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“Sire, we’ve just received word from the Eastern Wall. Our defenses have fallen; the city is lost. We must ride for the border at once.”
Mark does not turn from his place at the balcony, fingertips brushing the ornately-carved stone. His rings throw off sparkles of brilliant color in the slanted light of the setting sun.
“Your majesty,” the voice insists, the voice of Mark’s most trusted adviser. It’s the voice of a man Mark counts as a brother, a man whose loyalty never falters. A man with Mark’s greatest interests at heart, a man who—if Mark truly knows him at all—has already ordered the horses saddled. “Your majesty, please, I must insist—”
Mark raises a hand without turning around, and the voice behind him falls silent, waiting.
“I know that I might die here today, but I will not run and hide like a coward. Let the rebels come to me. They shall not have my throne without a fight.”
“But my king,” pleads the voice, strained and shaking with stress. Mark finally turns to catch the man’s gaze, two pairs of brown eyes locked in meaningless battle. Mark, for the moment, is still the king. When his mind is made up, his will is like iron.
The adviser drops his gaze to the floor, surrender in the set of his shoulders. Mark softens, deep fondness touching his voice. This man is his last loyal friend, after all.
“Shut up, Wade,” Mark says with a smile.
________________________________________
Jack’s nimble fingers dart over the wires, attaching them swiftly yet with caution. His earpiece buzzes with endless instructions, issued at a steady, rapid clip. Bob is perhaps their greatest ally, despite the royal blood in his veins. The werecat king is a master of explosives.
“Got it,” Jack says as the light blips red, indicating the bomb’s armed status. A final switch initiates the countdown, and Jack sets the case near the last main support, strategically placed for maximum destruction.
Bob’s voice crackles into his ear. “Good, now get outta there. You don’t wanna be standing there patting your own back when all those timers hit zero, man.”
Jack laughs and fluffs his tail out behind him, adrenaline jittering through his limbs. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’. Get blown sky-high and I’d miss all the fun!”
“You’re the only being in the entire realm who would call a bloody rebellion fun.”
Despite the scolding tone, Bob’s laughter betrays him, giddiness pervading their radio channel. This is real; this is happening—they are making history. If fortune continues to favor their cause, the castle will belong to the rebels by sundown.
“Sixty seconds,” Bob warns. “Wave Two in position. Are you in the clear?”
Jack burrows into his makeshift barricade, his tail wrapping around him like a quilt. “Ready and waiting. It’s the final countdown!”
Bob tries and fails to muffle a snort, hissing sternly into the headset. “Stop singing, you moron. This isn’t the time.”
Jack quivers as the seconds tick by, anticipation twisting in his gut. He is buzzing with energy, ears straining at the silence. Any moment, now; they are close, so close…
The explosion roars beyond the barricade, shaking the ground beneath Jack’s paws. It takes him a moment to hear Bob’s voice, and another to focus on what he’s saying. When the words finally register, Jack feels his heart leap, a smile blooming across his face.
The Eastern Wall has finally fallen. The city belongs to the squirrels once more.