Chap­ter XII opens with Thu­via stand­ing in the heart of dan­ger, fac­ing the ter­ri­fy­ing banth-god, Komal. Jav, her only com­pan­ion and pro­tec­tor, brave­ly con­fronts the beast but is quick­ly over­pow­ered and killed. Thu­via, using a com­mand­ing pres­ence few would expect, calms the sav­age crea­ture and leads it away, her com­po­sure both star­tling and pow­er­ful. Though she has nar­row­ly sur­vived, her jour­ney through the per­ilous Mar­t­ian wilds has just begun. Each step she takes is shad­owed by uncertainty—not just of her des­ti­na­tion, but of her heart. She con­tin­ues her trek toward Ptarth, unaware that Cartho­ris, sep­a­rat­ed by fate, search­es des­per­ate­ly for her on anoth­er path. Her thoughts flick­er with mem­o­ries of him, but pride and duty sup­press what she will not admit.

Thuvia’s strug­gle is not just exter­nal but deeply per­son­al. Bound to Kulan Tith by roy­al oblig­a­tion, she fights the pull of her heart every time Cartho­ris enters her thoughts. Her bond with Komal, now a strange guardian, pro­vides a sense of secu­ri­ty amid the vast dan­gers of Bar­soom. Yet, no mat­ter how strong her resolve, moments of qui­et force her to con­front the feel­ings she denies. Every glance at the stars above reminds her of Carthoris’s loy­al­ty, the risks he has like­ly tak­en, and the impos­si­bil­i­ty of their con­nec­tion under cur­rent polit­i­cal con­straints. Still, she march­es for­ward, guid­ed by pur­pose and guard­ed by a crea­ture that once sym­bol­ized death but now serves as an unlike­ly ally. Her strength, test­ed at every turn, grows not through bat­tle but endurance.

Else­where, Carthoris’s jour­ney is inter­rupt­ed by betray­al. Ambushed and struck down, he is left uncon­scious and vul­ner­a­ble. Before he can reach Thu­via, fate inter­venes again. Thu­via, now alone, is cap­tured by war­riors loy­al to Dusar, falling once more into the hands of her ene­mies. This time, she faces not only the threat of impris­on­ment but a polit­i­cal trap from which she might not escape. Back in Dusar, the walls close in as the truth behind her abduc­tion becomes too dan­ger­ous to con­tain. Astok, who engi­neered the kid­nap­ping in a des­per­ate attempt to pos­sess her, now finds him­self ensnared in con­se­quences far greater than his orig­i­nal scheme.

Astok’s father, Nutus, sees the cri­sis clear­ly. The poten­tial expo­sure of their involve­ment in Thuvia’s dis­ap­pear­ance could unrav­el frag­ile alliances and ignite war between the strongest city-states of Bar­soom. Astok is urged to aban­don his fan­ta­sy of win­ning Thuvia’s affec­tion and to con­sid­er the dam­age already done. Nutus pro­pos­es a bru­tal solu­tion: elim­i­nate Thu­via and all evi­dence of the plot. For the Dusar­i­ans, her life has become a liability—a sym­bol of mis­cal­cu­la­tion that must be erased to pro­tect their stand­ing. Astok, though ruth­less in many ways, hes­i­tates. In her pres­ence, his aggres­sion fal­ters, met by her fear­less defi­ance. Thuvia’s refusal remains steady. She will not be a pawn. She will not yield.

Astok’s inner tur­moil becomes vis­i­ble. On one side, he is pres­sured by his father’s demand to secure Dusar’s future through silence. On the oth­er, he faces a woman whose dig­ni­ty refus­es to be bro­ken. Each time he attempts to assert con­trol, her strength mir­rors back his cow­ardice. Though he threat­ens, delays, and recon­sid­ers, his will fal­ters. In Thu­via, he sees some­thing greater than beauty—something incor­rupt­ible. It is a force he can­not tame or threat­en into sub­mis­sion. The choice before him is no longer just polit­i­cal. It has become deeply per­son­al, dri­ven by a recog­ni­tion that what he wants can­not be tak­en, only giv­en freely.

Mean­while, the larg­er web of Mar­t­ian pol­i­tics tight­ens. The dis­ap­pear­ance of Thu­via has sent rip­ples across the cities. If Heli­um or Kaol learns the truth, retal­i­a­tion will fol­low swift­ly and with­out mer­cy. The lead­er­ship of Dusar teeters on the edge of con­flict, gam­bling its sur­vival on secre­cy. Thu­via, though bound by chains, remains at the cen­ter of the storm. Her silence, her strength, and her pres­ence com­mand atten­tion. She is no longer sim­ply a princess or a prize. She is the piv­ot around which war and peace might turn.

This chap­ter paints a world where emo­tion­al restraint car­ries the same weight as mil­i­tary might. It explores the chaos that ensues when self­ish desires over­ride rea­son, and the qui­et pow­er that comes from know­ing one’s worth. Thu­via, caught between nations and suit­ors, does not beg for free­dom. She demands it with silence and pres­ence. Her influ­ence grows not through com­mand, but through clarity—proving that even in cap­tiv­i­ty, con­trol is not entire­ly lost. With con­flict loom­ing and loy­al­ties frac­tur­ing, the chap­ter leaves us wait­ing. Not just for res­cue, but for res­o­lu­tion. And Thu­via, in her resilience, promis­es she will not break before it comes.