Chapter 12
Twelve
Three loud bangs come from the door and a booming voice says, “This is your wake-up call, Your Grace.”
I dart up and my eyes spring open. Searing pain rushes through my pounding head, and I hiss as I bring my palms to my temples. It feels like a thousand horses trampled on my head and it makes my stomach do somersaults. I take deep breaths to get the upper hand over my angry body.
After minutes of enduring the thrumming in my head, I inch my eyes open.
The black curtains over the window sit slightly separated, giving me a clear view of the dim stars in the dusty violet sky.
I groan. The last time I was up before dawn was one of the many sleepless nights I had after Kyron left.
I pat the mattress beside me, only to find it empty and cool. With a gravelly voice, I call for Kyron, but the room remains quiet.
A thousand terrible thoughts run through my head.
All of them revolve around him realizing that last night was a mistake.
Not only was I drunk, but our purpose for being at Basecamp has nothing to do with us.
We should focus on the threat at hand, but we found ourselves wrapped up in our broken love life.
It didn’t feel as broken by the end of the night.
In fact, it felt like we were on the mend.
“Shit,” I whisper, running my palm over my face.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts, readying for the rejection to come. I promised Micah and my father that I wasn’t coming here for Kyron, that he wouldn’t be a distraction. This is an epic failure on my part.
I lift my head from my hand and look back at where I last saw him. A folded piece of paper rests on the pillow. It looks so ominous, like it holds a terrible truth. My hands tremble as I pick it up, anticipating a confession of his regret.
The tea on the table will help your head and stomach.
A cup of tea? That has to be a good sign. If he was regretting what happened, he wouldn’t be leaving me remedies for my hangover.
I get to my feet and step outside of the room. Kyron’s jacket is gone from where it laid over the back of the chair and his boots no longer sit in front of the low fire burning in the hearth. On the breakfast table rests a teakettle, a plate of toast and jam, and another folded piece of paper.
I open the note with less fear than before and read:
Drink the tea and go soak in the tub. I filled it with oils and steaming water that will relax you. Hurry before it gets cold.
With a smile, I pour the tea into the simple white mug waiting next to the kettle. As I sip the concoction of herbs, I make my way to the washroom. The tub is filled with warm water that smells like mint and eucalyptus. Another note awaits me tucked behind the mirror.
I remove my tunic and undergarments, grab the next letter and sink into the water.
Today is the start of our legacy as our kingdoms’ future rulers. You and I will heal our land and strengthen our people. We will break all the rules and rewrite them. And we will do it together.
More importantly, I begin my journey of earning back your full trust. I look forward to doing that.
Yours until my dying breath,
Kyron
P.S. I had your luggage brought to our room.
I press the paper to my wet skin and sink into the water.
Maybe I shouldn’t let written words affect me so much, especially when they’re written by someone my kingdom sees as my enemy.
All the same, the weight of the world slides off my shoulders like the droplets traveling down the planes of my body.
If Kyron says he is dedicated to forging something new between our kingdoms, I believe him.
This is the manifestation of the dream Micah had for me when he placed a crown upon my head.
The expectation always felt unattainable.
How was I—a girl not born to rule and with dormant power going to bring Pliris back together?
I’m still unsure of the answer, but this is no longer my burden to carry alone.
Kyron and I are fighting for the same outcome.
We want a people and land that are united.
And we will make it happen while standing side by side.
With my spirits lifted and my hangover nothing more than a dull ache, I climb out of the tub.
Like Kyron said, my luggage is next to the closet, waiting for me to unpack it.
I remove another pair of the black leather pants that fit like a second skin and one of the many white tunics that are part of my new uniform.
I pull the soft, thin linen over my head and unlace the neckline, letting it plunge deeper than what some would consider decent.
I’m already uncomfortable in the clothes that make me stand out.
The least I can do is make sure I don’t feel claustrophobic in them as well.
I secure my sword to my side, shimmy into my red jacket, and grab a slice of toast with jam before leaving my room.
I open the door and a sense of dread ripples through me.
Sticking my head out, I look both ways. The hallway is mostly vacant, and my guard nowhere in sight.
With all that happened between Kyron and me last night, my embarrassing blunder with Zek became an afterthought.
I’m not ready to face him and apologize again for my drunken mistake.
I need to use a delicate hand to reform the line between us.
That isn’t going to happen this morning.
As I step out of the barracks, the sun peeks over the mountains to the east, not high enough in the sky to chase away the chill of night.
Birds chirp in the trees and the farm animals on the far end of camp call for their morning feeding.
I pull my jacket closed and walk the dirt roads, passing the plain wooden structures that house the armory, mess hall, and uniform tailor.
As I near the field, clipped commands carry through the vast space as the soldiers suited in their armor stand at attention.
The morning assembly is nothing new. Basecamps leaders take a moment to update the troops with the latest news from the king and developments in the war.
Thankfully, all has been quiet with Allaji since the attack in Stigian over a week ago.
Micah and Esmeray are taking advantage of every peaceful moment, hoping to diplomatically resolve the issue before more lives are lost. But the same can’t be said for those gathered on this field.
It looks like a warzone. The Stigian warriors stand in their formation on one side while the Lucent army occupies the other.
The tension is as frigid as a winter’s night and as easy to cut through as stone.
Neither army appears comfortable sharing a space with their long-time enemy, not even the small group of leaders standing between them.
Greer faces Kyron, her body ramrod straight and her hand awkwardly resting on the hilt of a blade strapped to her thigh.
Ulric and Terro flank her with a small group of high-ranking soldiers behind them, including Leif and Wel.
A dozen warriors stand at attention behind their prince, who is the only person that looks at all at ease.
Kyron has an arm resting across his upper stomach with the elbow of the other propped on top. He rubs his lips with his long fingers as he studies the gathered men and women.
I stop in the back of the Lucent formation, not wanting to disturb whatever is transpiring between the leaders.
Kyron and Greer speak to each other in quiet voices, and from where I stand, it appears to be a civil discussion.
I clasp my hands behind my back and tilt my head, trying to make out the movements of their mouths.
I’m curious if she is maintaining a fraction of civility toward her ex-best friend.
The soldier in front of me stirs, glancing back as inconspicuously as possible. He whips back around when he spots me and taps another on the shoulder. Before I have a chance to tell them to remain at attention, the entire Lucent army makes a path before me and takes a knee.
“Shit,” I whisper with a tight smile. The last thing I wanted was a grand entrance. My intention was to merely observe. With no other choice, I pull back my shoulders, lift my chin, and make my way to the center of the field.
The Lucent leaders also take a knee as I approach, leaving Kyron and his warriors to stand. There is a glint in his eyes, like he enjoys watching me squirm under the attention of so many.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” he says, not bothering to tame the crooked smile on his face.
“Good morning.” I turn to my army and say, “You may stand.”
Like they’re all controlled by the same string, everyone rises and resumes their prior stance.
“Why are we standing here? Shouldn’t we begin training?” I ask.
“We should,” Greer says. “But we had a scuffle this morning between our soldiers and theirs, and neither side is ready to play nice.”
Kyron runs his hand over the back of his neck and blows out a long puff of air.
I question if he was really amused by my discomfort at everyone’s attention or if he was happy to have it diverted from him.
It’s not often that one gets the opportunity to see Kyron LeFur at a loss.
The man has plans for plans. He has schemed so much that he has managed the impossible, placing conflicting armies on the same side of a battle.
I now understand the appeal of watching my overly confident parah being put on the spot. “I thought you had this all worked out, Your Grace.”
He snickers and shakes his head. “I have the training all worked out. But when it comes to getting them to share a field, I’m at a loss.”
“They just need to see that there’s nothing to fear,” Ulric says.