Page 15 of Warrior Princess
“Where is he?” I cut her off, my patience thinning.
“He—” She was clearly caught off guard by my directness. “He is dining with the king.”
A hollow laugh escaped me as I ran a hand through my tangled hair, grimy from the journey. “Is he really? Well then, I guess I’m not needed,” I declared more to myself than to her as I strode towards the doors.
The sound of the tray clattering to the floor halted me. The servant rushed after me, placing herself between me and the exit. Her actions were desperate, almost frantic.
“Your Highness, you cannot leave!” she insisted quietly, her eyes flicking nervously behind her before settling back on me with a wince.
“And why is that?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest defiantly.
She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “The king has placed guards outside the throne room to stop you from leaving. Please, Your Highness, stay here. I will bring you whatever you need. Commander Mykal has assigned me to be at your beck and call.”
My frown deepened as I assessed her, trying to discern if her intentions were genuine or if this was another layer of the king's machinations. Clearly, King Eduard didn’t trust me if he’d already taken measures to confine me within these walls. This prolonged waiting was indeed a power play—a typical move to assert dominance. I snorted disdainfully at the realization.Gods, some men are so damn stupid,I thought. Absurdity of the situation briefly overshadowed the gravity of my predicament.
I sighed, resigned. “I don’t need anything.” I spun on my heels and headed back to stand near the dais, my mind racing with thoughts of escape and negotiation. “What’s your name?” I asked more gently, turning to look at the young servant who was hurriedly gathering the tray and wine which, by some miracle, had not spilled.
“Diane,” the servant replied, her voice soft yet clear. She straightened and carefully balanced the tray. “Please call me Diane, Your Highness.”
I nodded, then my gaze drifted back to the empty throne perched imposingly on the dais. “Would you like to keep me company, Diane?” I suggested, motioning toward the vast, ornate space around us that felt far too large for just one person to occupy.
“If that is what Your Highness desires, I will.” Her posture remained formal, yet there was a hint of relief in her voice.
“Tell me about Keldara.” I leaned against one of the cold stone pillars that lined the room. “Are you happy here?”
A prolonged silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of her answer. Finally, Diane spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s a hard life here. But I live better than those of the Crimson Clan.”
“Do the people of Keldara agree with the enslavement of the Crimson Clan here in Keldara?” I probed further, seeking any information that might aid my understanding of the political climate.
Diane pressed her lips together, her expression troubled. “I don’t think they disagree, because if it’s not the Crimson Clan, it would be us from the lower class forced to take their place. We don’t want that.”
Her answer was disheartening, yet it painted a clear picture of the dire social dynamics within Keldara. “But you’re tired of war?” I pressed, hoping for an ally in this seemingly indifferent servant.
She nodded slowly. “Yes. We’re exhausted. It seems we’ve been at war with one nation or another for centuries. It’s never-ending, and the people of Keldara are tired.”
That was something—a flicker of common ground. But it was a slim thread to hold onto. I was about to delve deeper when Diane suddenly paused, her eyes shifting toward the doors.
“Your Highness… you should know—”
Her words were abruptly cut off when the heavy doors swung open. I turned sharply, my heart skipping a beat. An older man with a stern, weathered face framed by a crown of pitch-black hair stepped into the throne room. His presence commanded immediate attention. His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, swept the room before settling on me. Regally dressed in ornate robes that spoke of power and tradition, his bearing was undeniably that of a ruler—a man accustomed to being obeyed.
Behind him, Mykal followed, his expression unreadable but tinged with tension. The dynamic between the two was palpable; the king moved with the assurance of absolute authority, while Mykal’s stance was that of respect mixed with a subtle undercurrent of defiance.
The king’s gaze was intense, probing, as if he was trying to discern my intentions from a simple glance. As he approached, the room seemed to shrink and the air grew oppressive with the gravity of the moment.
This was King Eduard of Keldara, the man whose decisions would either herald peace or prolong a bitter conflict.
8
Mykal's introduction cut through the tension like a sharp blade as he stood between me and his adoptive father, King Eduard of Keldara. “Princess Lyanna, I’d like to introduce King Eduard Kaiser,” he announced with a formal tone that belied the undercurrent of pressure.
As King Eduard settled onto his opulent throne, I stepped forward and bowed deeply to show my respect. “Your Majesty.” My voice remained steady despite the flutter of nerves.
There was a prolonged pause, the silence stretching into a palpable strain that filled the throne room, accentuated by the distant echoes of footsteps in the stone hallways outside. Finally, he spoke, his voice booming and authoritative. “Rise.”
Straightening, I demurely clasped my hands in front of me and met the king's dark, probing gaze. He scrutinized me thoroughly, his eyes lingering unsettlingly on the swell of my breasts, then my lips, before finally meeting my gaze again. The intensity of his examination made me uncomfortable, a feeling which was only exacerbated when Mykal stepped in front of me, shielding me somewhat from the king's intrusive stare.
“Father,” Mykal interjected, his voice carrying a sharp edge of protectiveness, “I’m sure Princess Lyanna is tired from her arduous journey from the Grasslands and would like to rest. May we please retire for the evening?”
