CHAPTER 415: THE RETURN OF THE LOST PRINCE : THE BATTLE WITHIN

A/N: To enhance the storytelling experience, I’ll be weaving the narrative from both Angus and Joash’s perspectives. Get ready for a deeper dive into their thoughts and emotions!

Joash

The moment he had seen Angus’s face, the years seemed to collapse. Memories crashed into him—memories of the palace, of laughter under banners of gold, of a boy-prince who had smiled at him across a banquet table. That boy was a man now, hardened, eyes shadowed by things he couldn’t yet name.

He should have been overjoyed. And part of him was. The prince lived.Estalis had a heartbeat again. But in the next breath, doubt curled around the joy like smoke.

’He served another crown just like me and my son.’

He had sworn to Prince Alaric, too. Alaric was fair, strong, and had given them a cause worth fighting for. Yet if Prince Aragon—hisprince—called, would he not answer? Could a soldier divide his loyalty and still call himself true?

Yes, he had pledged his sword to Alaric. The oath had not been made lightly. But seeing Angus—Prince Aragon—standing there alive, breathing, and commanding as if the years had not dimmed his right to lead... Joash felt the ground shift beneath him.

The thought twisted in his gut. When he looked at Angus, he saw no pretender. This was a man who had lived in the dirt, who had bled and fought and protected his brother. Not the untouchable figure of his memory, but something stronger, rougher... perhaps even more worthy.

Joash’s fists clenched at his sides. Whatever this new path was, he would walk it—he would follow his prince!

Angus

They called him prince, but he no longer knew if the title fit. The boy who had been heir to Estalis had died the night General Traidor’s blade cut through the royal line. What remained was Angus—the soldier, the survivor, the man bound by oath to Alaric.

Yet as Joash looked at him with eyes that shone like the dawn after a long winter, a treacherous thought slipped in: Could I be both?Could I honor the bond with Alaric and still be the voice that rallied my father’s people? Or was that a lie—an attempt to stand with one foot in two worlds that could never truly be joined?

But hasn’t Alaric told him that he only needed to serve five years?

He didn’t want to choose. But sooner or later, the world would force the decision from him.

...

Neither spoke the thoughts aloud. But in that heavy, unspoken moment, each man carried the same burden in his chest—the knowledge that loyalty, once divided, was like a sword blade under strain. It could hold for a while. But eventually... it snapped.

The following morning

The camp stirred before the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon. The air was sharp with the smell of cold earth and damp canvas. Boots scraped against the frozen ground, the muted clatter of armor and whispered orders filling the gray stillness.

Joash tightened the strap on his shoulder plate, his eyes drifting toward Angus, who was already awake and mounted, gaze fixed eastward. The pale light caught the edge of Angus’s face, hardening the lines, shadowing his eyes.

Beside him was his younger brother Aramis. Joash could not remember Aramis—Prince Vaskar. He must be very young then. But looking at the similar features between the two, one could not doubt they were siblings.

Angus looked every inch a general, every inch a prince.

Joash felt a pang in his chest.

They moved out in a quiet, measured column, the soldiers’ breath misting in the cold. Hooves and boots churned the frost into mud. Ahead, the path wound between skeletal trees, their branches rattling softly in the wind like dry bones.

The men kept their eyes forward, but the air between them seemed taut, as if they all sensed the weight of where they were going. Some of these men would see their own countrymen in the Estalis camp—friends, cousins, brothers who had chosen another side.

Joash glanced toward Angus, riding just ahead. He wondered what the prince saw in his mind’s eye. The faces of those lost? Or the ones still waiting to be rallied?

Angus

Every step of his horse brought him closer to the camp, and closer to the past. He could almost see the banners of Estalis flying in his mind, hear the clash of steel from his father’s last stand. But that was memory, not reality. The camp ahead was filled with men who might greet him as a savior—or see him as a threat to their current loyalties.

He had no illusions. Respect in war was never given freely.

Beside him, Joash rode in silence, but Angus could feel the man’s eyes on him, full of questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Joash

He had seen Angus lead Northem soldiers before, in the war at Carles two years ago. He was calm, decisive, unshakable. Did he feel guilt when he killed his own people? Perhaps not. Those were traitors who murdered his family.

As they approached the Estalis camp, he wondered how it would be different. Would Angus’s voice change when addressing his own countrymen? Would there be that same quiet steel, or something warmer in the voice of the boy Joash had once known?

And if there was... what then?

Could Joash serve two princes if they walked the same path? Or was that just wishful thinking before the storm?

...

A thin wisp of smoke curled above the treeline ahead—the Estalis camp. Both men saw it at the same moment, their gazes briefly meeting before flicking away.

Neither spoke.

But both knew the moment they crossed into that camp, something would shift. Whether it would bind them closer or drive a wedge between them was a question the morning sun could not yet answer.

...

The Camp

The smell of wood smoke thickened as they drew near. The sound of men’s voices—gruff, alert, guarded—carried on the cold air. When the trees broke, the Estalis camp came into view: a scattering of tents ringed by watchfires, with sentries posted at every approach.

Armor gleamed in the half-light. Spears bristled from racks. The soldiers here were lean, sharp-eyed, and hard from years of skirmish. They had the look of men who’d stopped believing in saviors.

A murmur rippled through the outer guard as they caught sight of the approaching column. Some straightened in alarm. Others lowered their spears, hands flexing near the hilts of their swords.

"General Joash?" one of the older soldiers called, disbelief in his voice. He was there the previous day. Abner had given Joash a chance to stand by their side.

"It’s me," Joash answered, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. "We come as allies."

The man’s gaze shifted to Angus, who removed his cloak and revealed the princely robe underneath. His brows drew together. "And who—" He stopped. His mouth opened slightly. His spear dipped lower. "Heavens..."

The murmur spread, louder now. Soldiers emerged from tents, wiping sleep from their eyes, staring at Angus as if he were a ghost stepping out of the past.

"It’s him," someone whispered. "Prince Aragon..." another breathed, almost afraid to speak the name aloud.

Angus felt the weight of every gaze. They weren’t looking at a general from Northem—they were seeing a boy who should have died a decade ago. He kept his expression steady, his voice calm.

"We are here under the banner of Prince Alaric of Northem," he said, making the truth plain before rumors could take root. "Our purpose is to stand together against the threats that would see all our lands fall. Zura is a threat not only to Northem but also to Estalis."

The murmurs faltered. Then Abner emerged from his tent and stepped forward, his arms crossed. His eyes flicked over Angus with open skepticism.

"So you claim the name of our prince, but you wear the colors of another." His voice was low but sharp enough to cut. "Where was the Estalis’s heir when we bled and fled? When Traidor’s dogs hunted us through the forests? He finally caught us, and we serve him now. But at least we serve the Estalis, banner. But you...you serve Northem! Will you serve us tomorrow? Or are we to be traded like coins between crowns?"

A hush fell. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Angus met the man’s stare without flinching. "I was on the run, same as you. I bled, same as you. I buried my dead, same as you. I serve Prince Alaric because he saved my life and my brother’s when no one else could. That debt is mine to carry—but my blood is still Estalis, and I will not see her fall."

Abner didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed in thought. Around him, some soldiers nodded slightly, others remained stiff.

Joash shifted in the saddle, his jaw tight. He could feel the camp tipping—one word, one wrong look, and the fragile recognition could shatter.

Joash knew that Angus had spoken the truth. But he also knew that truth alone might not be enough to hold the loyalty of these men if they doubted where his allegiance lay.

And Angus... Angus could feel Joash’s eyes on him, silently willing him to say more, to claim Estalis outright.

But that was the one thing he would not do. Not yet.