Chapter 11 Exile

The Next Morning – Serpent Wing, Asthia's Chambers

Asthia woke to the smell of smoke and a dull ache behind her eyes.

The room was dim. Curtains drawn. The fire had burned down to coals. A half-empty glass of wine sat on the side table. And she was warm. Unusually so.

She opened her eyes.

A blanket had been draped over her.

She shifted slightly.

On the floor near the hearth, Reth sat with his back to the wall, arms loosely crossed, coat folded beneath him. He wasn't asleep. Just waiting.

Their eyes met. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

She sat up, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. She didn't fix it. Didn't thank him.

"…You stayed?"

Reth didn't move. "You passed out. Wasn't going to drag you to bed."

A flicker at the corner of her mouth—gone as soon as it came.

She rose, adjusting her robe. The moment passed.

"You can go. Last night changes nothing."

"Didn't expect it to," he said, rising without urgency.

Before either could say more, a distant horn sounded. Long and low. Not a trumpet of war—but something close. Formal. Measured.

Reth frowned. "That's not local."

Another sound followed—hoofbeats. Metal wheels turning over stone. Then shouting. Orders being barked in the outer yard.

Asthia narrowed her eyes and crossed to the balcony. She pushed open the doors and stepped into the cold light of morning.

Below, the Serpent Wing's courtyard had gone still.

A black-and-gold carriage rolled through the gates, flanked by twelve imperial outriders in ceremonial armor. Each bore the crimson sash of the Emperor's direct authority. Their horses gleamed, boots unsoiled, leather spotless.

The Serpent Wing's soldiers had gathered without being told. Silent. Lined in ranks along the square, watching.

Reth stepped beside her. "They brought the whole damn theater."

The carriage door opened with a practiced swing.

Out stepped a herald—tall, stiff-backed, silver-voiced. Robes embroidered with the Imperial seal. A scroll tube in one hand. A velvet box in the other.

He raised his voice. "By decree of His Most Sovereign Grace, Emperor..."

The soldiers stiffened.

Asthia's jaw clenched.

"...Commander Asthia Thorne, you and your detachment are hereby reassigned."

The scroll unfurled. Gold ink gleamed.

"To Graykeep."

A whisper passed through the soldiers like dry leaves in wind.

"By the Emperor's hand and seal, this order supersedes all prior deployments. You are to report with full strength and readiness. You are granted no additional supplies. You are to pacify, stabilize, and hold Graykeep in His Majesty's name. Resistance will be met with imperial scrutiny."

He held out the box.

"A second seal is enclosed for personal confirmation. May the Flame guide your path."

The herald turned, re-entered the carriage, and was gone.

Reth let out a slow breath.

Asthia stood still a beat longer, then spoke. "Graykeep."

The word tasted like ash.

Reth didn't need to ask. Everyone knew the name.

Graykeep. Frozen fortress. Old rebel hideout. A cursed land with no future. A punishment dressed as a command.

She turned from the balcony, face unreadable, and stepped back inside.

Reth followed. "So that's it? We're being moved?"

"To Graykeep. Effective immediately. By imperial decree."

He nodded. "Then it's real. Not just a vendetta."

"Oh, it's real." She held up the seal again—crimson wax, golden flame pressed deep. "And it's imperial."

She let the seal fall back into the box.

Asthia stared at it.

The golden flame glared back. The authority of the Empire. Of her father. Of a crown that no longer shielded her.

"Princess Asthia Thorne of Solvaris, reassigned to Graykeep."

She scoffed. "I wore a coronet at twelve. Led an army at seventeen. And now I'm being sent to a ruin like a servant cleaning stables."

Reth looked at her, unsure. Mouth opened, then shut.

Instead, softly: "What now?"

She didn't answer. Just walked to the wardrobe. Each step echoed.

Inside hung her armor—midnight steel, trimmed in serpentine green. Pauldrons etched with her sigil: a coiled serpent.

She began unfastening her robe.

Reth blinked. Turned quickly, face flushing. "Should I... leave?"

"No." Her voice was cool. "You stayed the night. You can manage another minute."

He coughed into his fist. Leather rustled. Buckles clicked.

"Turn."

She was nearly done, tightening her waist straps, sliding on her gauntlet with a snap.

Their eyes met again. Colder now. Clearer.

"Rouse the officers. I want the Serpent Wing in full kit. We march at dawn."

Reth nodded. "Yes, Commander."

He was almost at the door when:

"Wait."

He turned.

She stood at the mirror. Back straps loose. Hands reaching, failing.

"Help me tighten it."

He stepped closer, cautiously.

"Middle strap first," she said, pulling her hair aside. "And don't pull like a drunk ox."

Reth smirked. "Alright."

He tightened the strap. Careful. The armor shifted under his fingers. Her shoulders tensed—just for a second—then stilled.

"You always do this yourself?"

"I don't like help."

"But you asked."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Graykeep isn't a place for pride. I need to breathe. Fight. Stay alive."

He nodded, cinching the last buckle. "Done."

She rolled her shoulders. Turned to him.

"...Good enough."

Reth stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they'd been. His eyes caught on her—not on purpose, but the way the light hit the armor, the way it shaped her—

Gods.

He swallowed. Hard.

She noticed. The pause. The breath.

"Well?" she asked, head tilting. "Do I look more beautiful in armor, or more dangerous?"

Reth blinked. "What?"

"You were staring. Pick one."

"I—uh—both?"

She arched a brow. "Coward's answer."

"Didn't know it was a test."

"It's not," she said, adjusting a pauldron. "I already know the answer."

Outside – Serpent Wing Grounds

The courtyard shifted fast—crates packed, weapons checked, scribes calling names. Mages recalled, griffons stirred, engineers shouted.

From the balcony, Asthia watched. Wind tugged at her armor. Her face unreadable.

Thalren Estate – Capital

Sunlight through glass. Gold trim. Cold stone.

Seris Thalren adjusted a pearl earring. A knock.

An aide entered. "News from Serpent Wing."

She didn't turn. "Well?"

"They've been reassigned. Graykeep."

She smiled. "Took long enough."

"Imperial seal. No name attached."

"Of course not."

She turned from the mirror.

"Any leads on the rebel rumor?"

"Nothing we can prove."

She tapped the table. Eyes narrowing.

"Keep digging."

Capital Gates – Dawn

Cold air clung to stone.

Carts rolled. No horns. No ceremony. Just movement.

Troops marched in tight rows. Shields on backs. Faces grim.

Mages followed—hooded, marked, trailing mist.

Then the knights. Obsidian armor. Towering horses. A hammer waiting to drop.

Civilians watched. Quiet. Curious.

"Is that the Serpent Wing?"

"Where are they going?"

"Graykeep. The whole lot."

"No fanfare. Must be punishment."

Asthia rode at the head. Hood down. Eyes forward.

Reth behind her. Sword on hip. Watching.

Above them, banners flapped—a black serpent coiled around wings.

Reth blinked as a faint shimmer pulsed at the edge of his vision.

[SYSTEM STATUS]Class: Bodyguard — Lv. 3EXP: 30 / 400Loyalty Sync: 21.5%

Skills:— Basic Sword Technique: Lv. 1.6— Enhanced Reflexes: Lv. 1.1— Threat Perception: Lv. 1.0— Strategic Insight: Lv. 0.4— Disobedience: Lv. 0.1

He dismissed the screen with a thought and looked up again—toward Asthia's back.