The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 328: Struggling Alone

"Where are you going, beauty?" the soldier’s voice rang out, thick with arrogance and a twisted amusement that made Jessamyn’s skin crawl.

Her heart thudded in her chest, but she forced herself to maintain control. Beneath the bag she clutched to her belly, her hand was wrapped tightly around her hidden crossbow, her fingers trembling only slightly. She was terrified—her breath shallow and her senses heightened—but she knew better than to show weakness in front of an enemy, especially this one.

"How are you still alive after losing to a woman’s handkerchief?" Jessamyn sneered, her words cutting through the darkness with sharp precision. Her voice was laced with disdain, calculated to dig deep into the soldier’s wounded pride. "What I heard was right—Altanians have no honor, no shame. They must have gathered just whoever they could find to fight. Were you stripped of your previous titles? Or do they still let you parade around like a fool in armor?"

The man’s steady demeanor faltered. Even in the dim light of the moonless night, Jessamyn could see the flicker of anger in his eyes, the rigid set of his jaw. She could barely make out the features of his face in the thick forest shadows, but she didn’t need to see much to know she’d struck a nerve.

His hand instinctively reached for his sword, his pride stung by her words. She had humiliated him once before—during the games, in front of his peers and the entire court. The memory burned inside him, fueling his desire for revenge. He had suffered immensely after that day, mocked and ridiculed back in his kingdom. And now, here she was again, alone and vulnerable. He had imagined countless ways to avenge his honor, to reclaim his dignity, and she had walked right into his path, making it all too easy for him.

He drew his sword with a slow, deliberate motion, its gleaming blade catching what little light there was. "You won’t get away this time," he growled, stepping toward her.

Jessamyn’s pulse quickened, but her face remained calm, a mask of defiance. The soldier raised his sword, preparing to strike, but before he could even begin to swing, Jessamyn dropped the bag concealing her crossbow. With swift precision, she fired, the bolt whistling through the air and sinking deep between his eyes. His expression froze in shock, his body swaying for a brief moment before crumpling to the ground in a heap. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Did you think I only played with handkerchiefs, you fool?" she spat, her voice trembling slightly from the adrenaline surging through her veins. The soldier lay still, his eyes wide and vacant. He died almost instantly, his once proud figure reduced to a lifeless heap on the forest floor.

Jessamyn barely had time to catch her breath when she heard the faint snort of Jostein nearby. Her eyes darted toward the sound, her chest tightening with dread as another voice, rough and unfamiliar, reached her ears. It was a man speaking in the Altanian language, his tone authoritative. Her heart skipped a beat.

Was Jostein caught?

Panic flared in her chest. She couldn’t lose him—he was the key to her escape, her only means of continuing this journey. Without him, she would be stranded in the wilderness, vulnerable and alone. She quickly and quietly made her way toward the sound, her body low to the ground, every movement cautious.

Peering from behind a thick tree trunk, she spotted another Altanian soldier. He was taller, broader, and wore armor that gleamed even in the faint light. His presence screamed authority—a high-ranking officer, no doubt. He held Jostein’s reins in one hand, his other hand clutching something Jessamyn couldn’t make out. He muttered to himself, his words barely audible, but she caught enough to know he was planning to call for reinforcements.

Her mind raced. If he summoned the others, it would be over. She would be overwhelmed, captured, or worse. Jessamyn’s hand tightened on her crossbow, but she couldn’t get a clear shot. The officer was partially obscured by the horse, and any misfire would expose her position. She needed to act quickly, but how?

Just as despair began to creep in, a familiar sound echoed through the forest. The cawing of a bird—one she had dismissed time and time again as mere imagination. But this time, it was no delusion. Jessamyn’s heart leapt as she saw the bird—Jaylene, her husband’s loyal pet mynah, perched high in the branches above the officer’s head.

The officer’s attention shifted, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the treetops. He paused, clearly expecting a raven, one of the messenger birds often used for spying. When his eyes landed on Jaylene, his expression twisted with disappointment. "Just a mynah," he muttered, irritated. With a scowl, he raised his sword to shoo the bird away.

But Jaylene had other plans. With a sharp cry, the bird swooped down, aiming straight for the officer’s face. Her tiny beak jabbed at his eyes, her wings flapping wildly in his face. The man stumbled back, swatting at the bird in a desperate attempt to fend her off. Before he could cry out for help, Jostein, ever loyal and sharp, reared up and delivered a powerful kick to the man’s head. The soldier collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Jessamyn rushed forward, her heart pounding with both relief and gratitude. "Good boy," she whispered to Jostein, patting his side. She glanced up at Jaylene, perched triumphantly in a nearby tree. "And you, Jaylene—you just saved my life."

But her relief was short-lived. The soldier, though unconscious now, wouldn’t stay that way for long. If he awoke, he would alert the others, and she would be as good as dead. She couldn’t afford to leave him alive.

With a sense of grim determination, Jessamyn picked up the fallen soldier’s sword. It was heavy in her hands, far too large for her to wield properly, but she had no choice. She pressed the blade to his throat, her hands trembling from both the weight of the weapon and the gravity of what she was about to do. She applied pressure, trying to make the cut clean and quick, but the sword slipped slightly, the blade only partially cutting through. The man gasped, his eyes snapping open as his hand shot up to grab her leg.

Jessamyn stumbled back, her heart lurching in terror as his grip tightened around her ankle. Her mind raced with panic. She could feel the press of his fingers, strong and desperate. For a moment, she feared she would fail.

"I should have listened to Jerrick when he offered to teach me how to behead someone," she muttered, her voice shaky with both fear and frustration. Her fingers fumbled with the sword, but she steeled herself, focusing every ounce of strength she had into finishing the job.

With a final, determined push, she drove the blade deeper, the man’s grip loosening as blood pooled beneath him. He gurgled once, then fell still. Jessamyn dropped the sword, her body trembling as she collapsed to the ground, exhaustion washing over her in waves.

Tears stung her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as the adrenaline drained from her body. She hugged her belly, her mind drifting to Jerrick.

"Where are you, Jerrick?" she whispered into the cold, empty night, her heart aching with the weight of her longing and the endless unknowns that still lay ahead.

But then Jessamyn steeled her heart, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. She couldn’t afford to linger in this moment of vulnerability. The forest, thick and dark, pulsed with unseen dangers.

She glanced at the lifeless soldier one last time, the blood-soaked ground a grim reminder of what she had done—what she had to do. There was no time for regret. Not tonight. Not ever.