Page 2 of Lost Heir
Her words trailed off and I braced for scorn, my cheeks warming under her gaze. But instead, she whispered, “It’s beautiful,” her admiration clear and sincere. “Could I… could I braid your hair?”
The question took me aback. In the Grasslands, our hair was a tapestry of our identity, touched only by the women of our clan, a sacred tradition. Yet, as her request hung between us, something in her genuine interest, her disregard for the barriers that had just been so painfully enforced, nudged me towards acceptance.
I found myself nodding, granting her permission. Her smile broadened and she circled to my back, her fingers beginning to comb through my hair. “It’s so soft. I wish my hair was this soft.”
As she spoke, her fingers danced through my hair, weaving it into a braid with care that felt like a whisper of wind through the Grasslands. In that moment, with Lyanna's kindness wrapping around me, the walls that seemed so impenetrable began to crumble, replaced by a bridge built on a simple, shared moment between two souls from worlds apart.
“Uh... where are you from, Lyanna? You don’t seem likeyou’re from Eldwain,” I ventured, my curiosity piqued as her fingers continued their gentle exploration of my hair.
She paused, her laughter ringing softly in the air. “Oh, no, I’m from Valoria,” she confessed, a hint of pride in her voice.
Valoria?The word sent a jolt through me, and my eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you... are you the princess?” The question stumbled out, cloaked in a mix of awe and nervousness.
Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed her task, her voice laced with amusement. “Yes! Have you heard of me?”
Heard of her? The realization crashed over me like a wave. Lyanna, the Princess of Valoria, wasn't just any royal. She was the first female blood mage since the moon goddess, a legend reborn. Her birth had been a beacon of hope and power, whispered about even in the far reaches of the Grasslands. And more than that, she was the one my father had spoken of, the one destined to be my future, woven into my fate since childhood. Yet, standing here with her hands buried in my hair, she was no longer a mere promise or a distant dream; she was real, and breathtakingly so.
“I... yes, I've heard of you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. “You're... famous. Not just for being a princess, but a blood mage. The first in centuries.”
Her touch paused, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if I had said too much. But then she leaned closer, her voice a mix of curiosity and surprise. “And you? Who are you in the grand tapestry of our lands?”
I swallowed, the gravity of who we were—of what wemight become to each other—suddenly very real. “I'm Ronan, son of Aryan, chief of the Crimson Clan.”
As Lyanna completed her artful braid, she stepped around to face me, her smile bright and carefree, revealing the gap where her two front teeth once were. “It’s nice to meet you, Ronan,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a playful light.
Just then, a young boy's voice pierced the tranquil garden. “Lyanna!” he called. “Our parents are looking for us!”
With a graceful twirl of her dress, she called back, “Be there soon!” Her voice carried a melody of reluctance and duty.
The boy, likely her brother, darted away, leaving us in a momentary bubble of silence. Lyanna turned to me, her expression softening. “I have to go. Thank you for letting me braid your beautiful hair,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness for the abrupt end to our encounter.
As she pivoted to leave, a sudden urge gripped me, compelling me to reach out and gently grasp her wrist. “I—” Words failed me, a rare occurrence. My heart yearned for more time, for another moment in her radiant presence. “Do you want to meet later tonight? Maybe we can look at the stars. They might not be as pretty as they are in the Grasslands, but I bet they’re stunning from here.”
Her eyes lit up, a mirror to the stars we wished to watch together. “Sure! Want to meet back here at the stroke of midnight?” she proposed, her voice a mix of excitement and conspiracy.
I nodded, unable to contain my eagerness. With a shared promise hanging between us, she slipped away, chasing after her brother.
That night, I waited under a cloak of darkness where thegarden transformed into a realm of whispered secrets and shadowed beauty. Midnight came and went, the stars tracing their paths across the sky in silent witness to my lonely vigil. Yet, as the hours slipped by, the realization dawned with the chill of the early morning air: Lyanna was not coming.
The night ended in solitude, her absence echoing louder than the promises made. But our brief connection, the shared laughter and plans we made under the canopy of Eldwain's sky, lingered like a ghost of what could have been, leaving me with a mix of disappointment and a faint, unyielding hope.
1
It was a sleepless night. My cot, nestled within the confines of my tent in the Valorian camp, offered no comfort as scenes from the previous night's battle against the Crimson Clan replayed in my mind. My spirit was troubled and unease settled deep within me. Ronan had deceived me, yet despite his betrayal, concern for his well-being gnawed at me as a persistent ache. Even though I was the one who put him in his current situation as a hostage for Valoria, the weight of that decision lay heavily on my heart.
As dawn painted the sky in strokes of light, I escaped the confines of my tent only to be met by the messenger I had dispatched under the cloak of night. His approach was marked by a deference, his bow a silent acknowledgment of my returned status. “Your Highness,” he greeted, extending a letter retrieved from the secrecy of his vest. “Apologies, Your Highness. I could not find the fae Orion, nor Miss Selene.”
The letter, a failed attempt at communication from the night before, felt heavy in my hands. “She wasn’t at the RosePetal Lounge?” My voice betrayed my concern, a wary tremble beneath the surface.
His head shake confirmed my fears. “No, Your Highness. She was not there.”
A storm of worry churned within me, thoughts spiraling into dark possibilities. Did Orion go back on his word, or was this all a trick from the start? The uncertainty was frightening. Without confirmation of Selene's safety, I couldn’t even think about leaving for Valoria; her liberation from Madam Rose's grasp was paramount.
“Lyanna?” Caelan’s voice sliced through my turmoil, his presence a sudden beacon as he made his way toward us across the camp.
“Thank you for your help,” I told the messenger, my gratitude for his efforts a brief interlude in the storm of my thoughts. He departed with a bow, leaving me alone with Caelan.
Caelan, with his untamed silver hair and a smile that spoke of undisturbed slumber, stood in stark contrast to my unrest. The imagined dark circles under my eyes felt like badges of my sleepless vigil.
