Chapter 1

The smell of blood lingered heavily in the air.

Not the fresh metallic scent of a battlefield.

No.

This was the smell that came after.

The smell of untreated wounds, damp bandages, and exhausted men waiting for a dawn they were no longer certain would arrive to see.

The military camp was unusually quiet.

No laughter echoed between the tents.

No soldiers gathered around campfires.

There was little reason to.

The food stores had run dry three days ago.

The last of the clean water had been rationed that morning.

Even the horses had begun to show signs of exhaustion.

A cold wind swept across the camp.

The banners bearing the imperial crest fluttered weakly in the darkness.

Inside the command tent, several generals stood around a large wooden table.

Their faces were grim.

"We cannot continue like this, Your Highness."

The speaker was General Rowan, one of the few commanders who had remained by his side since the beginning of the campaign.

His usually stern face now carried traces of fatigue.

"Our soldiers are starving."

Another general spoke.

"If we remain here, we will be surrounded."

"And if we retreat?" a third snapped.

"The enemy will pursue us immediately."

Silence followed.

No one had an answer.

Because there wasn't one.

At the head of the table stood Crown Prince Cassian Lucien Valmont.

His gaze remained fixed on the war map spread before him.

Black hair fell loosely over his forehead.

The candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features.

To anyone unfamiliar with him, he appeared calm.

Composed.

Unshaken.

Only those who had served beside him for years could see the truth.

The slight tension in his shoulders.

The exhaustion hidden behind his blue eyes.

The countless sleepless nights.

Every route marked on the map had already been considered.

Every possible strategy had already been calculated.

Every possibility ended the same way.

Failure.

Not because the enemy commander was superior.

Not because his army was weak.

But because someone always knew.

Every movement.

Every order.

Every plan.

Someone was feeding information to the enemy.

And there was nothing more dangerous than an enemy hidden among your own people.

Cassian's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the table.

The movement was small enough that no one noticed.

No one except himself.

How amusing.

The enemy beyond the battlefield was easier to understand than the enemies within his own empire.

A bitter thought.

One he immediately discarded.

There was no room for bitterness.

Not now.

Not when thousands of lives rested upon his next decision.

"Your Highness?"

Cassian looked up.

General Rowan's expression had grown increasingly concerned.

"The men are waiting."

Waiting.

For orders.

For hope.

For a miracle.

Cassian could provide only one of those things.

And it certainly wasn't a miracle.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, something caught his attention.

A flash of pale silver beyond the tent entrance.

His gaze shifted instinctively.

Toward the ancient tree standing near the edge of the camp.

For a moment, he thought it was moonlight caught between the branches.

Then it moved.

Cassian stilled.

Perched upon one of the highest branches sat a bird.

A raven.

At least, it resembled one.

Yet no raven should possess feathers that color.

Moon-white.

Each feather seemed woven from strands of silver beneath the fading evening light.

Large.

Far larger than any raven he had ever seen.

And watching him.

Not the camp.

Not the soldiers.

Him.

Green eyes touched with faint gold met his own across the distance.

Unblinking.

Intelligent.

Ancient.

For a brief moment, the noise of the tent disappeared.

The arguments.

The war.

The hunger.

The endless pressure crushing against his chest.

All of it faded.

Only the bird remained.

Watching.

As though it had discovered something mildly interesting.

"Your Highness?"

The voice broke the strange moment.

Cassian blinked.

The tent returned.

The generals were staring at him.

Waiting.

He glanced back toward the tree.

The branch was empty.

The white raven had vanished.

Without a trace.

A strange feeling settled in his chest.

Not disappointment.

Not relief.

Something else.

Something he couldn't quite name.

For the first time in many days, however, his thoughts were no longer fixed entirely on war.

Instead, they lingered on a pair of green-gold eyes.

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