His Bride, Her Revenge

The dawn that broke across the battlefield was a fragile golden light struggling to push back the storm. Lucien’s army surged forward, their banners of flame and sun unfurling like hope reborn. But Seraphine did not retreat. She stood tall, her silver hair whipping in the wind, her eyes locked on Lucien as if she saw through the years, through flesh, into the very soul that defied her.

Cambria’s heart thundered. Her father was alive. And not just alive leading. A force of exiles, of warriors once thought lost to Seraphine’s purge. Knights who had vanished in the night. Soldiers who had vanished into the earth. The forgotten, returned.

But Lucien’s gaze was not on Seraphine first. It found Cambria, and in his eyes was sorrow. Regret. Love. Pride.

"My daughter," he called across the distance, voice steady as stone. "I was a fool to leave you alone in this war. But no more."

Cambria almost dropped her sword. She wanted to run to him, to throw down the weight she’d carried for so long. But there was no time. The storm still gathered above. The god of Judgment still loomed.

And Seraphine’s voice was ice. "You’re too late, Lucien. The world has already chosen. And it chose me."

Lucien smiled, but it was a sad, tired smile. "No, Seraphine. It chose hope. And hope always costs loyalty its price."

With that, the battle erupted anew.

The ground became fire and fury. Lucien’s army clashed with the perfected soldiers, steel against steel, magic against the machine. The forgotten fought like men with nothing left to lose and that made them unstoppable.

Cambria and Knox fought back to back. Flame and blade, love and hate.

Maddox led the charge of the true crown’s guard, his banner high, his blade red with the blood of those who sought to take what was never theirs.