Page 28 of Lost Heir
“I missed you too, Father,” I managed, my smile struggling to mask the whirlwind of emotions his presence stirred. “You were missed at breakfast. Is everything okay?”
He nodded, a gesture of dismissal to any underlying concerns, and released my arms. “All is well. Just wanted to have a chat with young Ronan. It’s been many years since Ilast saw him. He is all grown up now. Your generation aren’t children anymore. It saddens me that I couldn’t watch you grow into the woman you are today,” he lamented, his touch tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.
The moment was a poignant reminder of the years we’d lost and the time that slipped through our fingers like grains of sand, leaving behind a longing for what could have been.
“You must tell me all about your journeys these last ten years. I want to hear all about it!” he encouraged, his voice a blend of eagerness and affection. His arm linked with mine in a gesture of camaraderie and paternal interest as he gently prodded into the life I had carved out for myself beyond the palace walls. As we meandered through the verdant paths of the garden, my father's curiosity about my past decade unwound like the trails beneath our feet. “I heard from Caelan that you made quite a name for yourself as a healer in the Central Plains. Is this true?”
“Yes. I delved into the realm of medicine and herbs during my time away. A local healer, wise in the ways of traditional remedies, took me under their wing, then guided me until I felt confident enough to establish my own clinic.”
His follow-up question pierced the comfortable veil of our conversation, hinting at a deeper knowledge of my struggles. “Interesting. And how were you able to afford your own clinic? From what Caelan told me, you and Sir Edric faced some financial hardships after the first year of being away.”
Caught off-guard by his pointed inquiry, I hesitated, wary of revealing too much. The complexities of my survival were a tapestry woven with threads of desperation and resilience. Opting for a measured response, I offered, “I sought out challenges that were beyond the scope of ordinary healers. High-risk cases became my specialty, my ...expertise. I must confess, my blood played a crucial role in many of those cases.” The admission tasted bitter, a reminder of the burdensome reliance on my unique heritage to navigate those perilous waters.
His reaction, however, was not one of judgment but of understanding. A comforting pat on my hand accompanied his reassurance. “No, no, you needn’t be ashamed. You were doing your best to survive.” His words, imbued with empathy, offered forgiveness I hadn't realized I needed—a recognition of the choices made, not in pursuit of glory, but simply to endure.
I cleared my throat. “Um … Father, how is Ronan?” I asked since he had brought him up. Flashes of last night invaded my thoughts, and I flushed red at the memories.
“He’s doing well. While he’s not a prisoner, I don’t want him roaming the grounds, so I suggested he stay in the Northern palace until the banquet when his father arrives.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Ronan was definitely not sequestering himself in the Northern palace, if last night was any indication.
“Do try to avoid going near the Northern palace, Lyanna,” my father said. “I don’t wish for rumors of the two of you to circulate. It’s best if you keep your distance.”
I stopped walking, making him halt as well. I peered up at my father and asked the question that had been nagging me since my arrival. “You know, don’t you?”
He frowned. “Know what, dear?”
“About the prophecy,” I continued. “About the Crimson Clan needing to sacrifice me to resurrect the fox demon.”
My father sighed. “Yes. Yes, I know,” he muttered. “I didn’t intend to keep it from you, but I thought it was best if we kept it quiet. To keep you safe. I just never thought thatwhen we refused, the Crimson Clan would align with Keldara to invade us.”
I bit my lip to keep from talking. Ronan didn’t want me to tell anyone about what hardships the Crimson Clan was enduring, even though I knew if I told my father, he might be willing to help.
My father spun me to face him, gripping my upper arms as he looked down at me. “You are the first female blood mage since the moon goddess. I will not let them take you away, Lyanna. You are too valuable—”
“But Mother would,” I cut him off.
He furrowed his brows and nodded. “Yes. She would. But I won’t let her. We lost ten years because of this. I won’t lose any more. You have my word, Lyanna. No harm will come to you.”
9
As twilight melded into the velvety cloak of night, the palace seemed to exhale, its daytime bustle giving way to a more serene, albeit still vigilant, calm. My restlessness mirrored the transition, a silent echo of the day's events and the weight of my thoughts. With a slight hesitation borne from not wanting to impose, I called for Tessa, her presence a steady reassurance in the vastness of the Eastern palace.
My lady-in-waiting appeared at the doorway, appearing every inch the epitome of readiness, her posture alert. “Yes, Your Highness?” Her voice carried the soft timbre of attentiveness.
The words left me in a gentle exhale. “I’d like to take a bath,” I confessed, my voice tinged with a vulnerability I seldom allowed myself to show. “If it’s too much at this hour, I can always wait until tomorrow. I’m just feeling a tad restless.”
Her response was immediate, her smile a beam of understanding in the dim light of my chambers. “It’s notrouble at all, Your Highness,” Tessa assured me, her tone imbued with warmth. “I’ll have some water warmed up for your bath.”
Her willingness to accommodate and ensure my comfort regardless of the hour was a small comfort in the grand scheme of things; a reminder of the quiet acts of service that wove through the fabric of our daily existence within these walls.
As Tessa vanished to prepare my bath, the burden of the day's events seemed to lift slightly, prompting me to seek the comfort of my night attire. I glided towards the wardrobe, the soft whisper of silk a soothing promise against my skin. With deliberate movements, I donned my nightgown and robe, the fabric cascading gently around me. Slipping my feet into the welcoming embrace of my slippers, I ventured out of the sanctuary of my chambers.
The sight of Viktor standing sentinel outside my door caught me by surprise. “Oh!” I exclaimed, startled by his unexpected presence. “I didn’t expect you here.”
“Tessa is seeing to your bath, Your Highness,” Viktor informed me, his demeanor a blend of professionalism and warmth. “Would you care for a late-night snack as well?” His inquiry, accompanied by a discreet gesture, summoned one of the nearby court ladies.
The mention of refreshments sparked a thought, a craving for a taste of home. “I heard Valoria has a famous wine calledLove in the Moonlight. Is it available here?” I ventured, curiosity lacing my words.
