Page 15 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)
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F or the next three nights, I ventured into the shadowy recesses of the Grasslands mountains where the cool air of the highlands whispered through the dense foliage and the moonlight cast a silvery glow over rugged paths. These nightly excursions were my secret; under the cover of darkness, I met with Shiro in the secluded cave to hone my blood weaving skills. Each session left me more adept, and every night my power grew stronger.
However, as the days passed, the impending journey to meet my father in the Central Plains loomed over us, delivering a shadow of uncertainty. As we were saddling our horses and preparing to leave, I noticed Ronan's distant demeanor.
“Are you okay?” I brushed a stray lock of hair from his brow as he adjusted the saddle straps. “You seem… distracted.”
Ronan exhaled deeply, his hands pausing in their task. “I don’t know, Leila. Something feels… off about this,” he admitted, his voice tinged with unease.
I frowned, concerned. “Why do you say that?” I prompted, watching his expression closely.
He crossed his arms and his gaze drifted off into the distance. “Your father loves you very much. When I was in Valoria, sequestered in the Northern Palace, he came to visit me,” Ronan revealed, catching my full attention.
“He did?” Surprise etched my features. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to know about the rumors—whether we’d… been together or not. He wasn’t angry,” Ronan explained, shaking his head slightly. “He was mainly concerned about what my intentions were towards you. I could tell your father missed you dearly, Leila. Which is why this arrangement seems so strange. Your father would want you home immediately, not meet on neutral ground.”
The revelation left me momentarily speechless as I digested Ronan's encounter with my father and his current concerns. When I considered it from his point of view, it was decidedly strange. Unfortunately, the only way to uncover the truth was to meet him as requested.
“How about this?” I stepped closer to him and placed my palms on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my touch. “Let’s bring Silas and a few more Crimson Clan warriors with us. It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?”
Ronan's eyes softened as he looked down at me, his worry momentarily replaced by admiration. He nodded, his decision made. “You’re right. That’s a good idea.” He pulled me into a firm embrace and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. “You’re so smart, Leila. What would I do without you?”
I chuckled, a light, teasing sound. “You’d be lost, obviously.” I gave him a playful peck on the lips.
With a plan in place and reinforcements in mind, we finished our preparations. While Ronan went to gather Silas and the others, I considered the journey ahead. Whatever awaited us in the Central Plains, we would face it together, fortified by our bond and the strength of our companions.
The journey from the Grasslands to the Central Plains was marked by the rhythmic cadence of our horses' hooves against the verdant earth, stirring up the sweet scents of grass and wildflowers. The landscape rolled gently under a sky that stretched clear and boundless above us, a vast dome of blue that promised fair travel.
Ronan, Silas, and I rode in close formation, the steady clop of our horses a comforting soundtrack to our thoughts. Silas, ever the vigilant observer, broke the silence as we crested a small hill that offered a panoramic view of the sprawling plains below.
“It feels like a lifetime since we've been this far east, when in reality it’s only been six months or so.” Silas squinted against the sunlight that gilded the edges of distant hills. “The plains are just as I remember them—endless and inviting.”
Ronan nodded, his gaze scanning the horizon. “We’ve had some good memories here in the plains.”
I found myself caught between enjoying the serene beauty of the landscape and the nagging tension about the upcoming meeting with my father. “It's beautiful,” I agreed softly, “but it's hard to enjoy it fully with so much uncertainty waiting for us.”
Ronan reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Whatever happens, we’re prepared. We’ve got a strong group with us.” He gestured to the handful of Crimson Clan warriors trailing behind us, their presence a silent promise of protection.
Silas chuckled, lightening the mood. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to escort a princess and a potential future chief through the plains. Makes for a good story, doesn’t it?”
I smiled, grateful for his attempt to lift our spirits. “Yes, it will make quite a tale for the fireside,” I replied. “Let’s just hope it has a happy ending.”
Ronan’s expression grew serious again. “Leila, about your father—I could be wrong. I don’t want to worry you,” he said, his tone careful.
I sighed. “I know, but you’re not wrong, and your instincts are solid. It is strange that he would ask to meet here. Unless… unless my father is aware of Caelan and his plots. Maybe he’s searching for privacy he may not have in Valoria.”
Silas nodded thoughtfully. “Neutral ground can make all the difference. It levels the playing field, so to speak.”
“Is it neutral, though?” I raised a brow. “Let’s not forget that a certain governor is in Caelan’s pocket. We can’t be too careful.”
The conversation wove through the logistics of our approach, possible outcomes, and strategies. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting dusky shadows over the plains, we made camp by a small grove of trees near a stream.
The evening passed with quiet contemplation. The campfire’s light flickered across anxious but determined faces. Tomorrow morning, we would reach Lomewood.
As the first light of dawn softened the darkness of the woods surrounding Lomewood, we approached our designated meeting spot—a serene clearing near the river. The gentle rush of water provided a tranquil backdrop, its wide banks sheltered by towering trees whose leaves rustled in the soft morning breeze.
This river would always remind me of my time in the mountains with Ronan. While it started poorly when Caelan shot me with an arrow and I tumbled over a cliff into the river, it ended with the realization that I’d fallen for the imposing Crimson Clan warrior beside me. The memory brought a smile to my face.
We dismounted quietly, the horses’ breath visible in the cool morning air. Ronan and Silas began to secure the area, tying the horses to nearby trees and scanning the surroundings for any signs of unexpected company. As they did, the rest of the Crimson Clan warriors fanned out and found hiding places in the forest. I adjusted my cloak and surveyed the clearing where the river’s gentle curves created a natural boundary.
“We’re early,” Ronan noted. His voice was low, laced with caution rather than relief.
“It’s better this way. Gives us a moment to prepare,” Silas added, his eyes never ceasing their vigilant sweep.
I nodded and tried to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach. Pacing near the water’s edge, I watched the river flow past, its surface shimmering with the morning light. The beauty of the scene was calming, but my mind was too crowded with a storm of what-ifs to fully appreciate it.
The sound of approaching horses broke the serenity. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned, expecting to see my father’s familiar figure. But the figure who emerged from the trees was not my father. This man’s presence was like a cold shadow crossing the sun. My initial shock quickly morphed into disbelief, followed by a sharp spike of betrayal.
“Caelan?” I called out, my voice tinged with confusion and a growing sense of unease. “What are you doing here?”
Caelan dismounted with a grace that belied his intentions, his face wearing a mask of faux cordiality. “Lyanna, it’s been far too long,” he said smoothly, approaching with a brazen confidence that irked me.
Ronan and Silas immediately flanked me, their bodies tense and alert. “Where’s King Malik?” Ronan demanded, his tone accusatory.
Caelan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, King Malik is unfortunately indisposed. I intercepted your letter, Lyanna. I felt it was time we had a chat, just the two of us.” His steely gaze locked on mine with blatant disregard for the two Crimson Clan warriors beside me.
The realization that Caelan had orchestrated this meeting by intercepting the letter intended for my father made my blood run cold. Anger mingled with a fierce protectiveness over my own autonomy. “You tricked me,” I stated flatly, stepping back to put more distance between us.
“ Tricked is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as taking initiative.” Caelan’s tone was smooth as silk, laced with an underlying edge that made my skin crawl.
Ronan’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his posture rigid. “We’re leaving,” he announced, his voice a low growl of warning.
Caelan spread out his hands, feigning innocence. “I mean no harm. I merely wish to talk. After all, aren’t we all seeking what’s best for Leila?”
“ I decide what’s best for me, Caelan, not you!” I met his gaze with unflinching resolve.
As tension thickened the air like a physical fog, Silas quietly positioned himself to ensure no one else was approaching. It was clear now that what was supposed to be a family reunion was a carefully laid trap, one that could spiral into hostility if we weren’t careful.
When Ronan grasped my hand, signaling our departure with a firm “Let's go,” the rustling of surrounding foliage halted us in our tracks. A contingent of soldiers emerged from the shadows of the ancient trees, their presence marked by the silver sheen of their hair and unmistakable glint of blood on their blades – no doubt the blood of the stalwart Crimson Clan warriors who’d accompanied us to this farce. The ethereal quality of their features—the sharply pointed ears and otherworldly grace—confirmed they were not humans but fae from Ellyndor, an entirely different contingent from the half-fae of Caelan's Eldwain heritage.
“What's going on?” My voice trembled slightly as I spoke, the tension palpable in the cool morning air. The scene before us was a stark contrast to the peaceful riverbank where we had planned to meet my father. Instead of a reunion, we were snared in a deadly trap.
The Ellyndor soldiers made no sound as they dragged the bodies of our Crimson Clan warriors into the clearing, their faces devoid of emotion and their movements eerily synchronized. My stomach churned at the sight. These men had traveled with us, laughed with us, and had families waiting for their return.
“What have you done?” I gasped. My heart pounded as dread filled every fiber of my being. The reality of our situation was grim, and the casual dismissal of life displayed by Caelan was horrifying.
Caelan, with a cool detachment that belied the violence his orders had unleashed, simply shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to talk,” he declared, as if the brutal murder of our companions was a mere footnote to his real intentions. His gaze shifted ominously toward Ronan and Silas. “Now, we just need to get rid of these two.” He gestured dismissively at my remaining protectors.
Ronan’s grip on my hand tightened and his body tensed as he prepared to defend us. Silas, equally alert, positioned himself to cover our flank, his eyes darting between the fae soldiers and Caelan, calculating our scant options.
The standoff was unmistakable; the gentle sound of the river's flow was a surreal backdrop to the threat of imminent violence. I felt a surge of fear but also anger—a fierce, protective rage that burned brightly against the injustice and betrayal.
“Caelan, you won’t get away with this.” My voice somehow remained steady despite the chaos that raged in my soul. “We came here in good faith, under a flag of truce—”
Caelan’s expression was one of mock sympathy. “Oh, Leila, always so naive. Good faith? In politics?” He laughed softly, a sound that chilled my blood. “There’s no such thing. This is power. And right now, I have it, not you.”
The fae soldiers closed in and formed a tight circle around us, their faces no more than impassive masks of duty. Ronan and Silas exchanged a brief look and a silent agreement passed between them—no matter the odds, they would fight.
“In politics?” I echoed Caelan's words with a touch of irony. “So your intentions to marry me are purely political, not born from any real affection?” I stated, although I already knew the truth.
Caelan's composure slipped, exposing a crack in his usually poised demeanor. “You know that's not true, Lyanna. You know I love you!” His voice rose, thick with emotion as he advanced toward us with his hands clenched at his sides.
“Watch it,” Ronan warned, his tone low and dangerous. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, ready to defend. “If you take one more step—”
Caelan's response was a dismissive scoff. His earlier plea for my belief was swept away by a cold command. “Finish them!” he ordered the Ellyndor soldiers, his voice snapping like a flag in the wind.
As the fae soldiers tightened their formation and prepared to advance, a surge of desperate energy coursed through me. Seeing no other option, I acted on instinct. In slow motion, I watched as Ronan and Silas unsheathed their swords. Slipping my wrist across the sharp edge of Ronan’s drawn blade, I quickly made a shallow cut as Shiro had done during our clandestine late night training sessions. The sight of my blood blossoming bright and stark against my skin was startling, yet it triggered a deep, primal power within me.
“Leila!” Ronan exclaimed, horror stricken by my sudden action.
Ignoring the sting of pain, I focused intently on the pooling blood and tapped into Shiro’s training. My heart hammered as I willed the blood to extend, shaping it into a long, sinuous whip that glistened ominously in the morning light.
“Leila?” Ronan breathed out, his voice a mix of awe and fear as he witnessed the transformation.
With a swift motion, I spun and lashed the blood whip across the front row of approaching soldiers. The whip cracked through the air, striking with lethal precision and knocking the fae to the ground in a single, fluid motion. I turned to face another soldier who fearlessly charged towards us. Extending my hand, I focused harder, manipulating the blood within the fae’s veins. Narrowing my eyes, I elevated the temperature, effectively boiling his blood. He screamed, a harrowing sound, and collapsed clutching at his skin, the heat overwhelming him from the inside.
The remaining Ellyndor soldiers halted abruptly, their advance stymied by my display of raw power. They looked on with fear and uncertainty flickering across their faces, unsure whether to continue their assault or retreat.
Silas and Ronan stood beside me, awestruck. The tension-filled air seemed to absorb sound and the forest held its breath, watching over the ground littered with fallen soldiers, observing as the balance of power shifted unpredictably in the clearing.
Caelan, who had stood arrogantly just moments before, now stared in stark fear as the raw display of my blood weaving halted his soldiers. His eyes darted around, seeking an escape as the realization of his miscalculation set in.
“You say you hold all the power, Caelan? Think again!” I spat, my voice cold and steady as I extended my hand toward him. The blood whip coiled beside me like a living creature, pulsating with every heartbeat. “I will end you!”
As the words left my lips and I prepared to unleash my power, Caelan placed his fingers at his lips, whistling loudly for his hidden horse. Its thundering hooves sounded an instant before the horse burst through the foliage. Caelan made a desperate leap onto the creature’s back with impeccable timing. Just as the horse galloped by, he grabbed onto its saddle and swung his body up with a fluid motion that spoke of practiced desperation.
Now mounted, the Eldwain prince kicked the sides of the horse, which reared in response before taking off at breakneck speed. His frantic escape was a calculated maneuver, and he used the unexpected arrival of the horse to his advantage. The soldiers he left behind looked at one another in alarm before running after him.
Ronan and Silas sprang into action, but it was too late—the horse was already disappearing into the dense foliage, its hooves thundering against the forest floor.
“Let them go.” I lowered my hand and allowed the blood-whip to dissipate. The blood seeped back into my veins, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. “He won’t get far, and we’ll be ready for him next time.”
With fists clenched in frustration, Ronan scanned the forest where Caelan had vanished. “He’s a coward, using a staged escape to run from a fight he can’t win!”
Silas nodded, his expression grim. “He obviously planned this, knowing the odds were against him. We need to be vigilant. He’ll think twice before facing us directly again, but he’ll still be plotting.”
As we regrouped, the realization that Caelan had evaded us through sheer luck and preparedness settled profoundly. We thought we’d arrived early, when in reality we arrived late, falling into a trap Caelan artfully erected. The confrontation didn’t end with the resolution we'd hoped for.
“Leila …” Ronan reached for my wrist and stared at the thin cut. “What was that?”
I gulped. “That… is blood weaving. Shiro has been training me.”
Ronan grimaced and shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to see the look on your face right now.”
He sighed. “You can’t expect me to be okay with you cutting yourself every time you’re in danger. That alone is dangerous. I can’t believe Shiro would even—”
I placed a hand on his chest, which heaved up and down from the adrenaline. “It’s okay, Ronan. I’m okay. I promise to use it sparingly.” He nodded and kept quiet.
We looked around at the dead Crimson Clan warriors. From the murderous look on Ronan’s face, he wouldn’t let this affront go unpunished.
“We need to bury them,” Silas whispered as his crimson eyes followed my gaze.
“No,” Ronan bit out. “They don’t deserve to be laid to rest on foreign lands. We’ll carry them back to the Grasslands where their souls will be at peace.”