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On foot, hair ripped free of her braid, and blood sticky across one side of her face. A barrage of axes and daggers flew at her from multiple angles.

“Not a fucking chance.” Mila’s voice was like a beacon as she raced past me. Ombratta immediately followed into the fray. After weeks of training under Mila’s hand, I understood what she wanted me to do. From opposite directions, we circled our commander’s attackers.

Lyria spit blood to the snow, but didn’t acknowledge us, too focused on the man leading her opponents.

Hughsten.

I knew it was him without being told. Knew from the rage festering within Lyria and Mila, palpable amid the chaos.

Mila and I surrounded the band of warriors, pulling the attention of all but their leader. They were on foot and had dislodged many of their weapons, making them quick targets. Almost too easy. It took away most of the satisfaction. A muted high after having my enemy’s blood on my blade.

Lyria continued to dodge knives until Hughsten only held one weapon: a brutal looking ax with scars decorating its double-edged blade.

Then, our commander launched herself at him.

She wasn’t a coward—didn’t wait until he was unarmed. She allowed him to walk directly into her trap.

Their blades flashed against each other. Mila and I circled his warriors, their attention diverted to their leader.

One Engrossian turned, running. But Ombratta followed.

He’d barely made it ten yards when my mare passed him and looped around. As we circled, I dragged my sword across his throat. He fell with a thud that was lost to the melee.

My attention snapped up in time to see Hughsten’s ax raised above Lyria’s head. My breath caught in my throat as it swung down.

But the commander dodged to the side.

And her sword ran through his ribs.

She shoved him to the ground and said something to him—something too quiet to be heard among the battle—but his eyes widened.

And then, Lyria brought her sword down again, decapitating him. Her attacker’s life stained the snow, revenge painting Lyria’s leathers and armor as she turned unremorseful, vengeful eyes on us.

And in that stare, a slice of freedom unlocked.

She buttoned up her emotions, though. Offered one nod to tell us she was all right—for now at least—and Lyria was back atop her horse, shouting at Mila and me to continue to push through their line.

A part of me wanted to follow Lyria, to make sure she was okay—thought Tolek would want me to—but those weren’t my orders. I had to listen, to lead my forces as I’d been instructed, and deal with the emotions of battle afterward.

“Come on, girl,” I said to Ombratta, and she was off, forcing her way through their infantry to make up any edge we’d lost by stopping.

“You okay?” Mila shouted from my side.

“You can’t be worrying about me out here,” I growled back. But she might have been asking more for herself than for me after watching what her best friend had done. They were an indestructible pair.

I honed that energy as my sword swiped soldier after soldier. Some were death blows, striking the neck faster than the mountains would heal them. Some were merely injuries sending them to their knees. Our troops would finish the warriors writhing on the snowy ground.

“I’m not worrying,” Mila called as she took another life. It didn’t sound like a lie. “I know better than you do that you’re capable of being here.”

Her words struck me like an arrow to the heart, sticking thick behind my ribs as I unraveled the sincerity, clear amid the carnage.

“Thank you, General.”

Our horses picked up speed, widening the gap in their ranks.

“Make them bleed, Warrior Prince,” Mila said as we broke their line. And I intended to.

Ombratta charged through the line, segmenting the legion while a stampede of the alliance followed.