The march home was a grim affair, but the sight of their ancestral castle brought a wave of relief. The weary soldiers of House Galen filed through the gates, their banners tattered and their spirits broken. The castle was not a fortress, but a home. It was old and beautiful, with thin walls and towers meant for comfort, not combat.
Lysa immediately took charge. Her grief for Kael was still a fresh wound, but she had no time for it. She moved with a desperate efficiency, organizing the resupply and tending to the wounded. For a few precious days, the castle felt safe. The men were fed, their wounds were tended, and for a brief moment, it felt like they had escaped the war.
Ren and the few hundred men from his brother's command were all they had, most of them wounded and in need of rest. The old garrison of about 50 men was quickly put to work, patching weak points in the wall and stocking the kitchens. "We have time," Ren said to Lysa one evening as they stood on the battlements, looking over their small, tired force. "We will be ready."
But that peace was an illusion.
A hundred miles away, in his opulent throne room, the King sat with a grim smile. The news of the Vexin alliance fracturing had reached him, and it tasted sweeter than any wine. He had been right; the rebels would crumble under their own petty loyalties.
His general, still bearing the fresh scar over his eye and the bandage on his hand, stood before the throne. A breathless scout, his clothes stained with dust and sweat, had just been dragged before the King.
"Speak!" the King commanded.
"Your Majesty... the rebels are divided. The Galen house is in retreat. Their army is a shambles, little more than a few hundred wounded men and merchants' guards. They are returning to their castle."
The King's smile widened. "So, the serpent's nest is exposed. The cub runs home to his mother's den." He looked at his general. "The rest of the rebels will be on the move. We must crush them now, before they can regroup."
The general's eyes, filled with a chilling intensity, met the King's. "Leave the main Vexin army to me, Your Majesty. I will take what is left of my forces and lay siege to House Galen. Their castle is old and ill-suited for a long siege, and their men are few. Let me go to them. I would be happy to end that whole family."
The King looked from the general's scarred face to his bandaged hand. He saw the cold, personal fury there, a perfect tool for a king to use. "Go," the King said, his voice a low growl. "Bring me their heads."
Back at the castle, Lysa stood on the battlements, a moment of rare peace on her face. She was tired, but she was home. In the distance, a small dust cloud appeared on the horizon, and for a moment, she thought it was nothing more than a passing wagon. It was not. The sun caught the glint of steel, and the sound of a thousand drums, low and menacing, carried on the wind. The general was coming, and he was not going to give them a moment to prepare.