Page 11 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)

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T rapped in the confines of the opulently decorated bedroom, the walls seemed to close in with every passing second. The heavy, ornate door stood as an immovable barrier between me and freedom, firmly locked from the outside. My initial response was frantic—banging, shouting, pleading for any sign of attention. “Please!” I called repeatedly, my voice growing hoarse. “At least get Commander Mykal Kaiser here. Please!” My fists pounded against the solid wood until they ached, but my efforts were met with a stifling, suffocating silence that seemed to mock my desperation.

Mykal's absence in the throne room earlier was a glaring omission, and now its purpose was painfully clear. Isolated and cut off, the realization that Ronan wouldn't know of my plight until it was too late weighed heavily on my mind. I had been diligent in sending him daily updates, a routine that was now broken, severing our only line of communication. The thought that the next message he might receive would be a concoction of lies from the king filled me with dread.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I whispered, “I can do this. I can hold out for five days. Then Ronan will come for me. Piece of cake.” But as the words left my lips, I felt the hollowness behind them. The opulence of the room, with its rich tapestries and plush furnishings, did little to comfort me. Instead, the beautifully carved furniture and soft, luxurious bed felt like trappings of a golden prison. Especially with the Aetherite bracelets clamped around my wrists that muted my mage powers.

As I paced back and forth across the thick rug, the space seemed to shrink with each step. The room, usually a sanctuary of rest in any other circumstance, now felt like a cell. Every exquisite piece of art and stroke of gold leaf on the paneling seemed to taunt my captivity. The air felt viscous, harder to breathe, as if the very atmosphere was complicit in my confinement.

I stopped by the window and pulled aside heavy velvet drapes that muffled the sounds of the outside world. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass, I gazed out at the sprawling palace grounds that were deceptively serene. Gardens lush with late blooms and neatly trimmed hedges suggested a world of freedom lay just beyond my reach. It was a cruel irony to see such beauty and know it was as unreachable as the stars in the night sky.

Feeling angry and helpless, I realized that relying on hope and patience wasn't enough. If I was going to withstand this ordeal, I needed a plan. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, I turned away from the window. My mind raced with possibilities, however slim, of reclaiming my agency and crafting an escape from the clutches of King Eduard’s twisted intentions.

The gears in my mind clicked into high gear as I surveyed the room for anything that could be of use. My initial panic gradually gave way to cold, calculating determination. If I had any chance of escaping or at least surviving until Ronan or someone from the outside could intervene, I needed to be strategic.

First, I took stock of the room's contents. There were ornate pieces of furniture—a heavy oak armoire, a beautifully carved desk filled with writing supplies, and a large bed framed with dark, polished wood. The chandelier above provided ample light, its crystals glinting with a sharpness that momentarily distracted me. The room boasted a fireplace with a set of iron poker tools, which could potentially serve as a makeshift weapon if needed.

I approached the desk and rifled through the drawers, searching for anything that might aid in my escape or defense. Amidst the stacks of crisp parchment, ink, and quills, I found a small, sharp letter opener. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I tucked it into the folds of my dress, feeling a small surge of empowerment at having something with which to defend myself.

Next, I inspected the door. It was solid and the lock was sturdy, likely designed more for privacy in better times than for imprisoning unwilling royals. Feeling along the edges, I found no give that would allow for an easy escape. My thoughts turned briefly to the window, which offered a view of the gardens and, beyond that, the dense tree line of the forest that bordered the palace grounds. However, it was a sheer drop to the ground, and without any climbing aids, it was not an option.

My focus was drawn to the fireplace. The iron poker tools caught my eye again. I grasped the poker, feeling its weight—a solid, heavy tool that could be useful. I placed it near the bed, within easy reach should the need arise.

Feeling somewhat more prepared, I perched on the edge of the bed and tried to calm my racing thoughts. As the king’s last words echoed ominously in my mind, the gravity of my situation felt overwhelming. Yet, despair was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I needed to stay alert and keep my wits.

As the chandelier’s light cast long shadows across the room, I rehearsed various scenarios in my head. Each noise from the corridor outside heightened my anxiety, forcing me to be ready to act at a moment’s notice.

Eventually, the door opened. I tensed and reached for the poker, but it was only Diane. She closed the door quietly behind her and hesitantly approached me.

“Princess, I... I brought you some food,” she whispered. She placed a tray on the desk and her eyes darted nervously toward the door, then she lowered her voice even further. “Do you have a letter for me to send?”

I frowned, wondering why this scared servant would risk the wrath of the king to deliver my letter. Something didn’t seem right.

“Why would you do that?” I whispered. “Did King Eduard give you permission?”

Her eyes widened in fear. “W-What?”

“I’m a prisoner,” I said slowly. “As such, I assume I’m not allowed to contact anyone. Are you doing this in secret?”

“O-Of c-course!” she stammered. “I won’t let the king know.”

Her wording seemed off, but what did I have to lose? If my letter was intercepted, at least I tried. But if it wasn’t, Ronan would receive my cry for help.

Watching her closely for a second longer, I nodded and went over to the desk to write Ronan a quick letter asking for aid. Once it was sealed, I handed it over to the trembling servant. “Here.” I watched her shrewdly. “Could you also send a verbal message?”

She frowned as she took the letter from me. “What is it?”

“Can you tell Mykal to come to my room? I’d like to see him.” Maybe Mykal could do something, anything to get me out of this nightmare.

“Sure,” she mumbled, then quickly spun on her heels and left my room.

The next day came and went with no word from Ronan or Mykal. By the sixth day of my forced stay here in Keldara, uncertainty relentlessly gnawed at me. I was increasingly consumed by thoughts of whether Ronan and my family had received any letters from King Eduard, and what their reactions might be. Desperation had set in to the extent that I even caught myself hoping that Caelan would storm through the palace doors to rescue me—an unlikely hero, given our complicated past. Now that was true desperation.

Isolation weighed heavily on me, and Mykal's absence only deepened my sense of abandonment. He hadn't visited since my confinement began, leaving me to wonder about the machinations unfolding beyond the opulent but suffocating walls of my plush prison.

As evening approached, heralding another solitary dinner, a knock at the door momentarily lifted my spirits. I hoped for Diane's familiar presence, but when the door swung open, it wasn't Diane who entered, but King Eduard. My heart sank, and my hand instinctively brushed the fabric of my dress where the letter opener was concealed.

“What are you doing here?” Somehow, my voice was steady despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. I subtly edged towards the bed where the iron poker lay within reach, a silent sentinel in my strategy of last resort.

King Eduard shut the door behind him with a soft click, and his eyes locked onto mine with an unsettling calm. “I thought we’d have a little chat,” he proposed smoothly, his voice unnervingly serene. “You’ve been cooped up in here for some time, and I wanted to see what your state of mind was like.”

“Nothing has changed,” I responded firmly, maintaining as much composure as I could muster. “I won’t marry you. Not in this lifetime.”

He simply nodded, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as if he found my defiance amusing. “I see... Well, Princess, I dispatched a letter to your father, but he hasn’t responded, oddly enough. The Crimson Clan, on the other hand, has threatened to march their army into my lands.”

A flicker of hope ignited within me. Ronan got my letter!

But before I could further probe his claim, King Eduard burst into laughter, his amusement filling the room with a chilling echo. “You actually believe me, don’t you?” he laughed heartily.

I frowned. “Are you lying?”

“Of course I am!” he chuckled dismissively. “Chief Aryan said I could have you. I guess you don’t mean much to the Crimson Clan, even after everything you did for them… Such a shame.”

His words hit like a physical blow. Color drained from my face and a wave of nausea surged through me. My stomach churned with the realization that Ronan hadn’t received my letter and Chief Aryan certainly didn’t plan to inform him of the letter he received from King Eduard. Despair tightened its grip, leaving me feeling betrayed and utterly alone.

King Eduard took a deliberate step closer, his presence imposing. “Which leaves me with little options, because I assume your father won’t stand idly by and watch me marry his only daughter,” he said, his tone laced with implied threats. “So, Princess, what do you think our next steps are?”

I backed away, every instinct screaming for escape as King Eduard's intentions dawned on me. My steps were calculated, subtly edging me closer to the bed where the iron poker lay—a potential lifeline in this escalating nightmare.

“Since you won't marry me voluntarily, we’ll have to take more drastic measures. If you’re forced to carry my child, you’ll have no other options,” he stated. His voice was eerily calm, as if we were discussing something mundane like the weather rather than a vile coercion.

“Excuse me?” My voice was barely a whisper, incredulity and horror mingling in equal measure.

He shrugged; the motion was chillingly nonchalant as he prowled closer. “I have no children besides Mykal, and he’s not even my biological child. Queen Sariyah was sterile and unable to bear a child. Unlike Eldwain where men can have multiple wives, I’m stuck with her … but not for long.” A malicious smile curled his thin lips. “She'll die any day now, leaving me free to take another wife. That wife being you ,” he explained with a grotesque grin as if he was bestowing a favor. “Aren’t you lucky?”

“That’s not luck; that’s a tragedy!” I managed to choke out, my voice laced with disgust and fear.

Before I could reach the iron poker, Eduard's steps quickened to where I stood. Suddenly his hand was around my throat, lifting me with terrifying ease and throwing me onto the bed. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I scrambled backward frantically as he climbed onto the bed and seized my ankles, dragging me toward him.

I kicked and screamed as survival instincts took over. I clawed at his face, striking anywhere I could reach, which only seemed to fuel his rage.

“I would rather throw myself out the window before letting you take me!” I growled, my voice raw. Tears blurred my vision and panic set in as I struggled to breathe.

He pinned my wrists above my head. “Don’t worry, Princess. I would never let that happen.” He smirked cruelly, his grip tightening as his other hand began to lift the skirt of my dress.

I kicked wildly, desperation lending me strength. My screams filled the room and echoed off the walls, drowning out all other sounds except the frantic pounding of my heart. I thrashed under his grasp, fighting with every ounce of my being.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I continued to scream until my voice grew hoarse. To anyone outside, it undoubtedly sounded like a scene of murder, and in that moment, it felt like one. The terror that gripped me was suffocating, the violation of my agency a torment I could scarcely comprehend.

In the midst of my struggle, a surge of adrenaline shot through me, sharpening my senses. I had to escape, I had to survive. My thoughts scrambled for any possible way to turn the tide and push back against the imminent darkness that threatened to consume me.

Suddenly, King Eduard’s weight crashed down upon me and a chilling wetness splashed across my face. The sharp, metallic scent of blood cut through the air, silencing my screams. For a moment, my senses were overwhelmed and the world seemed to pause. As my vision cleared through the haze of tears, I saw Mykal standing there, his hands gripping a golden candle holder now stained dark with the king’s blood.

He trembled visibly as he let the candle holder fall to the floor with a clatter. Hastily, he pulled King Eduard’s lifeless body off me. The reality of what just occurred was hard to grasp. I lay there for a moment, trying to steady my racing heart and ragged breaths.

Without wasting another second, Mykal scooped me up from the bed and cradled me tightly. “I’m sorry, Leila. I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered urgently into my ear, his voice shaking as I trembled in his arms. “I should have come to see you sooner. I should have—” His words choked off as he squeezed me tighter.

As cries wracked my body, I clung to Mykal as though he was the only solid thing in a world that had turned chaotic. Part of me yearned for it to have been Ronan who came to my rescue.

“Is… is he dead?” I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. I tried to turn my head to look at where King Eduard lay motionless, but Mykal gently and firmly held my head, preventing me from surveying the scene.

“Don’t look,” he murmured softly.

“But—”

“If he’s dead, good riddance,” Mykal muttered under his breath.

I hiccupped through my tears, the reality hitting me hard. “He’s your father.”

“No,” Mykal replied with a hardened edge to his voice. “He’s not.”

Just then, a shout echoed from beyond the door. “Your Majesty! The gates have been breached! We’re being invaded!”

Mykal and I froze, our embrace tightening in the face of this new threat.

“Keldara is being invaded?” I pulled back slightly to look at him.

Mykal nodded grimly. “The Crimson Clan is here.”

A wave of relief washed over me. Ronan must have somehow learned of King Eduard’s intentions.

“How did you—” I began, my thoughts racing.

“I was informed about the breach and came looking for the king,” Mykal answered, anticipating my unasked question. “I didn’t think—”

“Why didn’t you visit me sooner?” I pressed, searching his face for any hint of deceit.

Mykal shook his head, his expression tormented as he began to pace. “I thought you’d be safe here while I tried to talk some sense into him. I never thought—”

He stopped, his unspoken words hanging ponderously between us. He hadn’t thought adoptive father was capable of such wickedness, or that he would cross a line from which there was no return. As the reality of our situation settled around us, the distant sounds of chaos hinted at the battle unfolding beyond the palace walls. Whatever happened next, it was clear that everything had irreversibly changed.

Mykal’s grip on my hand was both urgent and reassuring as he swiftly pulled me to my feet. “We need to move, now ,” he urged, his voice a low command.

He opened the door and I saw that the guards normally posted outside my room were missing. With no time to lose, we darted out into the hallway and left the stark, frightening reality of the encounter with King Eduard behind us.

The palace was teeming with turmoil. As we navigated the corridors, the muffled sounds of the battle outside seeped through the walls. Mykal moved with purpose, his familiarity with the palace's layout evident as he chose less-traveled paths, hoping to avoid running directly into the melee that had overtaken much of Keldara.

When we emerged into a different part of the palace, we weren’t so lucky. Two Keldaran guards spotted us and moved to intercept.

“Commander? Where are you going?” one of them asked as they looked down at our intertwined hands. “His Majesty stated that we are to–”

“The king is dead,” Mykal said, his voice determined. “What he says no longer matters.”

“That’s treason!” the soldier growled as he drew his sword.

Mykal released my hand and stepped forward to meet them, drawing a small, concealed dagger from his boot. His movements were precise and practiced, the blade flashing in a swift arc. The first guard barely had time to raise his sword before Mykal took him down with a quick strike to the side. The second guard engaged, forcing Mykal into a brief, intense skirmish that ended with the guard slumping to the ground.

Breathing heavily, Mykal glanced back at me, his eyes verifying I was unharmed before beckoning me forward. We continued our escape, moving quickly now as the sounds of the confrontation grew louder and the clash of steel and shouts from combatants echoed around us.

As we rounded a corner, the palace grounds came into view through an arched exit. The scene outside was a frenetic tableau of fighters. Crimson Clan warriors clashed with Keldaran soldiers amidst the ornate fountains and gardens now marred by the scars of battle.

My heart pounded as we stepped into the open air, the reality of the battle harsh and unavoidable. We moved with haste as we dodged combatants and debris, our focus on one singular goal: to find a way out.

That was when I saw Ronan. He wasn’t far from the palace gates, a commanding figure amidst the turmoil, his sword parrying and striking with lethal grace. He was in the middle of dispatching another Keldaran soldier when he heard my call.

“Ronan!” My voice cut through the din, strained but loud enough to reach him.

He turned, and his expression shifted from battle-hardened to shock and then relief upon seeing me. Quickly dispatching his foe, he ran toward us, his presence a beacon of hope. Mykal watched our backs, ensuring no one followed too closely.

When Ronan reached us, his strong arms enveloped me in a secure embrace. “Leila!” His voice was fraught with relief and worry. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I'm here,” I reassured him, my voice shaky with the residue of fear and relief. “Why are you here?”

He frowned. “It’s been six days, Leila. I haven’t heard from you.”

Now it was my turn to frown. “Six days? I wrote to you every day besides the last two!”

Ronan shook his head. “I never got a letter.” He looked at Mykal and then me.

Mykal sighed. “Did you give the letters to Diane?” I nodded. “Of course. She must be in my father’s pocket. I assume he intercepted each one.”

I chuckled and met Ronan’s eyes. “I’ve never been so relieved. If the king hadn’t intercepted them, you wouldn’t be here.”

“We don’t have much time,” Mykal interrupted. “Ronan, claim victory. The king is dead.”

Ronan’s eyes widened. “What?”

“The king is dead, and you killed him,” Mykal pushed. “Now claim victory and end this,” he gritted between his teeth.

“Claim that I killed him?” Ronan's voice was laced with disbelief, his gaze shifting between Mykal and me as the war carried on around us. “You know I didn't.”

Mykal's face was taut with urgency. “I know, but if I announce the king is dead, it will be viewed as an act of treason.”

“Was it?” Ronan questioned, but we both kept quiet. “I need to know the truth, Mykal. Especially if all I’m doing is saving your ass from your own people.”

“You wouldn’t just be saving my ass, but those of the Crimson Clan enslaved here as well,” Mykal whispered so others around us wouldn’t hear. “I give you my word, Ronan, that with the king gone, we can establish a new deal… one without tributes.”

I stepped closer to Ronan and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Ronan, he saved me from the king. I owe him. Please,” I said softly, ensuring my voice carried enough conviction to dispel his doubts. “It's not just about ending the fight; it's about what comes after. Your claim of victory could help stabilize things quickly. We can sort out the details later, but right now, we need peace.”

Ronan looked down at me, searching my face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he took a deep breath. I saw the moment the mantle of leadership settled on his shoulders. He turned to face the churning battlefield.

“Warriors of Keldara and the Crimson Clan!” Ronan's voice boomed across the now-silent battlefield as all eyes were drawn to him. “King Eduard is dead, by my hand. The tyranny that has plagued this land ends today!”

A buzz rippled through the crowd, a mix of shock and murmured assents, as soldiers from both sides processed his announcement. Some looked relieved, others confused, but all were united in a sudden, palpable sense of conclusion.

Ronan continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. “Let this be the day we put down our weapons and find peace!”

As Ronan spoke, Mykal stood slightly behind him, the commander’s expression one of subtle approval. Though he could not make the claim himself, his presence lent silent support to Ronan's words.

The crowd began to respond, first with nods, then with vocal agreements. Swords were lowered and hostile expressions softened into ones of cautious hope.

After a moment, Ronan stepped back. His gaze met mine and Mykal's in turn, a silent question lingering in the air about the veracity of his statement and the future.

“We'll need to move quickly.” Mykal turned his thoughts toward addressing the practicalities. “We must secure the palace, ensure there are none loyal to the king who might cause trouble, and attend to the wounded. And we need to address the matter of the queen.”

Ronan raised a brow. “The queen?”

“Yes, she’s ill,” I answered and then turned to Mykal. “I can save her.”

“Thank you,” Mykal answered with relief. “What do you say, Ronan of the Crimson Clan?”

Ronan nodded, his initial reluctance replaced by a resolve born of necessity. “Let's start by securing the palace. We need to establish order and make sure everyone knows the fighting is truly over.”

As they began to coordinate their next steps, relief washed over me. The immediate crisis might have been averted, but the path ahead was fraught with challenges. Yet, with Ronan at the helm and Mykal by our side, there was a real chance for peace and a new beginning for Keldara and the Crimson Clan.