Don’t Teach an Eagle to Fly – 2. chapter

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Kaelan turned sharply to one of his commanders.

“Start packing at once. We leave within half an hour. Only what’s necessary. Weapons, horses, supplies.”

The commander looked surprised but nodded.

“Yes, my lord. Do you think they’ll strike here?”

Kaelan shook his head. His voice was low, urgent.

“We have a captive they’ll want back at any cost. And we must be just as determined not to lose him. We must reach the castle before they regroup.”

For a second their gazes met. Kaelan’s was hard as steel. The soldiers moved at once, breaking camp. Kaelan paused. He hesitated. But he couldn’t resist. He had to see her again. He had to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. And so he turned toward his tent.

Before he even crossed the threshold, without looking at the guards, he spoke sharply.

“Let no one in.”

The tent flap fell aside and Kaelan stepped in. The damp earth muffled his heavy steps. Inside, the air was quiet, almost sacred. No clatter of weapons. No questions. Only her.

The armored figure sat beside a pole at the back of the tent, her wrists bound behind her in leather restraints. Her head was bowed, helmet still in place. She didn’t move.

He came closer. Each step burned in his chest with a strange tension. Expectation. She didn’t lift her head. Time pressed on him. His men could return for orders at any moment. But he couldn’t stop himself. He needed to know. He reached out, slowly touched the ridge of her helmet, loosened the straps, and gently removed it.

Her hair fell free like a veil of gold. It was pale as sunlight, long and almost unnaturally glossy in the flickering light. It stirred slightly, as if a breeze moved beneath it, though the air was still.

Then she looked at him.

Not suddenly. Not in surprise. And certainly not in fear. She raised her head slowly, as if she had been waiting for this. Her gaze locked onto his. Gray like a frozen lake. She didn’t look away.

Kaelan stood rooted in place. Beautiful. He had been on battlefields many times. He had seen blood, despair, tears. But never a face that carried defeat with such calm pride.

Her skin was pale, almost translucent, like snow in the shadow of mountains. Cheeks faintly flushed, not fragile but dignified. Full lips pressed firmly together. A delicate but resolute chin. A straight, high, noble nose. Balanced features, cold and beautiful at once. As though nature itself had sculpted her to mock his victory. And her eyes… They didn’t hold fear. Nor accusation. They held resolve. And something …defiant.

Kaelan moved. She never broke eye contact. The bindings pressed into her wrists, but she showed no discomfort. She sat straight, head high, like a princess who had kept her dignity even in captivity.

He leaned against the pole opposite her. Watched her for a long time. She endured it. Neither of them moved.

He felt blood pounding at his temples. Something inside him stirred. Not fear. Not doubt. But a strange awareness that he stood before someone who would not be easily broken.

And yet he had taken her. And now he held her here.

At last he leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving her face.

“My men don’t know what you are. And for now, I won’t tell them,” he said quietly, slowly. “What you do with that is your choice.”

Then he reached out and placed the helmet back on her head.

He hesitated for a moment. Then he turned and left the tent. The fabric fell closed behind him. Outside, the air was thick with tension. Soldiers were gathering. Horses stamped impatiently, some already harnessed.

At the edge of the camp stood a heavy transport cage on wheels. Iron. Barred. Used for moving dangerous prisoners or captives of great value. Two powerful brown horses were hitched to it, ready to go. Inside, it was lined with thick furs. Still a prison.

Kaelan threw his cloak over his shoulder and gave the order.

“Put him in there. When you’re ready, we move. No one approaches him without my express permission.”

Three riders already stood beside the cage. Silent. Experienced. Hands close to their sword hilts. The air was cold and biting. Heavy clouds were gathering overhead. The cage was secured. The horses moved out. The caravan rolled forward. Kaelan rode alongside it without a word, his gaze fixed ahead. Behind them lay the battlefield. Ahead, silence, certainty, and the safety of the castle.

The road led through dense forest and several narrow mountain passes, places where an ambush was possible. That was why he chose speed. Only four men. No stops. No fires. No tents. Only movement.

The prisoner sat motionless in the cage, almost like a statue. She didn’t speak. She didn’t beg. She didn’t move. Kaelan glanced her way more than once, but there was no sign of fear. On the contrary, she waited calmly.

As the miles passed, darkness fell. Clouds thickened. The wind grew stronger. Kaelan pulled his cloak tighter and nodded to one of the riders. They needed to move faster. The castle was still hours away, and he wanted her there before dawn.

Every beat of a hoof, every jolt of the wheels through the mud, sounded like a drum driving them forward. The castle rose at the foot of a rocky outcrop. Inaccessible. Cold. Secure.

Kaelan stayed close to the cage the entire way. He moved among the riders, but always returned to her side. She didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t give him a single glance. She settled comfortably on the furs as if they were a place of honor rather than confinement. He watched her. The wheels struck a stone and she lost her balance. When she steadied herself, there was dignity in the movement, as if she still stood at the head of her own army.

Kaelan thought ahead. Prisoners were usually taken straight below ground. Cold vaulted cells where time lost meaning. But status mattered. A king’s son might be given a chamber if the commander deemed it wise. When he’d seen the eagle on the battlefield, it had never crossed his mind to give someone like that a room with a bed. Now he knew that was exactly what he had to do. This woman would not be thrown into a dungeon. He had the right to do it. But he wouldn’t. Yet he couldn’t let her move freely either. She was a skilled fighter. He knew it. One moment would be enough, and anyone who entered the room would end up on the floor. Unless it was him. And that was not going to happen.

A room. A chamber near his own. A solid bed. Thick blankets. Water for washing. No weapons. And something to bind her. Firmly. With purpose. Something that would set limits.

He frowned and rubbed a hand over his beard. Restraints. They had to be effective, without unnecessary leniency. Shackles tempted him most. Iron certainty. But he already knew he wouldn’t want her fixed in one position at all times. Something told him she would not be a prisoner who endured quietly. With her, it would not be simple. So rope around her wrists. And a chain running from the rope to the wall. Long enough for her to lie on the bed, but not long enough to reach the door. So she could see, but not reach. So that if someone entered, she would have no chance to come close. Not even a few steps. She would be able to sit, drink, stretch. But she would not be able to hide. Or attack.