Page 13 of Renegade Kingdom
I didn’t regret that choice. Not for a second.
But some days, the weight of it was heavier than others.
As I looked around at the camp, at the broken people and the fragile hope and the impossible task ahead of us, I realised that Iwas content. Even now with all the pain and the horrors that no doubt lay ahead of us.
This was what I was born to do. Not the fighting, though I could fight when I needed to. Not the leading, though I could lead when others couldn’t. No, my purpose was simpler than that. Quieter. I was the watcher. The steady presence at the edges. The one who made sure everyone had what they needed, even when they didn’t know what that was.
I would keep watch from the sidelines. I would hold them together. I would make sure they all survived this, no matter what it cost me.
We had maybe an hour before the camp would be ready to move. That wasn’t much time, but it would have to be enough. Once we reached the ship, we could make a proper plan. Stop reacting and start acting. Figure out what came next. Arik would have felt the blow we’d dealt him at his training camp and we needed to hit him again before he had a chance to recover.
Looking around at the injured, at the ones who might not make it if we didn’t move soon, I knew we couldn’t afford to delay. Some of these people needed real medical attention, not the field dressings and hope we’d been offering them. Every hour we spent here was an hour they might not have.
But maybe that could work in our favour. Maybe what these fractured, frightened people needed wasn’t rest. Maybe they needed purpose. A mission. Something to fight for that wasn’t each other.
Get the wounded to safety. Protect the ones who can’t protect themselves. Give everything you have to make sure one more person survives.
That was something they could understand. Something they could rally around.
I made my way across the camp to where Alyssa stood, speaking quietly with one of Rhidian’s men. She looked up asI approached, and I saw the exhaustion she was trying to hide. The grief. The fear. She was barely holding herself together, and she was doing it so well that most people probably couldn’t tell.
But I could tell. I always could.
She finished her conversation and turned to me, her expression shifting into something more guarded. More controlled. The face she wore when she was trying to be the leader everyone needed.
“Tank. Everything alright?”
“We need to move soon,” I said. “The wounded won’t last much longer without proper treatment. And the tension in camp is rising. If we don’t give these people something to focus on, we’re going to have a real problem on our hands.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting across the camp. Taking in the same things I’d seen. The fractures. The fear. The powder keg waiting for a spark.
“I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. We should…” She stopped, her jaw tightening. “We should be at the ship by nightfall on the second day if we push hard. Most of us, anyway.”
“Some won’t make it,” I agreed. It wasn’t a pleasant truth, but it was truth nonetheless.
“I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “I know.”
I studied her for a moment. The tension in her shoulders, the shadows under her eyes, the way she was carrying herself like the slightest breeze might knock her over.
“How are you doing?” I asked. “Really.”
She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I’m fine, Tank. I’m…”
“Alyssa.”
Just her name. But she heard everything I wasn’t saying in it. The concern. The care. The refusal to accept a deflection.
Her composure cracked, just slightly. Just enough for me to see the devastation underneath.
“I’m finding it hard,” she admitted. “Rhidian... it’s hitting me harder than the rest of it. And I feel guilty for that. There are so many people dead, so many lives lost, and all I can think about is him.” She wrapped her arms around herself, that familiar self-protective gesture. “What kind of person does that make me? These people died fighting for something I started. And I can’t even mourn them properly because I’m too busy mourninghim.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I said gently. “You can’t grieve for people you didn’t know. Not really. Not the way you grieve for someone who mattered to you. That’s not a flaw. That’s just how hearts work.”
She shook her head, but I could see some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “I wish I could have loved him,” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear. “The way he loved me. I wish I could have given him that. Made him happy, even for just this short time.”
“He knew you cared for him.”
“But caring isn’t the same as loving.” She met my eyes, and there was so much pain there it made my chest ache. “He deserved more than I could give. And now he’s gone, and I can never make that right.”
