Chapter 1222
Chapter 1222:
My voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “Execute the plan. Tonight, we let Marehelm burn.”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
The commander rose and departed, and at once, the soldiers moved—silent and synchronized, a tide of steel and shadows marching toward destiny.
I remained at the ridge, my vantage point granting me a full view of the sleeping giant below. My senses sharpened, heart steady, as I watched the distant flickers of life vanish one by one. Lamps snuffed out. Doors bolted. The calm before the storm.
Then, like sparks to dry kindling, the shouts began to rise.
“The white wolves are traitors!”
“Drive her out! Let His Majesty rule Marehelm!”
I smiled. Marehelm would finally fall into my hands. Flames erupted within the walls, painting the night in hues of crimson and gold. The sky roared with heat and smoke. Cries of panic drifted toward me, mingled with the clash of steel and the thunder of stampeding feet.
My informants were doing their work splendidly. This chaos was no surprise. It was a symphony—and I had composed every note.
Suddenly, a scout burst through the gloom, chest heaving, eyes alight with exhilaration. He dropped to one knee before me, breathless but coherent.
“Your Majesty! Movement at the city gates. The insiders are inciting the citizens to open them. Our troops are ready to breach the walls.”
“Excellent,” I said, the word like a spark on my tongue. That cold edge in me gave way to a fierce thrill. “All troops—advance. Attack!”
The scout vanished as the call spread like lightning across the field. My army surged forward, a dark tide of iron and fury. The thunder of hooves and the roar of boots shook the earth beneath us.
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I watched chaos reign on the walls. Marehelm’s defenders—confused, uncoordinated—scrambled to respond. But it was too late. Our vanguard struck the gates like a battering ram, slamming into them with brute force.
I swung into the saddle, gripping the reins of my black warhorse. The beast pawed the ground, sensing the fire in my blood. With a fierce cry, I drove my heels in and charged, leading the front as the gates burst open and the city spilled into view. Marehelm had opened its doors—to its conqueror.
Smoke curled around the shattered streets, and amidst the chaos, I saw them. Makenna stood on the battlements, framed by flame and fear. At her side, my sons—those wretched fools—stood like lost children, desperately clinging to a crumbling regime.
The sight of them lit a deeper fury in me. Bryan. Still loyal to her, even now. Still clinging to delusions of power he had no right to wield.
My jaw clenched as I reached behind me for an arrow. I nocked it with calm precision and drew the string taut, the bow creaking under the strain as I aimed for my eldest son.
“Go to hell. No matter whose son you are, if you dare to threaten my throne, you have to die.”
Makenna’s POV:
The city gates creaked as they slowly opened, allowing a flood of enemy soldiers to rush in—an overwhelming wave of hostility crashing forward.
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