a tiny oath. He lingered a breath longer, adjusting Wilhelmina’s blanket so her shoulder stayed covered, then stepped outside.
The camp murmured awake. Distant cooks stirred kettles; armor buckles clicked; a low laugh drifted from the picket line where two scouts compared bruises. Fog hugged the ground, swallowing boots to the ankle. Above, the River Fort’s parapets cut a jagged line against a sky turning rose at the edges.
Wilhelmina emerged moments later, fastening her cuirass with practiced snaps. "We don’t have long." Her voice carried the rasp of someone who had slept too little. "The Varzadians sent riders after the night assault. Reinforcements will be marching hard."
"Hours, not days." Josephine joined them, arms overhead in a languid stretch that popped three joints in her back. She grinned at Lyan’s quick glance, then dropped her arms, emerald eyes sharpening. "They’ll expect we dig in, repair walls, beg for Prince William to catch up."
"Which means we do the opposite." Lyan’s tone settled into that calm command he saved for maps and imminent danger. "Fortress Eboncliff. Hit fast, hold faster."