3. Whispering Wylds
Whispering Wylds
Cypress didn’t have a chance to tell the thief how ridiculous an idea it was for her to just let him go.
The thick paneled curtain entrance was thrown open, the boisterous Prince striding through after. His golden hair was windswept and tousled, the points of his crown emerging through the locks.
“Good afternoon, Cade,” Cypress commented, eyes still locked on her prisoner, whose brows furrowed at the use of the Crown Prince’s name, not title.
“What in my father’s name has happened here, to my things?” The Prince demanded, no doubt unaware of their guest yet.
“I caught a thief, who is apparently nobody with fine clothing that tells me otherwise,” Cypress remarked, taking stock of the thief’s appearance once more. He looked… somewhat familiar somehow, though she could not place whose likeness the thief bore.
“And what, pray tell, happened to all of this?” Cade demanded, and from their many years of friendship, Cypress knew his patience was being tested to the highest degree.
Above all else, the Prince detested his belongings being touched by others.
Had he arrived to see her lounging in his chaise and reading his books, she would have gotten a short tongue lashing for that as well.
He didn't mind as long as he was asked, but Cypress did love riling him.
“He was looking for something. I couldn’t stop him.”
In truth, Cypress hadn’t even tried to stop him in his search, hoping the thief would have led her straight to whatever it was he was searching for to determine his motive. That was a fact the Prince did not need to concern himself with, though.
Cade growled to himself, “She couldn’t stop him from destroying my things, but she could disarm him and pin him.”
Cypress had to smother a smile. She and the Prince were close, or at least as close as a Prince could be to someone not of the royal family. She knew his moods, and he was taking his frustrations out on her because she had never been phased by his, often childish, temper.
The thief huffed a laugh, then said, “Your Prince doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“The Prince likes to pretend he doesn’t like me much. But really, he just doesn’t like fun, and I am, in fact, extremely fun,” Cypress shot back, giving the thief under her boot a saccharine smile.
Cade stopped pacing, finally cutting his gaze to Cypress’ captor. “You.”
“Yes. Me,” The thief agreed, nodding.
Cypress looked between the pair of males, wondering what the connection was.
“Why have you returned, Torren?”
“Oh, you know. I love a joust-” The thief– Torren, apparently– said, but was cut off.
“Don’t lie to me!” Prince Cade shouted, making a cutting motion in the air with his hand.
“The Wylds whisper many things to those who listen. They say something is awakening,” Torren said, the grip around her ankle tightening. Cypress couldn’t begin to fathom what they were talking about, or who this could be.
“Let them whisper,” Prince Cade muttered, taking a half step backward.
“I need the scepter. You know as well as I do the stories, and what comes next.”
“Nothing but lies,” Cade reaffirmed, slashing his hand through the air again.
“The giants are awake. You know what this means.”
Prince Cade lost all the color from his cheeks, stumbling back a step.
“What is he talking about, Cade?” Cypress asked, keeping her sword pointed at the male beneath her boot.
“Bring him to the castle. The King can deal with him.”
“Cade, you can’t be serious. He’s just a thief!”
“Do as I said,” Prince Cade ordered, turning his face away from Cypress.
“This is ridiculous, let's just throw him in a cell-” Cypress started.
“I said follow your orders, Captain.” Prince Cade growled, making Cypress snap her spine straight.
“Of course, Sir,” Cypress muttered, gathering a length of rope from the floor, her mind reeling. Then she quickly bound the thief– Torren’s– arms, and then used another length to wrap around his middle, binding his arms tight to his chest. Then, she shouted, "Lieutenant Oswald!”
Cypress took a breath, settling into her character. As her second, Oswald knew Cypress's face and her true identity as Captain Cy. Still, she was always addressed as Lady Cypress while in plain clothes.
Under the helmet, though, she was Captain Cy.
“Yes, Lady Cypress?” Lieutenant Oswald said, poking their head through the entryway to Prince Cade’s tent.
“Fetch my horse. We are to supervise this prisoner’s transport to the King.”
“Of course, Lady Cypress. Follow me, we’ll get you a mount,” Lieutenant Oswald replied, nodding his head in deference, and bent to collect the tail end of the rope Cypress used to bind Torren.
Then, he collected Torren’s discarded great sword. Oswald tugged the thief to his feet with little effort and strode out of the room with Torren stumbling after him.
Oswald was a large man, thick and barrel-chested, though he was rather short for a knight. Like Cypress, most of the Guard stood at about six feet or above, with well-developed muscles fit to carry the weight of their armor. Oswald was shorter than her, but not by much.
Compared to Torren, the would-be thief, though, Cypress and Oswald were both small.
The thief did not have the musculature of Oswald or any of her knights, but from their duel and the deft way he swung his great sword, Cypress knew his clothing hid a fit physique.
The male was a mystery, as much as the words he’d uttered to Cade to make him blanch.
She’d known Prince Cade for several years now– nearly half her life, but she'd never seen him blanch quite like that.
Cypress had been selected from the orphanage to spar with the Prince at the age of sixteen, but their friendship had happened of its own accord over the years. Even then, as a young girl, Cypress had felt the burning embers of something hungry in her belly.
Sparring with the Prince, at first, had been just a stepping stone to power. To raise herself out of the rubble that was the orphanage, and her unclear heritage.
When Cypress was knighted at twenty, it was done under the cover of darkness, with the King’s blessing.
After her knighting, Cypress served as Prince Cade’s personal guard for a time, then rose to be Captain of the guard. She had served at the Prince’s side for these last twelve summers and became arguably, one of, if not the only person, Prince Cade was close to or confided in.
In all that time, never once had anyone uttered the name Torren.
A groom handed Cypress the reins to her other mare, Seren. This one had a finer boning than Ember the warhorse, but she was still an incredible animal. Seren’s sooty buckskin coat was much more suitable for a Lady of the court, and much less recognizable than the white of Ember.
Cypress didn’t have much of a preference between the two animals, as they both served their purposes; however, few things grated at Cypress’s patience more than having to pretend to be frail and dependent on the menfolk like the ladies at court did.
Nonetheless, Cypress allowed the groom to assist her mount, settling astride Seren with little effort. Then, she arranged the layers of her now-ripped skirt while she waited for Lieutenant Oswald to mount his horse.
Torren was left to walk behind the pair of horses, the rope stretched taut between him and the pommel of Oswald’s saddle.