Page 30 of Warrior Princess
Ronan and Silas immediately flanked me, their bodies tense and alert. “Where’s King Malik?” Ronan demanded, his tone accusatory.
Caelan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, King Malik is unfortunately indisposed. I intercepted your letter, Lyanna. I felt it was time we had a chat, just the two of us.” His steely gaze locked on mine with blatant disregard for the two Crimson Clan warriors beside me.
The realization that Caelan had orchestrated this meeting by intercepting the letter intended for my father made my blood run cold. Anger mingled with a fierce protectiveness over my own autonomy. “You tricked me,” I stated flatly, stepping back to put more distance between us.
“Trickedis such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as taking initiative.” Caelan’s tone was smooth as silk, laced with an underlying edge that made my skin crawl.
Ronan’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his posture rigid. “We’re leaving,” he announced, his voice a low growl of warning.
Caelan spread out his hands, feigning innocence. “I mean no harm. I merely wish to talk. After all, aren’t we all seeking what’s best for Leila?”
“Idecide what’s best for me, Caelan, not you!” I met his gaze with unflinching resolve.
As tension thickened the air like a physical fog, Silas quietly positioned himself to ensure no one else was approaching. It was clear now that what was supposed to be a family reunion was a carefully laid trap, one that could spiral into hostility if we weren’t careful.
When Ronan grasped my hand, signaling our departure with a firm “Let's go,” the rustling of surrounding foliage halted us in our tracks. A contingent of soldiers emerged from the shadows of the ancient trees, their presence marked by the silver sheenof their hair and unmistakable glint of blood on their blades – no doubt the blood of the stalwart Crimson Clan warriors who’d accompanied us to this farce. The ethereal quality of their features—the sharply pointed ears and otherworldly grace—confirmed they were not humans but fae from Ellyndor, an entirely different contingent from the half-fae of Caelan's Eldwain heritage.
“What's going on?” My voice trembled slightly as I spoke, the tension palpable in the cool morning air. The scene before us was a stark contrast to the peaceful riverbank where we had planned to meet my father. Instead of a reunion, we were snared in a deadly trap.
The Ellyndor soldiers made no sound as they dragged the bodies of our Crimson Clan warriors into the clearing, their faces devoid of emotion and their movements eerily synchronized. My stomach churned at the sight. These men had traveled with us, laughed with us, and had families waiting for their return.
“What have you done?” I gasped. My heart pounded as dread filled every fiber of my being. The reality of our situation was grim, and the casual dismissal of life displayed by Caelan was horrifying.
Caelan, with a cool detachment that belied the violence his orders had unleashed, simply shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to talk,” he declared, as if the brutal murder of our companions was a mere footnote to his real intentions. His gaze shifted ominously toward Ronan and Silas. “Now, we just need to get rid of these two.” He gestured dismissively at my remaining protectors.
Ronan’s grip on my hand tightened and his body tensed as he prepared to defend us. Silas, equally alert, positioned himself to cover our flank, his eyes darting between the fae soldiers and Caelan, calculating our scant options.
The standoff was unmistakable; the gentle sound of the river's flow was a surreal backdrop to the threat of imminent violence. I felt a surge of fear but also anger—a fierce, protective rage that burned brightly against the injustice and betrayal.
“Caelan, you won’t get away with this.” My voice somehow remained steady despite the chaos that raged in my soul. “We came here in good faith, under a flag of truce—”
Caelan’s expression was one of mock sympathy. “Oh, Leila, always so naive. Good faith? In politics?” He laughed softly, a sound that chilled my blood. “There’s no such thing.Thisis power. And right now,Ihave it,notyou.”
The fae soldiers closed in and formed a tight circle around us, their faces no more than impassive masks of duty. Ronan and Silas exchanged a brief look and a silent agreement passed between them—no matter the odds, they would fight.
“In politics?” I echoed Caelan's words with a touch of irony. “So your intentions to marry me are purely political, not born from any real affection?” I stated, although I already knew the truth.
Caelan's composure slipped, exposing a crack in his usually poised demeanor. “You know that's not true, Lyanna. You know I love you!” His voice rose, thick with emotion as he advanced toward us with his hands clenched at his sides.
“Watch it,” Ronan warned, his tone low and dangerous. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, ready to defend. “If you take one more step—”
Caelan's response was a dismissive scoff. His earlier plea for my belief was swept away by a cold command. “Finish them!” he ordered the Ellyndor soldiers, his voice snapping like a flag in the wind.
As the fae soldiers tightened their formation and prepared to advance, a surge of desperate energy coursed through me. Seeing no other option, I acted on instinct. In slow motion, Iwatched as Ronan and Silas unsheathed their swords. Slipping my wrist across the sharp edge of Ronan’s drawn blade, I quickly made a shallow cut as Shiro had done during our clandestine late night training sessions. The sight of my blood blossoming bright and stark against my skin was startling, yet it triggered a deep, primal power within me.
“Leila!” Ronan exclaimed, horror stricken by my sudden action.
Ignoring the sting of pain, I focused intently on the pooling blood and tapped into Shiro’s training. My heart hammered as I willed the blood to extend, shaping it into a long, sinuous whip that glistened ominously in the morning light.
“Leila?” Ronan breathed out, his voice a mix of awe and fear as he witnessed the transformation.
With a swift motion, I spun and lashed the blood whip across the front row of approaching soldiers. The whip cracked through the air, striking with lethal precision and knocking the fae to the ground in a single, fluid motion. I turned to face another soldier who fearlessly charged towards us. Extending my hand, I focused harder, manipulating the blood within the fae’s veins. Narrowing my eyes, I elevated the temperature, effectively boiling his blood. He screamed, a harrowing sound, and collapsed clutching at his skin, the heat overwhelming him from the inside.
The remaining Ellyndor soldiers halted abruptly, their advance stymied by my display of raw power. They looked on with fear and uncertainty flickering across their faces, unsure whether to continue their assault or retreat.
Silas and Ronan stood beside me, awestruck. The tension-filled air seemed to absorb sound and the forest held its breath, watching over the ground littered with fallen soldiers, observing as the balance of power shifted unpredictably in the clearing.
Caelan, who had stood arrogantly just moments before, now stared in stark fear as the raw display of my blood weaving halted his soldiers. His eyes darted around, seeking an escape as the realization of his miscalculation set in.
