Page 10 of Lost Heir
The offer, noble and heartfelt, sparked an immediate refusal. “I could never ask that of you!” I insisted, the weight of his proposal too great. “How … how is your mother?”
At my question, Viktor’s eyes turned glassy and he looked away again. “She passed two years ago.”
A tear slid down my face. I could only hope that she andSir Edric were reunited in the Underworld after being apart for so long.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I whispered, lowering my head and then quickly looking up. “Whatever you may need, you can count on me. I owe you that much.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, but truly, I am fine. I just hope to be of service one day.”
The evening’sencampment sprawled beneath a twilight sky, situated a mere twenty to thirty kilometers from the Valorian capital. Restless, I navigated the periphery of our makeshift settlement, the need to evade Caelan propelling my steps. I wanted to bring Selene with me, but she’d been spending more and more time with Marcellus. I worried she was becoming too attached, but I didn’t have the heart to stop her. At least not yet. I knew eventually I would have to step in, especially if my mother caught wind of their relationship.
As I strolled through camp, the sight of Ronan ensnared within his wooden prison halted my steps. His gaze, a piercing crimson, found mine across the distance, tethering me to the spot. Compelled by a mix of unresolved emotions and lingering questions, I approached with measured steps until I crouched before him a respectful distance away.
“Are … are you okay?” The words felt inadequate, but they bridged the silence between us.
He stared at me intently, his face covered in grime, his long hair disheveled, and met my question with a weary acknowledgment. “I’m fine, Leila,” he exhorted, a mixture of concern and resignation in his voice. “Go before anyone catches you here. Before Caelan finds you here.”
Millions of questions swarmed my mind. I didn’t care who might find me here. There was just one question to which I needed the answer. “Ronan?” His name escaped me like a plea. “I need to know why … Why did you betray me?” It was a silly question. The inquiry was born of a heart still entangled in past affections, but I couldn’t leave without knowing the truth.
He regarded me, his expression a complex tapestry of emotions, the weight of unsaid words palpable between us. “Does it matter? What’s done is done,” he deflected, his voice a low murmur in the encroaching night.
“Itdoesmatter, Ronan! I trusted you! So please, just give me an answer, any answer.”
Ronan’s response was a mirror to the complexity of our situation. “The truth doesn’t matter, Leila. Not everything is black and white.”
I pressed on, undeterred by the ambiguity of his warnings. “I’m not afraid of the in-between. I just need the truth, whatever it is.” I crept closer to the wooden bars of his cage.
He hesitated, a silent struggle evident in his demeanor. “You might not like what you hear,” he cautioned, his voice laced with somber foreboding.
My frustration boiling over, I clenched my fists around the bars of his cage as I sought to bridge the physical and emotional distance that separated us. “I don’t care!” I declared, my voice rising in a mix of anger and desperation. “Are you prepared to be taken hostage to Valoria? Is this what you want?”
Ronan's retort was laced with grim amusement, a stark reminder of the political chessboard on which we were mere pawns. “Do you think I’ll remain their captive?” he challenged, his words painting a picture of inevitabilities yet to unfold. “Valoria's king would not dare, not withoutrisking war with the Crimson Clan. I’m just indulging Caelan for the moment.”
“You truly believe my father will release you?” I pressed, skepticism lacing my voice. Truthfully, I didn’t know much about Valorian politics, and I didn’t know what my father was like anymore.
Ronan’s confidence didn’t waver; his smirk was a beacon of certainty. “I know he will,” he assured me. “Your father is a smart man, Leila. He wouldn’t dare bring another war to Valoria’s doorstep.”
My skepticism morphed into weary frustration. “Even so, I wouldn’t be as confident. Caelan is …” I hesitated, the name alone conjuring a storm of complications.
“Tricky?” he finished for me, a hint of wariness creeping into his voice. “I know. I know better than anyone what Caelan is capable of. And so should you. So … be careful.”
His concern, genuine and unexpected, drew a furrow between my brows. “Are you actually worried? About me?” I couldn’t mask the surprise in my voice.
“Always, Leila. Always,” he returned, his voice devoid of humor.
I scoffed. “Why do you keep calling me Leila? It’s Lyanna,” I corrected, a thread of irritation weaving through my words.
“Is it?” he challenged softly, an underlying acknowledgment in his gaze. “I’m sure you’re not used to being called such. Leila suits you better. The great healer of the Central Plains who fears no man or beast. Not Princess Lyanna of Valoria who, in Caelan’s eyes, is defenseless and weak. No, you’re no such thing.”
His assertion that he understood me better than I realized stirred a complex whirl of emotions. “You think youknow me so well,” I whispered, disbelief shadowing my tone. “But you don’t.”
He moved closer, his hand reaching out between the bars to gently caress my cheek. The warmth of his touch sparked an involuntary lean towards him. “But I do,” he whispered back, his thumb grazing my lips in a tender motion that belied the complexity of our connection. “I know you very well, just as you know me.”
“Do I?” The question was barely a breath, a soft surrender to the moment as I leaned into his touch. “All you’ve done is lie to me.”
His hand stilled and I slowly opened my eyes. “I didn’t mean to, Leila. Everything I did was for your wellbeing. In that, you can be sure. I would never hurt you.”
The softness in his crimson gaze contradicted the harshness often attributed to his people. “But youhave,Ronan. You lied to me—”
