Chapter 1: The Ambush

The caravan moved slowly through the narrow pass of Eldwood Forest. Royal banners of Wessex hung limp in the heavy air. King Aric rode at the head. He was forty years old, broad-shouldered, with a dark beard showing the first threads of silver. His eyes stayed sharp from years of border fighting. In the covered wagon beside him sat his daughter, Princess Ricelda. She was eighteen, raven-haired, her skin pale from court life. Her velvet traveling gown already clung damp from the forest mist.

Twenty guards rode alongside, steel catching the last light. They headed toward a marriage alliance in neighbouring Mercia. Ricelda’s hand would seal the peace.

The attack came fast.

Arrows flew from the trees and cut down six guards in the first breath. Masked men in ragged cloaks rushed from the undergrowth with swords drawn. They looked like bandits, but their movements carried a knight’s training: clean parries, lethal strikes. The guards formed a ring around the wagon, but the line broke quickly. Guards fell one after another. Blood soaked the earth.

Aric drew his great sword and roared as he jumped from his horse. “Protect the princess!”

Too late. The wagon stood surrounded. Rough hands pulled Ricelda from the cushions. Her gown tore at the shoulder as she fought. Aric cut down two attackers before a club struck the back of his head. He dropped to his knees. Vision blurred. They bound his wrists with coarse rope and forced him down into the mud.

The leader stepped forward. Tall, hooded, voice carrying a Mercian accent under the rough disguise. “The king and his jewel. We take our toll.”

They dragged Ricelda to a fallen log and ripped her gown to her waist. Breasts bare, she kicked and clawed until they pinned her arms above her head and forced her legs apart. “No!” she cried. “Father!”