Oath of loyalty

The Weight of Leadership

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and fading embers from last night's fires. I stood just outside my tent, watching as the rebels slowly roused from their exhausted slumber. Some moved with quiet determination, tending to wounds, sharpening weapons, or sitting in clusters, murmuring among themselves.

I knew what they were talking about. Me.

Their gazes were subtle, but I felt them all the same. Some held newfound respect. Others still watched me with caution, waiting, perhaps, for the moment I turned on them.

Naela approached first, her expression unreadable. "They're waiting for you."

I nodded, pushing away the lingering ache from my encounter with the throne spirit. Whatever doubts they had, this was the moment to settle them.

---

Facing the Rebels' Doubt

As I stepped into the clearing, the hum of conversation faded. Dozens of eyes bore into me—curious, skeptical, uncertain.

Roran stood near the center, arms crossed over his chest. His expression gave nothing away, but his stance was guarded. Naela stood beside him, unwavering in her loyalty. Others, though, were not so sure.

A man with graying hair and a scar across his cheek stepped forward. His voice carried the weight of years spent fighting a losing battle. "We have followed leaders before. Kings. Generals. Lords who swore to protect us. And all of them failed." His sharp gaze locked onto mine. "What makes you different?"

I met his stare without hesitation. "Because I am not here to rule you. I am here to fight beside you."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some in approval. Others still doubtful.

A younger woman with sharp eyes scoffed. "You say that now, but what happens when power changes you? When it whispers in your ear and tells you to take what's yours?"

Her words struck something deep, something raw. The throne spirit's voice curled in my mind, mocking.

You only need power.

I forced a slow breath. "I won't lie to you. I know what it means to desire power. I have felt its pull. But I also know the cost of losing myself to it." I let my voice harden. "That's why I fight—to ensure none of us have to kneel to power that does not serve us."

Silence stretched between us.

Then Roran stepped forward, breaking the tension. "She fought for us. Saved us when no one else would. If you doubt her now, then ask yourselves—who else has done that?"

No one spoke.

The scarred man exhaled, nodding once. "Then let's see if you truly mean what you say."

---

The Oath of Loyalty

The rebels gathered around the long stone table at the center of the camp—a relic of old traditions. Cracked and weathered, yet still standing, it was a symbol of their unity. A bowl of water mixed with ash was placed atop it, a sacred custom for sealing an oath.

Roran took a blade, slicing a shallow cut across his palm before pressing his bleeding hand into the water. "By blood and ash, I swear my loyalty."

One by one, the rebels stepped forward.

Naela was next, meeting my eyes as she cut her palm. "By blood and ash, I swear."

The scarred man hesitated, his gaze searching my face. Whatever he found there must have satisfied him. He stepped forward. "By blood and ash, I swear."

Only one rebel remained unpledged. The young woman who had challenged me earlier. She held the blade but did not move.

"And if you fail us?" she asked, voice low.

I did not look away. "Then you will be free to take back your loyalty."

A long moment passed. Then, with slow deliberation, she pressed her hand into the water. "By blood and ash, I swear."

I exhaled, releasing the tension that had been coiling in my chest.

They had accepted me.

For the first time in a long while, I wasn't standing alone.

---

A Quiet Moment with Malrik

As the night deepened and the camp's celebrations faded into quieter conversations, I stepped away. The weight of the day sat heavy on my shoulders.

I found myself by the river, watching the water ripple beneath the moonlight. The cool air was a welcome contrast to the firelit warmth of the camp.

"You know," a familiar voice drawled behind me, "for someone who just won over an army, you look rather troubled."

I sighed but didn't turn around. "What do you want, Malrik?"

He strolled up beside me, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his usual smirk in place. "Just checking on you, princess. A leader should celebrate her victories, not sulk by the water like a tragic heroine."

"I'm not sulking."

He hummed as if unconvinced. "Then why do you look like the weight of the world is crushing you?"

I hesitated before answering. "Because it is."

For once, Malrik didn't have a quick retort. He glanced at me, his smirk fading just slightly. "You really mean to lead them, don't you?"

"I do."

He tilted his head, studying me. "And yet, part of you still doesn't believe you deserve it."

I curled my fingers into fists. "Because I don't. Not yet."

Malrik chuckled, shaking his head. "That's where you're wrong."

I frowned at him. "Oh?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice quieter, softer. "You're already more of a leader than most fools who sit on thrones." His gaze flickered to my lips for the briefest second before he stepped back with a grin. "But I suppose you'll figure that out eventually."

I rolled my eyes. "Must you always flirt?"

Malrik smirked. "What can I say? I enjoy making you uncomfortable."

I huffed but didn't push him away when he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. His touch lingered—a second too long. A dangerous second.

I turned back toward the river, willing my heartbeat to steady.

Behind me, Malrik chuckled. "Goodnight, princess."

And then he was gone.

I exhaled sharply.

The rebels had accepted me. My path was set.

But Malrik… Malrik still felt like a path leading somewhere I wasn't sure I wanted to go.