The riders, when they approached, were scattered. The message and the scouts had both been right – the Skarlans clearly weren't expecting much resistance, approaching with no sense of guard or battle formation. When they saw the archers on the ramparts, however, they gathered. Ren heard shouted orders from their commander.

The group of soldiers stopped just out of shooting range and a single rider came forward, halting her horse in front of the stone bridge.

The fort was deathly silent, only the Frayne standards snapping in the wind above the keep towers making any sound. Even the cattle were quiet, herded close together in the courtyard below by a small group of soldiers on horseback.

The Skarlan rider's voice carried when she spoke, breath misting in front of her face. “King Halvard of Skarlan, protector of the Fraynean throne, demands your surrender. If you give up this fort willingly, the lives of all soldiers within its walls will be spared and you will be allowed safe passage to your homes and families. The only condition is that the bastard prince and his slave must be delivered to us.”

“If Skarlan rules Frayne and the North,” Anik said, voice hushed, “then the rest of these lands will be subject to the same cruelty as the Lowlands.”

The messenger waited, horse pawing at the ground impatiently. “This is your final warning. We will attack and bring Stag's Run to heel.”

“Ready with the cattle,” Ren said over his shoulder, voice hushed. The order was repeated down the stairs until it reached the riders surrounding the animals in the courtyard. They pushed their horses in closer, making the beasts lift their heads in an attempt to press forward against the closed gates.

Finding that no reply was forthcoming, the messenger spun her horse and galloped back towards the Skarlan army. As Ren watched, the soldiers regrouped into two columns and advanced, the hooves of their animals digging into the wet ground. Heavy chains were brought forward, metal links shining in the sunlight. They were preparing to pull the gate off its hinges. They weren't expecting Ren's soldiers to simply open them willingly.

Ren shared a glance with Anik. Anik was smiling, a wicked grin on his face. How anyone could look so at ease in the face of death was beyond him.

The first column of soldiers marched onto the bridge with their shields raised above their heads. Behind them, the second column lined up, ready to breach the fort. There were so many of them. Ren's archers tensed the strings of their bows, but didn't fire.

Ren leaned over the battlements, standing on the tips of his toes to watch the soldiers below approach the gate. A hand – Anik's – twisted in the back of his coat, ready to yank him back at the first sight of an enemy archer taking aim.