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

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LEILA

I bolted upright with a sharp intake of breath, my hand instinctively clutching at my neck where dried blood flaked beneath my fingers. My eyes, adjusting slowly, scanned the dimly lit cavern around me—a vast, echoing space where shadows danced along rugged walls, illuminated sporadically by the flickering light of torches mounted on jagged outcroppings. My gaze darted frantically, finally resting on Ronan where he stood a few feet away beside an unfamiliar member of the Crimson Clan. My heart hammered against my chest as I struggled to regulate my breathing.

I was dead, or at least, I was supposed to be. What happened?

“Leila!” Ronan's voice cut through the murky silence as he rushed to my side.

I glanced down at the cold stone altar where I lay, noticing the dried blood that encrusted my wrists from where they had been sliced. With trembling fingers I touched the now-healed scar on my throat, a cruel reminder of where Chief Aryan slit it, allowing my life to slowly ebb away until darkness claimed me.

“Ro—” My voice was a hoarse whisper, each word a struggle as I gasped for moisture.

Ronan wrapped his arms around me and gently smoothed the disarray of my hair. “You’re okay. Everything is okay,” he murmured, though I felt the tremors that coursed through his body.

“W-What happened?” I rasped. “How am I alive?”

Ronan stepped aside and gestured towards the man with him. “This is Shiro… the demon fox,” he explained. “I promised you he’d bring you back, and he did.”

Only then did I notice the white, bushy tail swishing behind the man, unmistakably marking his identity. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“T-Thank you,” I managed to stutter.

Shiro approached slowly, his eyes sweeping over me with a mixture of wonder and sorrow. “You,” he whispered, “you look just like her.”

I frowned, confused. “Do you mean the moon goddess?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, Celeste. I assume she is no longer with us.”

“No,” I replied, my voice steadier. “She died centuries ago in a battle with Keldara.”

A sad smile touched Shiro's lips as he lowered his gaze. “Right. Of course she did,” he murmured. “She always kept her promises.”

“Thank you,” Ronan interjected, gratitude lacing his voice. “If you hadn’t kept yours, she wouldn’t have survived.”

Shiro’s eyes met Ronan’s. “After Celeste put me to sleep, I promised myself that I would revive her descendant, no matter what, if it ever came to be. It was the least I could do for her.”

“For her?” I questioned, puzzled. “Weren’t you on bad terms with the moon goddess?”

Shiro sighed, and a look of deep regret shadowed his features. “At the end, we were… but it was my fault. I was too blinded by hate to see reason. She died without me being able to ask for forgiveness... She was the one I loved most, and she died thinking I hated her.”

I cleared my throat, trying to offer comfort. “I’m sure she knew the truth.” My gaze drifted towards Ronan. “I know I do.”

Ronan squeezed my hands, his own still trembling from the aftermath of fear and relief.

I gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, then furrowed his brow. “Yes, I'm just... I'm just coming down from the adrenaline rush, I guess. Sorry,” he muttered, his voice reflecting a mix of relief and exhaustion.

I chuckled softly, my own nerves still jittery. “It's okay. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. When Chief Aryan approached me, he convinced me that I wouldn't be revived... that I couldn’t be, and I believed him. I’m sor—”

“Shh,” Ronan hushed me gently, his eyes earnest. “You don’t have to apologize. I know how my father can be. None of this is your fault. Once I deal with Keldara, we’ll leave here and never look back. I promise.”

“What is going on with Keldara?” Shiro interjected, his voice deep and concerned. “Chief Aryan mentioned they are enslaving our people? How did that happen?”

Ronan turned his gaze to the demon fox, his expression somber. “Our relationship with Keldara has always been delicate. From what I understand, the moon goddess deflected their attention from us to Valoria, thinking they’d be more equipped to handle them with you gone,” he explained. “But over a century ago, my great grandfather made a deal with Keldara. In exchange for their war horses and weapons, we would provide Keldara with tributes to supplement their dwindling birth rate. We've tried to cut ties, but their military is strong. And with you gone, our powers have diminished, which left us vulnerable.”

Shiro nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Chief Aryan mentioned a representative from Keldara would be here today to collect this year's tributes. Is that correct?”

Ronan frowned and a hint of confusion crossed his features. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Yes, it’s true,” I interrupted, remembering the chief's words. “Chief Aryan told me last night; it was why he decided to perform the ceremony then, in hopes...”

“In hopes I could be of some assistance,” Shiro concluded for me, his voice calm but edged with a hint of intrigue.

I shakily swung my legs over the side of the stone altar and Ronan helped me to my feet, supporting me as I gained my footing. “Will you help them? I mean, I know my resurrection took up their wish, but I’ve seen your people in Keldara, and they’re suffering. They could really use your help.”

“Leila,” Ronan began, his arm tightening around me protectively. “We can’t—”

“Do you really think me capable of leaving my people to suffer?” Shiro cut in, his brow arching questioningly. “No matter what, I will help the Crimson Clan. But I suspect Aryan was hoping for something else besides my help.”

“Like what?” Ronan asked, his brow creasing further.

Shiro shook his head, his expression unreadable. “I do not know. I sensed deceit behind his words, so whatever I say would be pure speculation.”

Ronan exhaled heavily and renewed determination settled over his features. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I can feel the power surging through me now that you’re here. I’m sure my father has a bigger plan in play. We must be careful.”

A chill skittered up my spine, no doubt released by being in proximity to the place of my recent demise. “Let’s get out of here. I need water and a bath.”

“Of course.” Ronan ushered me out of the cave before pausing to look over his shoulder. “Shiro … are you coming as well?”

I turned in time to see Shiro shake his head. “I would like to take a look around.” His crimson eyes scanned the cave. “Come get me once the representatives from Keldara have arrived. Tell Aryan I will be ready.”

Our return to the village was laboriously slow, hindered by my lingering weakness. Ronan supported me the entire way, at times practically carrying me through the dusty pathways that led back to the heart of the Crimson Clan’s community. As we approached, the familiar sights and sounds of village life unfolded around us—children playing near the well, the distant clatter of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the mingled scents of cooking fires and fresh earth.

When we arrived, Silas was waiting, his figure tense with anticipation. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw me. “You’re alive…!” he choked out, his voice laden with shock.

“Tell my father that everything is still on track. Shiro will assist us once Keldara arrives. He has nothing to worry about.” Ronan’s voice was firm as he guided me past his friend toward a home situated near the ritual hall.

After pushing aside the thick cloth that served as a front door, we stepped into a cozy, single-room dwelling. The space was warmly inviting, lit by the soft glow of lanterns that cast dancing shadows across the walls. A bed large enough for two was tucked against one wall, its linens crisp and inviting with a fur blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Small personal touches adorned the space: a series of framed portraits depicting landscapes and familiar faces, potted plants perched on windowsills, and various trinkets collected from far-flung travels.

I turned to Ronan. “Is this your house?” I asked, though the answer seemed self-evident.

He responded with a shy smile and a nod. “Yes. I’m rarely here since I travel a lot for my father, but this is my place when I am in the Grasslands.”

“It’s very… you,” I chuckled, taking in the quaint charm of his personal space. “I like it.”

“Well, now it’s your home as well. Your home away from home.” He wrapped his arms around me from behind and placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder.

I closed my eyes and tried to savor the warmth of his touch, but the vivid memories of the previous night surged forward and I shuddered. I feared I might never close my eyes again without seeing the grim specter of my demise replaying on an endless loop.

“Are you okay?” Ronan’s whisper was close, his breath warm against my ear.

I managed a smile, though I kept my face turned away so he couldn’t see what I wasn’t ready to share. “Of course. I just had a chill. Do you think I can bathe?”

He hesitated as if he wanted to delve deeper, but acquiesced with a comforting nod. “Of course. Let me get someone to fill the bath for you. Make yourself comfortable.”

When he released me and headed outside, the absence of his warmth was immediate and stark. I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my middle, fighting to steady my breathing. Haunting flashes from the night before plagued my thoughts. I struggled to push them away, seeking solace in the safety of Ronan’s room.

“Apologies for being rough, Your Highness,” Chief Aryan said as he hovered over me with a dagger clenched in his hand. I was lying on my back on an altar above where the demon fox was buried with my arms and legs tied down. “I will make several incisions and allow your blood to flow and feed the demon fox. Granted, it will be a slow and painful death. But have no fear, Your Highness; it will be for the greater good.”

Without offering a word of warning, Chief Aryan sliced both my wrists and my blood trickled onto the stone altar. The scant amount told me it would be a while before my blood had been depleted. But before I could think further, he held the dagger to my neck. A wicked grin spread across his face as he sliced my throat. In stark contrast to the thin beads that ran down my arms, blood gushed from my neck … blood that choked me to death.

I gasped and attempted to reach my neck, fighting vainly against the ropes that tightly held my limbs in place. Coughing and sputtering, gasping for air, I slowly bled out on the stone altar. I hoped death would claim me fast, but no …

It felt like hours before I lost consciousness.

I gasped and fell face-first to the floor, clutching my neck. With wild eyes I searched the area around me, slowly realizing I was no longer captive in the cave, but in Ronan’s room. I was alive. Breathing. I’m okay .

I felt the floor beneath me and tried to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. Gradually, my racing heart slowed to a normal pace. I stood and tried to gather my senses before Ronan returned.