News of the enemy's advance on Draycott sent the royal court into turmoil. The attack was no isolated raid—it was a deliberate strike on a strategic border village. Losing it meant giving the enemy a foothold.
Yet, the council was divided.
Some nobles urged immediate reinforcements, fearing a full invasion.
Others hesitated, arguing they needed to preserve their main forces for larger battles.
A few even suggested abandoning the village, unwilling to risk their knights for "peasants."
Averin, seated beside her father, listened in silence—until she had heard enough.
"I will go."
Her voice cut through the chamber. Discussions halted.
The king's expression hardened. "A princess does not belong on the battlefield."
"A leader does," she countered. "Draycott will not fall under my watch."
Averin's decision sent ripples through the council chamber. The king's gaze darkened, but before he could object, Duke Marcian spoke.
"A bold declaration, Your Highness," he said smoothly. "But commanding an army is not the same as reading about war in books."
"I am aware," Averin replied. "Which is why I am not asking for an army. Only enough forces to hold Draycott until reinforcements can arrive."
The room remained tense. The nobles weren't concerned for her safety; they feared the precedent. A princess leading troops? It was unheard of. But as the debate raged, reports continued to arrive—Draycott's defenders were outnumbered. If no action was taken, the village would fall by nightfall.
Finally, the king exhaled sharply. "You will have 200 hundred soldiers. No more."
It wasn't enough. But it would have to be.
By the time Averin and her forces reached Draycott, the battle preparations were barely holding together.
The local militia had formed defensive lines, but they were poorly coordinated. A group of knights—sent days earlier—was doing their best to impose order, but they were few, and morale was fraying. The enemy army, though not massive, had numbers and organization on their side.
Averin wasted no time.
She reorganized the defenses, positioning the best fighters at critical chokepoints.
She stationed archers on rooftops, ensuring higher ground advantage.
She gave clear orders, cutting through the panic that had begun to settle over the defenders.
Then, just before sunset, the enemy attacked.
---The first clash was brutal. Caidorin's vanguard charged with shields raised, aiming to break through the village gates. Arrows rained down, felling some, but others reached the barricades.
Averin stood at the center of it all, issuing commands with precision.
When the left flank began to falter, she sent reserves before it collapsed.
When enemy forces tried to set fire to the grain stores, she had knights cut them down before they succeeded.
When a gap in the defenses opened, she redirected fighters before the enemy could exploit it.
Still, the battle dragged on.
Night fell, torches casting an eerie glow over bloodstained streets. The air was thick with smoke, steel, and the scent of death. The defenders were outnumbered but not outmatched—because they had strategy on their side.
Then, at the battle's peak, Averin saw her moment.
The enemy commander, certain of victory, had pushed too far forward. He was vulnerable.
Averin turned to the knight beside her. "Send word to the archers. Target the enemy leader."
Moments later, arrows found their mark. The commander fell, and with him, the enemy's momentum collapsed. What had been an overwhelming assault turned to chaos.
By dawn, Draycott was still standing.
The battle was won, but Draycott bore the scars of the fight. The streets were littered with fallen soldiers, both friend and foe. Smoke still rose from buildings that had nearly been set ablaze. The wounded groaned, and exhausted knights leaned on their weapons.
Yet, despite the toll, the village still stood.
Averin surveyed the battlefield with steady eyes. She had led them to victory—but there was no time to celebrate.
Securing Draycott
She moved swiftly, ensuring the village remained defensible:
She ordered barricades reinforced, anticipating the enemy might return.
She had the wounded treated—both her own and even some of the enemy who surrendered.
She sent scouts to track any remaining Caidorin forces, ensuring they didn't regroup.
As her knights executed her orders,After the initial cleanup, she chose to inspect the village herself. She walked through the ruined streets, past smoldering homes and bloodied cobblestones. As she moved alone, away from the watchful eyes of her soldiers, she caught sight of something.
A figure.
A lone, shadowed figure stood at the far end of an alleyway, half-shrouded by the morning mist.
She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer.
The figure didn't flee. Not immediately. Instead, it turned just slightly, letting her see the dark cloak, the poised stance—an unmistakable presence.
Then, as if the moment had never happened, the figure turned and disappeared into the ruins.
Averin rushed forward, but when she reached the alley's end, the figure was gone.
In his place, something lay on the ground. A single document, its wax seal glinting under the morning light.
She picked it up. Her breath hitched.
A noble's crest.
Not just any noble—one from her own kingdom.
Her grip tightened around the parchment.
There was no doubt. This wasn't just an attack from Caidorin. Someone from within was involved.
Specter.
The realization hit Averin instantly as she saw the figure vanish into the shadows.