Love of Fortune and Steel

Part 1

"Dawn's early light seeped through the chill of Nviom's air, painting the citadel walls with pale hues of purple and gray. Bisera stood silently by the window of the command chamber, her tall, lean frame silhouetted against the morning glow. Her long, muscular legs supported a curvaceous figure, and her blonde hair cascaded over shoulders broadened from years of wielding a sword. Her piercing blue eyes—set within soft features beneath a defined nose—scanned the horizon with sharp vigilance. She had not slept.

The events of the previous night—the assassination attempt, the death of her four elite guards, and the strange, undeniable pull she felt toward James—had unsettled her in a way she couldn't easily shake.

After the battle, Bisera had paced the fortress walls, her long legs carrying her swiftly as she personally inspected every post, gate, and entry point. It wasn't merely about reasserting control over the situation—it was about reclaiming command over her own turbulent thoughts. How had the assassins slipped through? The thought gnawed at her, a seed of doubt taking root. There had to be a gap in the defenses, something she had overlooked, and the weight of that realization pressed down on her. The deaths of the four guards—men she had trusted—had been a blow to her leadership.

But the breach wasn't the only thing that haunted her.

She had dropped her sword. Dropped it. For him. A man she had known for barely a few days. That single act had gnawed at her for hours. On the battlefield, such hesitation, such surrender, could cost the lives of her troops. She had trained herself to be unyielding, never to break, even under the most brutal conditions. And yet, for James—without a second thought—she had lowered her guard, her sword, and her pride.

It wasn't just her soldiers she needed to protect; it was the integrity of her leadership. And that integrity had faltered—all because of him.

Her blue eyes, so often cold and calculating, softened momentarily as her thoughts drifted to James. She tried to deny the feelings stirring within her, but they were there, undeniable. There was something about him—his quiet strength, the way his raven-black hair framed his fair complexion, his brown eyes reflecting an odd, almost fragile resolve, and the way he stood so firmly in a world not his own—that had begun to tug at her heart.

Seraphina chose him.

That thought anchored her, gave her clarity. Seraphina had guided him to her. There was reverence in that. And she could respect him—he had proven himself worthy of her trust, and his strange powers had saved her more than once. For that, she was deeply grateful. And yet, gratitude wasn't the only thing she felt. Her heart betrayed her mind, pulling her closer to something more. Something she didn't have the luxury to consider.

Bisera sighed softly, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She needed to maintain control—not just of the city, but of herself. She couldn't afford distractions. Not now. But her heart was confused, tangled in a way it hadn't been since... well, since that boy from her youth.

The sound of footsteps pulled her from her reverie. Captain Vesmir entered the room, his face grim.

"He's dead," Vesmir said bluntly, crossing his arms.

Bisera blinked, her expression hardening. "The assassin?"

Captain Vesmir nodded. "Killed himself before we could get anything useful out of him. Bit through a pouch of poison hidden in his mouth. We didn't see it coming."

Bisera clenched her jaw. It wasn't uncommon for trained assassins to carry poison—a bitter mixture of hemlock and belladonna, most likely, hidden under the tongue or in a hollowed tooth. It was a method the Gillyrian elite had used for years to ensure that, if captured, their soldiers wouldn't be forced to betray secrets. The assassin had outwitted them, even in death.

"Damn it," Bisera muttered. "We needed him alive."

Vesmir shrugged, though his expression mirrored Bisera's frustration. "He didn't seem to know much anyway. Just a tool sent to kill you and the great mage. He had no idea who James was or what he was capable of."

James.

Her mind snapped back to him once more, unbidden, and Bisera felt her chest tighten. She couldn't stop thinking about last night—the way she had instinctively stepped between him and danger, as if protecting him was more important than her own life. That moment, when the assassin had held James at knifepoint, had jolted something deep within her.

And now, looking back, she was surprised by how quickly she had dropped her sword. If that had been a battlefield, if her soldiers had seen her do that for someone else, the consequences could have been disastrous. She had sworn to protect her men, never to falter. But for James, she had faltered.

Bisera let out a shaky breath, her internal conflict weighing heavier than any armor. She needed to figure out what this meant—how she could reconcile the warrior she had always been with the woman she was becoming."

Part 2

James ran a hand through his raven-black hair, exhaling slowly as he engrossed himself in thought. He was undeniably attracted to Bisera—her strength, her grace, the way she commanded respect with every word and movement. But it wasn't just physical. There was something deeper, something that pulled at him every time he thought about her. It had been a chaotic night, yet his thoughts always seemed to drift back to her.

He hadn't realized it in the heat of the moment, but now, reflecting on it, the way she had stood in front of him, sword in hand, defending him with fierce determination... it was alluring. And not just in a superficial way.

He had been with beautiful women before—successful women who were used to getting what they wanted. They clung to him like accessories, always wanting more—attention and gifts from him. But Bisera... she was different. She was strong, resilient, caring. She had done more than protect him physically—she had taken control of the entire situation after the attack, managing the fortress while still thinking about his safety, leaving Velika behind to guard him. The weight of her responsibilities didn't stop her from acting swiftly, and he admired that.

She was always the one in control of their situations, with him relegated to a mere participant, and yet in all of her plans, she placed his safety and needs first. It was a type of control and power that did not intimidate him. In fact, it was incredibly attractive to James.

She was everything he hadn't realized he had been looking for.

A smile tugged at his lips. All those years dating women who dazzled him with their success, thinking that was what strength looked like... but they didn't hold a candle to Bisera. In just a few days, she had shown him what true strength was—strength of heart, strength of mind, and strength of flesh.

The realization hit him suddenly, like a punch to the gut.

He was in love with her. At the very least, he was infatuated with her.

It was absurd. They were from different worlds—literally. He didn't belong here, in this world of swords and magic. And she... she had responsibilities, a people to protect. She couldn't leave, and he... he had his own world waiting for him back home.

But despite all of that, he couldn't shake the desire to make it work. The only problem was... he had no idea how. Back in his world, when things got complicated with a woman, he'd throw money at the problem—fancy dinners, expensive gifts, luxury vacations. But somehow, he doubted Bisera would abandon her people and post for a shiny new car or a diamond ring or some luxury handbags.

He couldn't exactly buy his way into her heart nor erode her will of service with money.

Most importantly, he didn't even know how to get back to his own world or even if such travel was possible. Right now, his only basis for his conjecture was the fact that the invoice was deducting money from his bank account back home in Bortinto.

James chuckled softly to himself at the ridiculousness of it all. Here he was, a modern man in an ancient world, falling for a lady warrior who could probably outfight every man in his world. He was so far out of his depth, but strangely... he didn't care.

All that mattered now was her.

His thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door. Bisera walked in, her movements sharp and purposeful. She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes, her posture slightly rigid with the tension of a long, sleepless night. Despite the exhaustion etched on her face, she was still... breathtaking. Her tall, statuesque figure seemed to fill the room. Her blonde hair, though slightly disheveled, cascaded over her shoulders, framing her soft features and the defined line of her nose. Her blue eyes, though hardened by duty, held a depth that drew him in.

Bisera had left the room in the aftermath of the attack to take control of the situation. She had left Velika to ensure James's protection while she shored up the defenses, checking every corner of the fortress. Bisera had made sure the entire city's defense was secure, all while keeping James protected.

And yet, despite the exhaustion written on her face, she was still... beautiful.

James stood up awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Should he thank her for saving his life again? Should he tell her how he felt, that she had become the only thing on his mind? Or should he just keep his mouth shut and avoid making a fool of himself?

Before he could decide, Velika—who had been keeping guard all night—broke the silence with her usual teasing tone.

"Morning, General," she said with a grin. Velika, with her brunette hair, oval face, and round eyes that sparkled with mischief, had guarded James the entire evening. She was tall, though a bit shorter than Bisera, with a voluptuous figure accentuated by her armor. Her muscular legs and shapely butt gave her an air of strength that was distinct from Bisera's. "James here slept like a baby last night."

James managed a weak smile. "Thanks to Velika," he said, appreciating her protection.

Bisera's lips quirked into the faintest smile, and James's heart leapt in his chest. Oh heavens, she was incredible. He needed to figure out his feelings soon. Soon.

Part 3

The heavy tension in the room gradually lifted as the echoes of the battle faded, replaced by the low murmurs of the guards posted outside. James observed Bisera and Velika, noting the exhaustion etched into their faces—the subtle wince as Bisera moved, the way Velika's shoulders sagged slightly. An urge to help welled within him.

He stepped forward hesitantly. "You both should rest," he said softly, his voice tinged with concern. "The guards are here, and you've done more than enough today. Let me help in any way I can."

Velika raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in her round, perceptive eyes. Her brunette hair framed an expression of mild surprise. "Help us relax?" she teased. "What's your plan, Lord James? Going to teach us meditation?"

James chuckled awkwardly but pressed on. "Not exactly, but I can help you both get out of your armor. It must be uncomfortable."

Velika snorted softly. "Oh, that's not the worst idea you've had," she said, beginning to loosen her gauntlets. She glanced at Bisera, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "What do you think, General? He's offering to help. You might as well take advantage."

Bisera shot Velika a warning look, her lips thinning, but there was no real heat behind it. She hesitated, her blue eyes—usually so guarded beneath her defined nose and soft features—meeting James's earnest gaze. There was a vulnerability there, fleeting but genuine. Finally, she gave a small nod. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

James moved closer to Bisera, his heart beating a little faster. His hands reached to undo the clasps and straps of her armor. His fingers brushed against the cool metal. He was acutely aware of Bisera's proximity—the subtle scent of her, the rise and fall of her breath, the way her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders.

As he removed the armor piece by piece, Velika watched with an amused smirk. He's really doing it, she thought, barely holding back her laughter. And she's letting him.

After a few minutes, James finally reached the gambeson—the thick padded jacket worn underneath the armor. As he began untying it with careful fingers, gently pulling it away from her shoulders, his breath caught in his throat. Beneath the linen bandages wrapped around her side, there was a dark red stain spreading—blood.

"Bisera," James said, his voice low with concern. "Your wound—it's reopened."

Velika, who had been removing her own armor, turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she spotted the blood. "What?" she exclaimed, hurrying over. "You're bleeding again, General!"

Bisera grimaced but tried to brush it off. "It's just a minor setback," she muttered, wincing slightly. "Nothing to worry about."

James frowned, worry etched across his fair complexion. "This is not nothing. Please, let me tend to it."

Bisera stiffened, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face for a split second. Finally, she relented. "Very well."

Before anyone could say more, Seraphina's voice echoed in James's head. "You'll need a suture kit, antiseptic spray, and pain relievers. Total: $250 CAD. Say yes to confirm."

He sighed, muttering, "There's always a price," but he whispered a quick "Yes."

As expected, the medical supplies materialized in front of him. Velika's eyes went wide, and she stepped back, staring at the objects as though they were otherworldly—because, to her, they were. "What in the name of the Spirit is this?" she whispered, eyeing the strange instruments with a mix of awe and confusion.

James cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward. "These are tools from my world," he explained. "Seraphina told me to help Bisera with them."

Bisera, despite the obvious discomfort, nodded calmly. "They're the same kind of tools James used back in the cave. If Seraphina gave them to him, they will work."

Velika, still clearly taken aback, nodded slowly. "If Seraphina gave him these... I guess they must work," she muttered, though her eyes remained glued to the antiseptic spray bottle as if trying to decipher its magic.

James prepared to start the treatment but hesitated as his hand reflexively reached out to adjust Bisera's tunic. He recalled Seraphina's earlier warning about the lack of certain undergarments in this era. Heat rose to his cheeks. "I, um..." he stammered, his face reddening. "Just to avoid any misunderstandings, are you wearing anything beneath your tunic?"

Understanding dawned on Bisera's face, a subtle blush coloring her cheeks. "In my military attire, I wear braies beneath my tunic," she reassured him softly. "You needn't worry." To ease his discomfort, she took the initiative and gently pulled up her tunic to reveal the wound on her side while keeping her breasts covered.

He exhaled, both relieved and embarrassed. "Alright."

"Perhaps it would be easier if I lie down," Bisera suggested, her voice steady despite the underlying awkwardness. She moved to a nearby bench and reclined carefully, her long legs stretching out gracefully. As she settled, James couldn't help but be mesmerized by her. Her skin seemed almost luminous in the soft light—smooth and flawless, save for a few faint scars that told tales of battles past. He had expected her skin to be rougher, weathered by conflict and the harsh elements, but instead, it was remarkably pristine. Could it have something to do with mana? he wondered, the thought briefly capturing his attention.

Bisera noticed his gaze lingering on her, his eyes tracing over her form. A flicker of insecurity crossed her features. She subtly drew her legs in, her posture becoming more guarded as she folded her arms lightly over her midsection. Her eyes darted away from him, and she bit her lower lip—a small gesture that belied her usual confidence. Is he unsettled by my scars? she thought, a knot forming in her stomach. She wasn't accustomed to feeling self-conscious, but with James, it felt different. Why do I care so much about what he thinks?

James realized he'd been staring and quickly refocused on his task, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "That would help," he admitted, his voice a bit strained. He knelt beside her, arranging the medical supplies within reach.

As he began cleaning the wound, he was acutely aware of the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the warmth emanating from her body. His hands moved with gentle precision, his focus returning to her well-being. The inflamed edges of the wound told him that proper care was imperative.

"This might sting a bit," he murmured, holding up a tube of topical anesthetic.

Bisera met his gaze briefly, her blue eyes revealing a hint of vulnerability he hadn't seen before. "I'll manage," she replied, her voice quieter than usual.

He applied a broad-spectrum antiseptic, carefully spreading it over the wound to prevent infection. Then, he reached for the topical anesthetic cream, commonly used to numb the area and reduce pain during procedures like stitching. "This will help numb the area," he explained softly. He applied the cream around the wound, waiting a few moments for it to take effect.

As the numbing agent began to work, he proceeded to clean the wound more thoroughly, removing any debris. The antiseptic burned slightly, but Bisera remained still, her resilience evident despite the discomfort.

Velika stood nearby, her arms crossed, observing the scene with a thoughtful expression. The way James tended to Bisera did not escape her notice—the careful touch, the concern etched on his face. There's more between them than they realize, she mused.

As James prepared to stitch the wound, he glanced at Bisera. "I need to close the wound to prevent it from reopening," he explained softly. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, her gaze steady but still tinged with that earlier insecurity. "Go ahead."

He worked meticulously, threading the needle with practiced ease. Each stitch was precise, his movements deliberate. Bisera watched him, noting the concentration furrowing his brow, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead. The earlier awkwardness began to fade, replaced by a subtle warmth between them. Bisera was surprised at how the sharp pain she was expecting did not materialize.

"You're quite skilled at this," she remarked quietly, her voice carrying a softer tone than usual.

He glanced up, a faint smile on his lips. "I've had some guidance," he admitted, thinking of Seraphina.

As he secured the final stitch, his hand brushed lightly against her side, sending an unexpected jolt through both of them.

"All done," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you," she replied, her eyes meeting his. There was an intensity in her gaze that made his heart skip a beat. She wondered again why his opinion mattered so much to her.

They lingered like that for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions. James felt his cheeks warm and averted his eyes, busying himself with applying a fresh bandage.

"You're very gentle," Bisera noted, her tone softer than usual.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I didn't want to cause you any more pain."

She offered a small smile, some of her earlier insecurity easing. "You didn't."

Velika cleared her throat lightly, breaking the moment. "It's impressive how quickly you worked," she commented, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Perhaps we should make you the official healer."

James chuckled nervously. "I don't know about that."

Bisera sat up slowly, adjusting her tunic back into place. "Regardless, your help is appreciated."

He stood, taking a step back to give her space. "I'm glad I could assist."

Now that the medical work was done, James slipped into a more attentive mode. "Do you need anything else? Water? Something to eat?"

Bisera blinked, slightly taken aback by his tenderness. She wasn't used to being doted on, especially not during campaigns and certainly not by someone like James. "Water would be nice," she admitted, her voice a bit softer than usual.

James quickly fetched a bottle of water from his supplies and handed it to her. As she took it, their fingers brushed lightly, sending a subtle spark between them.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He smiled. "Anytime."

Velika watched the exchange with growing amusement. The way James cared for Bisera reminded her of her late husband—the gentle attentiveness, the sincere concern. Perhaps he is good for her, she thought.

A sharp knock echoed through the chamber, shattering its fragile calm. Bisera swiftly adjusted her tunic, smoothing the fabric with practiced grace before sitting upright. With a poised yet commanding gesture, she called out, "Enter."

The door swung open, and Captain Vesmir stepped inside without hesitation.

"General Bisera," he reported, his tone urgent, "Captain Garros arrived bearing the Emperor's decree. We are to withdraw forthwith, maintaining our formation, and march to the remaining two occupied cities. There, we must execute the same orderly retreat and eventually lead all Vakerian forces toward Podem. The Emperor himself is already en route to Podem."

Part 4

In the bright light of a late morning sun, Governor Nikolaos of the Theme of Thessaloria stood within the ancient stone halls of his command post, his eyes tracing the intricate lines of maps spread across a sturdy oak table. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting sharp shadows that danced with the gentle sway of the curtains. The distant murmur of the Thermaic Gulf drifted in, mingling with the pine-scented breeze from the surrounding hills. A sudden, urgent knock shattered his contemplation.

"Enter," Nikolaos commanded, his voice steady yet edged with curiosity.

A messenger bowed deeply as he stepped inside. "Governor, an urgent dispatch from the Emperor has arrived by messenger pigeon."

Nikolaos accepted the sealed parchment, his gaze lingering on the imperial sigil pressed into crimson wax—the unmistakable mark of Emperor Alexander. Breaking the seal, he unrolled the scroll and read the commanding words inscribed in meticulous script.

Governor Nikolaos,

Ambush General Bisera's forces along the narrow mountain paths between Nviom and Thessaloria. Exploit the terrain to your advantage. Intelligence reports indicate she has but 1,000 to 3,000 troops remaining, remnants of her garrisons after her expeditionary force was utterly crushed at the Battle of Sparklestar River. This is our moment to strike decisively. Additionally, dispatch troops to guard the border with the Vakerian Empire to prevent any incursion or escape.

By the Emperor's command.

Nikolaos's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the orders. Bisera—the formidable female general whose cunning had outwitted the Gillyrians' strategies time and again—was now weakened, her forces diminished. The defeat at Sparklestar River had turned the tide. She would be retreating through his lands, vulnerable at last. This was the opportunity they had long awaited.

Meanwhile, across the rugged landscapes of Balkania, other governors received their own missives. In the Theme of Nicopolis, Governor Ioannis stood atop the weathered battlements of Nikopolis, gazing out over the Ionian Sea as waves crashed against the rocky shore. A courier approached, his horse lathered and weary from relentless riding.

"Governor Ioannis, a message from the Emperor, delivered via messenger pigeon," the courier announced, handing over the scroll before tending to his exhausted steed.

Ioannis broke the seal and read:

Governor Ioannis,

Proceed northeast immediately. Block all routes by which Bisera may attempt to cross back into Vakerian lands from Nviom. Her forces are reduced to a mere 1,000 to 3,000 troops after their crushing defeat at Sparklestar River. Secure every mountain pass; let not a single soldier slip through.

By the Emperor's command.

His jaw set with determination, Ioannis turned to his assembled officers. "We depart at once. Ready the troops and fortify the mountain passes. Bisera's weakened forces must not escape our grasp."

In the rugged Theme of Strymon, Governor Dionysios sat in solemn council with his officers when a messenger entered, saluting crisply. "Governor, imperial orders have been received via messenger pigeon."

Dionysios accepted the scroll and unfolded it with deliberate care.

Governor Dionysios,

Prepare your forces to ambush Bisera's troops at the border should they attempt to enter your theme from the west. Her army is but a fragment of its former strength, diminished to 1,000 to 3,000 after the debacle at Sparklestar River. Deny them passage through Strymon at all costs.

By the Emperor's command.

He looked up, eyes steely with resolve. "Sound the alarms. Strengthen all defenses along the border. We face a wounded lioness—dangerous but vulnerable. We must be vigilant and ready for any movement."

Elsewhere, Governor Theodore stood upon a distant hillside, the city of Nviom visible under the bright mid-morning sun like a silent sentinel. He gazed intently toward the city walls, still waiting for a signal that refused to appear. The sun climbed higher, casting stark shadows across the plains. The absence of the anticipated sign whispered of failure—the assassination attempt on Bisera and her great mage had not succeeded.

A messenger approached softly, bowing with deep respect. "Governor Theodore, an urgent message from the Emperor, delivered via messenger pigeon."

Theodore accepted the scroll, his brow furrowed, and broke the seal to read the Emperor's decree.

Governor Theodore,

As soon as Bisera's forces vacate Nviom, move swiftly to capture the city. Ensure that casualties among the populace are minimized. Restore imperial control with minimal destruction.

By the Emperor's command.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of responsibility pressing upon him like a tangible force. Turning to his second-in-command, he spoke in hushed tones. "Ready the men. We must be poised to reclaim Nviom the moment the opportunity arises."

As the sun reached its zenith, casting a brilliant light over the land, each governor, bound by loyalty and united in purpose, wove together a web of stratagems—a silent net cast wide and deep, ready to ensnare their elusive adversary. Bisera, once a formidable foe, now led a diminished force. Yet they all knew that a cornered lioness was at her most dangerous.