The stone staircase twisted upward into darkness, each step worn smooth by centuries of forgotten footsteps. I pressed my palm against the cold wall for balance, my other hand protectively cradling my swollen belly as I navigated the narrow passage.
"Careful, Your Grace," Sir Kaelen whispered from ahead, his torch casting long shadows that danced across the ancient stonework. "These steps are treacherous."
I nodded, focusing on my footing. My back ached, and my legs trembled with exhaustion, but I forced myself onward. Each step brought me closer to Alaric.
The sounds of battle grew louder as we ascended—the clash of steel, desperate shouts, and the terrible splintering of wood. The fortress was falling, and my husband was somewhere in that chaos.
"Do you think they know?" I asked softly, pausing to catch my breath. "Do you think the rebels know about this passage?"
