Prologue

With each thunderous beat, his heart propelled him forward, his body nearly in full flight through the sprawling cityscape. Resounding footsteps echoed from behind, mingled with the shrill cries of the pursuing guards. The city bells tolled ominously; warning of the turmoil unleashed within the castle walls. The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the city, intensifying the sense of urgency in the air.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of armored guards gaining ground. "Hurry!" he yelled ahead, "Keep running straight."

She turned towards him, her breath came in ragged gasps, her disheveled hair framing her face. "You shouldn't have come for me. You're too important," she cried, her voice laced with fear.

"You're just as important to me," he said, his words brimming with fierce intensity. He took a moment to steady himself against a weathered stone wall. "No matter what you hear, do not stop."

Slowing his pace, he deliberately displayed signs of exhaustion, allowing the pursuing guards to gain ground, closing in on them. In one motion, he spun around and smashed his gauntleted fist into the head of the first approaching guard. Instantly crushing him to the ground. Without hesitation, he drew the sword from the fallen man's sheath, using its hilt to strike the next guard's gut and swiftly arcing it towards his temple. Stepping over the downed men in the narrow alleyway, he deftly parried blows from the third guardsman.

Though the guard was merely an overgrown boy, he knew he could offer no mercy. His sword jutted through the boy's shoulder with a handful of strikes. In less than twenty breaths, three men were down. He turned around and resumed running, hoping the delay he caused would provide enough time for them to escape.

Before long, he caught up to his companion. She twisted around, her eyes relieved upon seeing her rescuer. "What do we do now?" she asked between strained breaths.

"Follow me," he shouted.

As they raced through the winding streets, shouts of dismay rose from the citizens who witnessed their desperate flight. His muscles burned; his legs propelled by adrenaline-fueled determination. He knew their survival depended on reaching the drawbridge before it rose.

He sprinted towards the guards' stable, where he had already prepared two horses. People wildly gestured to the guards upon spotting them. "Damn it to Ash!" he exclaimed, still carrying the guard's sword. "Ready the horses," he called to her, before leaping into the guards like a raging bull. Three guards desperately tried to pass him, barring their route to freedom, but he would not let them succeed.

The guards organized their attacks, striking together with calculated precision, but he had faced worse odds before. He dodged a swing from one guard with his sword, deflected a blow from the other with his gauntlet, and swiftly head-butted the third causing them to stumble dizzily.

He hoisted the falling warrior by his coat, his muscles straining as he exerted his strength. Pivoting, he positioned the guard as a shield, effectively blocking a strike from another attacker from behind him. The held man let out a piercing scream of pain as the blow struck its unintended target.

He blocked the last guard's sword and moved in close, striking his chin with his elbow, before rapidly turning around to stab his sword through the man's ribs. All three fell, as if the strings controlling their movements had been cut simultaneously.

New footsteps approached with urgency, and he turned to see her atop one horse, having readied them for escape. He ran to the other horse and mounted. "Where do we go?" she pleaded; her voice shrill.

"To the gates. Come on," he bellowed, assuming the lead as they spurred their horses into a gallop.

With the massive doors of the castle gate looming ahead, he saw a line of guards attempting to block their path. In the distance, he spotted the drawbridge slowly rising. His heart sank as their chances of escape quickly diminished, but he refused to give up.

He pushed himself harder, urging his body to its limit. As his horse galloped, he retrieved the throwing knives from his waistcoat, hurling two of them at the guards closest to him. The knives flew true, and the guards fell to the ground, opening a narrow path for their escape. As his horse made it through the gap, he felt a glimmer of hope, but fate had a different design.

An arrow hissed through the air, piercing his shoulder with sudden, brutal force. Searing pain lanced through his body. The impact sent him tumbling off his horse, crashing to the ground just before the gate.

"Gabriel!" she yelled; her voice filled with anguish. Her horses' hooves scraped loudly against the cobblestone as it halted behind him.

With his body sprawled on the ground, he gritted his teeth against the pain. Shifting his gaze to the drawbridge, he knew he wouldn't make it in time. Blood stained his clothing, but his spirit remained unyielding. Through sheer determination, he struggled to his feet. "You can still make it," he told her. "Keep going and do not turn back."

Looking at him with wide-eyed shock, she tearfully confessed, "I love you."

Unsteadily rising from his feet, he couldn't focus on anything but the path ahead. He nodded once and then raised his sword high and charged into the enemy's line, arrow still jutting from his shoulder.

He fought valiantly. Every strike fueled by his unwavering resolve to buy her the time she needed to reach the welcoming army beyond the gate. Blow after blow, he parried and countered, his movements a testament to his skill and determination. Soon, another gap opened in the guards' line, and she galloped through it, not looking back. Although she had made it through the doors, he still had to buy her more time to make it past the rising drawbridge.

Outnumbered and overpowered, he knew he could only hold them off for so long. Through the chaos of the fight, Gabriel caught sight of her disappearing into the distance, free from the clutches of the castle and its guards. Soon afterwards, he was overwhelmed by sheer force, their numbers too great to overcome.

As shadows closed in around him, he knew he had fulfilled his mission. His heart filled with bittersweet satisfaction, knowing he had ensured the princess's safety and the success of their daring escape. As his consciousness slipped away, he thought to himself, although his rescue hadn't gone according to plan, he still had other plans.

With trepidation, Lahera pushed open the heavy doors, her fine clothing feeling out of place amidst the dark stone and steel bars. "What am I doing here?" she muttered to herself, her nerves getting the better of her.

Through the bars, she could see the outline of a man sitting against the wall, completely oblivious to her presence. Confusion clouded her mind. Why had her father commanded her to speak with this prisoner? Lost in her thoughts, she hesitated, unsure of her purpose here.

"Hello, Princess," the man said as if greeting an old friend. "I must admit, I was expecting your highness some hours ago." His words startled her, he spoke without even looking at her.

"I suppose it's to be expected. It's not every day you would visit the dungeons," he said patronizingly.

She stayed silent a moment too long. "Why am I here?" she asked, finally finding her voice, albeit rather shaky.

"I do enjoy the company of a lovely woman. Can you fault a man for that?" he responded, leaving her at a loss for words. They had called him a savage, a man with iron instead of blood, yet his speech resembled that of a courtier.

"Are you accustomed to ordering women for company, prisoner?" she retorted, refusing to let him gain the upper hand.

"I must admit, it's not my usual way. More often than not, it's the women ordering me around," he replied, and she swore she detected a hint of a smile in his words. "Please, come into my humble abode; make yourself comfortable." He gestured as if inviting her to his luxurious home.

Fear gripped her. She didn't want to be anywhere near this man. "I do not think anyone could ever be comfortable near you," she said with venom.

"Well, that's only because you don't know me. But Princess, I'm sure we can rectify that," he responded kindly.

It had been only two days since this man had stormed into their home, freed the bride-to-be, wreaked havoc among the guards, and endured torture. Yet there he sat, unnervingly calm. It unsettled her deeply.

"They say your name is Gabriel," she asked, curiosity mingling with her fear. After all, this man had accomplished the impossible and freed a princess.

"That's what they say. Then again, I'm known by many names," he intoned; his response felt odd.

She pressed further, "They say that's what she called you when you fell."

"I suppose you've got me now. And really, is there a need to bring up such a painful memory when my face is still bruised from that embarrassing fall?" he replied.

His jovial and playful manner disarmed her, taking away the sting from any words she could muster. Despite dealing with cunning nobles and merchants, she had never felt this uneasy before. It felt as if she had intruded into his domain—a preposterous thought she quickly dismissed.

"Why did you ask for me?" she asked urgently, desperate to be anywhere but here.

He paused as if measuring her words. "That's the wrong question, Princess."

"Then what is the right question?" she snapped, frustrated now, knowing she had fallen into his hands.

"Why did the King send you here? That is the question." He paused a beat too long for her liking before continuing, "People will always make demands of kings, and most are far more reasonable than my own."

She had already asked herself that question many times, but her father had only instructed her to find out about his relationship with the army outside. He was unnerved when the army remained outside the castle walls, sending no word.

"The answer is, I have something all kings want. Some might call it the greatest power of all: knowledge. The knowledge of why the army is still massed outside even though the princess is safe, why no message has been sent, and why they hold a white flag imprinted with the blazing sun. I know the king is worried; I understand why the king tried to torture me. And I know why, when they realized it was futile, he would be willing to listen to my demands, for a chance to understand."

She asked another question that had plagued her thoughts. "Why me?"

He stayed silent for a moment, then, as if in remembrance, answered, "I heard this story once." He paused a moment longer before continuing, his voice filling the room with a rich timbre like a bard telling a tale.

"A man weathered in his age had just lost his son, a soldier who died defending a duke's land from thieves. In response to this valiant defense, the greedy duke refused to pay the bereavement sum for the soldier's untimely death. What happened next hurts my blackened heart even more." Lehara leant against the bars, caught on to his every word.

You see, the son had been sending money to his father to help him keep the farm and pay the duke's taxes. With no money from his son, the man couldn't afford the taxes, and as recompense, the duke seized all his lands and property. The man petitioned the king, but the king would not go against his loyal duke. It didn't matter what a peasant had to say; he wasn't the duke's equal. The man hung his head, seething with anger at the world's injustice. But then, a beacon of light appeared—a young princess who had no involvement in the matter at all. She responded to the petition by giving her own funds, allowing the man to settle the taxes and keep his property."

Her breath caught. Impossible, she thought.

"Why you, you ask?" Finally turning to face her, his vivid green eyes bore into her as if he could uncover all her secrets. She reminded herself to breathe. "It's because when all others would not listen, you did. You acted. I have something to say that could change the course of history. I will tell you my story, and it will reveal everything about the army outside your castle walls and how you can prevent unnecessary bloodshed."

His previously playful tone replaced by an unmatched intensity. "But it will be a long tale."

She distinctly remembered the day from his story—of course, she did. But she couldn't fathom how he could possibly know. Only the man, the king and the duke knew of it.

"Will you listen, Princess?" he asked, as if the fate of the world depended on it.

She was still afraid, but she forced herself to nod, and, with an intensity she had not yet shown, she responded, "I will."