Lady Derynn The Daring

The sun had barely risen, and the air was crisp with the promise of a new day. Derynn stood by the window in her chambers, staring out at the horizon. Her mind was already far from the royal palace, where court intrigues and familial drama played out. She had a duty, one far more important than the games of the court.

As the king's political and military advisor, it was her responsibility to ensure the kingdom's security. The situation at the battlefield had grown dire. Whispers of a new enemy force threatening the kingdom reached her ears, and it was time to act.

Without a moment's hesitation, Derynn turned from the window, her eyes hard with determination. She could hear the hustle and bustle of the palace in the distance, but she wasn't interested in any of it—not today.

"Prepare my horse," she commanded to one of the guards outside her door. Her voice was calm, yet there was a sharp edge to it, one that brooked no argument.

The guard nodded, not daring to question her. Derynn was known for her decisiveness and sharp wit, and the thought of any delay in her plan sent a shiver through him.

Moments later, Derynn was mounted on her steed, her cloak billowing behind her as she rode through the palace gates. The wind whipped through her hair as she rode toward the distant encampment. Her thoughts were clear—her children were her first concern, but the kingdom needed her now, and she would not fail them.

The sound of hooves pounding against the dirt road reverberated in her ears as she pushed the horse faster. The battlefield was not far, but time was always a factor in war. The sooner she arrived, the sooner she could assess the situation herself.

She had learned to trust no one fully in matters of war—too many lies, too many betrayals. As she approached the frontlines, the familiar scent of smoke and tension filled the air. Soldiers moved about in a flurry of activity, preparing for whatever was to come.

Derynn dismounted swiftly, her presence commanding attention from the soldiers nearby. They saluted her, but no one spoke. She wasn't here for pleasantries.

She walked toward the commanders' tent, her mind already calculating the best course of action. As she entered, the men inside straightened, acknowledging her without question.

"Report," she demanded, her voice cold and sharp.

The leader of the battalion stepped forward, his expression serious. "We're holding our ground, Your Grace, but the enemy grows stronger by the hour. We need more reinforcements, or we risk losing the entire western front."

Derynn nodded, her mind racing. This was not a time for hesitation or fear. It was time for action.

"We'll send more forces immediately," she said, turning to a map of the region laid out before her. "But we also need to reinforce our defenses on the eastern flank. Have your best scouts keep watch. If the enemy's numbers are growing as you say, we need to be prepared."

The commander nodded, and Derynn turned, her gaze piercing as she surveyed the soldiers preparing for battle. There was no room for error in this war. Too many lives were at stake, and she would not let the kingdom fall under the rule of those who sought to destroy it.

As she walked back toward her horse, a thought lingered in the back of her mind. Marc—where was he? Had he already been sent to the frontlines? Would he be safe, or was he in danger, fighting for a kingdom that had taken so much from her?

But for now, there were no answers. Only action.

Derynn mounted her horse again, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The battle was just beginning, and she would not falter.

As Derynn rode further along the camp, her eyes scanned the soldiers preparing for battle. Her heart clenched as she saw the weariness in their eyes, the exhaustion that spoke of weeks of fighting. She didn't have much time to waste—she needed to make her decisions quickly.

Then, through the bustle, she saw him.

Marc.

His armor was battered, covered in dirt and blood, and his once-pristine cloak was now a tattered mess. He walked with a grim expression, his face etched with exhaustion, but even in his disheveled state, his presence commanded attention.

Derynn's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't help but stare at him for a moment—he looked as if he had been through hell and back. But she quickly snapped herself out of the trance. This was not the time for emotions.

Marc glanced up, his gaze locking with hers. For a brief moment, the noise of the camp seemed to fade, and they were the only two people in the world.

Then, he gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence. His eyes were weary, but there was a faint spark of recognition—a shared history neither could forget.

Derynn glanced around the camp, making sure no one was watching them closely. The last thing she wanted was for her feelings to be exposed in a place like this—where power and politics ruled, not emotions.

She approached Marc, her heart heavy with unspoken words. She couldn't keep the concern from her voice as she asked, "How was it, Marc? Are you alright?"

Her eyes traced his face, noting the cuts, bruises, and the exhaustion that weighed down on him. She felt a pang in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to take away the pain he carried, but she knew better than to show too much vulnerability.

Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out, "My love..."

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if saying it aloud would somehow make the reality of their situation harder to ignore. The camp around them continued its chaos, but in this fleeting moment, it was just the two of them, connected by a shared history and a love they could never openly claim.

Derynn didn't think—she just acted. Her heart raced as she stepped closer to Marc, her hand reaching up to touch his weathered face, brushing the dirt and sweat away. The world around them faded into the background as she leaned in, unable to hold back any longer.

Without a word, she kissed him. The moment her lips met his, it was like everything she had been holding inside burst free. The fire that had burned between them for so long, unspoken and forbidden, was now unleashed in that single, desperate kiss.

Marc didn't pull away. Instead, he kissed her back, just as urgently, his hands finding her waist, as if he couldn't resist the pull between them any more than she could. But even in the midst of their passion, Marc remained aware—aware of the danger, the consequences.

He pulled back just slightly, his breath ragged, eyes dark with longing but also a deep, quiet understanding. "Derynn," he whispered, his voice strained. "We can't... not here."

She looked into his eyes, heart pounding in her chest, realizing how much they had both sacrificed for their love. But for a moment, all that mattered was that they were together again, even if just for this fleeting, stolen kiss.

Marc's hands lingered on her waist for a moment longer before he pulled back, his gaze softening, though still filled with concern. "How are the children?" he asked quietly, his voice heavy with a mixture of longing and guilt.

Derynn's heart tightened at the question. She knew Marc hadn't had the chance to see them, and even though they both knew the truth—that the children believed the king was their father—he still cared deeply for them. They were his blood, even if they didn't know it.

"They're growing up fast," Derynn replied, her voice low as she looked away, her thoughts momentarily shifting to her children. "Prince Kaelen spends most of his time reading, and the others are just as energetic as ever. But they..." She trailed off, not wanting to say the words out loud, knowing Marc had already been through enough.

Marc nodded slowly, his gaze distant for a moment. "I wish I could be there for them. For you." His voice softened as he met her eyes again. "I wish I could be the father they deserve."

Derynn didn't know what to say, so instead, she simply nodded, her chest tightening with emotion. There was so much unsaid between them, so many things they couldn't have, but she was grateful for the moments like this—when the weight of their reality didn't seem as unbearable.

Derynn gave Marc one last, lingering look before she turned to leave. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken promises and fears swirling in the silence. She didn't look back as she made her way toward her horse, her voice steady but filled with emotion.

"Be careful," she said, her words carrying more than just a warning. It was a plea—one born from the deep love and fear she carried for him.

Marc nodded, his expression softening as he watched her mount her horse. His eyes held a quiet understanding, but there was a flicker of something else there too—hope, perhaps, or longing. He didn't speak, just watched her ride away, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their time together was always too brief, too fleeting.