CH. 46 The Trial of Leadership, Part II
Soldiers aren’t supposed to look confused.
Or unimpressed.
Or like they’d rather eat their own boots than listen to a prince.
Yet here we are.
Gavin stands in front of a squad of hardened warriors — broad-shouldered, scarred, battle-worn men and women — who look at him like he’s a decorative doily someone accidentally promoted.
He clears his throat, straightens his expensive coat, and announces:
“Soldiers of the Crown! I command you to—”
“No,” says the soldier in front.
Just… no.
Flat. Absolute. Biblical-level rejection.
Gavin blinks. “Excuse me?”
“We take orders from leaders,” the soldier replies, arms crossed. “Not from porcelain dolls.”
A ripple of stifled laughter rolls through the group.
Gavin’s eye twitches.
Somewhere behind a broken wall, I bite my fist to keep from laughing.
---
Gavin tries again.
“With all due respect—”
“You have none,” another soldier interrupts.
She’s sharpening her sword while glaring at him with the energy of a woman who has survived three wars and one very annoying husband.
Gavin inhales sharply through his nose.
The Very Angry Inhale?.
This is becoming a disaster, and part of me wants to sneak away and pretend I saw nothing.
But alas — the Seer has placed the fate of this quadrant on Gavin.
And the Trial of Leadership doesn’t allow skipping sections.
---
The horn blares across the fractured kingdom again — closer, louder, vibrating through stone.
The soldiers tense.
A captain speaks up. “They’re coming. If we’re going to survive, we need orders NOW.”
Everyone turns to Gavin.
Gavin freezes.
For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have an immediate answer.
And then—
Flash.
A shimmer of silver. The Trial pulling back a curtain.
Behind Gavin, the soldiers suddenly don’t stand in cracked armor but in formal, spotless uniforms.
The sky brightens.
We’re in the palace courtyard. Years ago.
Gavin stands as a teenager — defiant chin, bright eyes, trembling hands — in front of the King.
King Uriec’s voice is thunder.
Sharp. Cutting. Unforgiving.
“Your duty is to COMMAND,” he snaps, cane slamming on the marble. “Not to think. Not to doubt. Lead through POWER.”
Gavin, trembling:
“But Father— I don’t think—”
CRACK.
The cane hits his wrist.
His flinch is instant. Instinctive. Old.
“You are heir to the throne,” the King snarls. “You do not ask. You do not question. You demand.”
Gavin bows stiffly, swallowing something like tears.
The soldiers around him watch, silent witnesses.
Teenage Gavin whispers,
“Yes, Father.”
---
The vision fades.
We’re back in the fractured military district.
Adult Gavin’s face is stone.
And suddenly…
I understand him.
Not that he’s any less of an arrogant goat,
but I understand the shape of the cage that built him.
---
A soldier steps forward. “Orders, Prince.”
Gavin stiffens.
He lifts his chin — old reflex, old armor — ready to bark something awful and absolute.
But then… he stops.
His voice lowers.
Steadier.
Less sharp.
“What’s your formation preference?” he asks the captain.
The captain blinks, startled. “…My prince?”
“I don’t need to command men who know this battlefield better than I do,” Gavin says, jaw tight. “Tell me what works. I’ll make the call.”
A hum of approval ripples through the squad.
The captain straightens. “We break into three lines. Spear wall in front. Archers elevated behind the barricades. Two scouts on the ridge.”
Gavin nods. “Good. Do it.
And listen—”
He hesitates, swallowing pride like poison.
“You don’t fight for me.”
A beat.
“You fight for each other. For the city. For the innocent.”
The soldiers stare.
Then—
They kneel.
Not because they’re bowing to royalty.
But because they’ve finally recognized a leader.
The horn echoes again.
Closer.
The shadow army approaches.
Gavin unsheathes his sword, voice steady:
“Form ranks! Move!”
And the soldiers obey.
Not from fear.
From respect.
---
From my hiding spot, I cross my arms.
“Well,” I mutter.
“Look at that. He has a soul after all.”
The ground trembles under marching shadows in the distance.
The Trial continues.
And Gavin marches at the front of his soldiers.
For once, a prince leading like a king.