Page 45 of Warrior Princess
In the back, a modest sleeping area was arranged with a narrow cot and a heavy blanket folded at its foot, indicating where Mykal rested when he wasn’t engaged in leadership duties. A small personal chest secured with a heavy padlock stood beside the cot, likely containing his belongings.
The tent was organized with a clear purpose, blending functionality with the necessary comforts of all a commanding officer needed in the field. It was evident that every item had been chosen for its utility and ease of transport, reflecting the transient and often urgent nature of military life. The space was pragmatically structured, reflecting the urgency of wartime leadership, yet it offered a semblance of temporary sanctuary.
“Make yourselves comfortable.” Mykal gestured to the chairs across from the desk laden with maps and documents as he settled into his own seat. “Now that we have more privacy, what’s going on? Your letter didn’t reveal much.”
Ronan and I exchanged a quick, uncertain glance before I took a deep breath to begin, feeling the burden of our precarious situation. “I need to get a letter to my brother, Marcellus.”
Mykal’s expression shifted to concern. “I assume the Grasslands has messengers of their own …?” he replied, a hint of confusion in his tone.
“It’s not that simple.” Ronan leaned forward. “Leila's last attempt to contact her father was intercepted by Caelan. Weencountered him in the Central Plains under the guise of her father, but quickly learned it was a setup.”
Mykal exhaled sharply as the implications dawned on him. “Is Caelan…?” He trailed off without finishing the thought.
“We’re not sure of his current reach,” I filled in quickly, keen on diverting from speculation to action. “That’s why it’s crucial I speak directly with my brother and father. There are things onlytheyshould hear, and it must be kept confidential.”
Understanding flickered in Mykal’s eyes. He nodded slowly, then passed me a piece of parchment, a quill, and the ink bottle. “Write your letter,” he instructed. “I’ll ensure it’s dispatched tonight. You’re welcome to stay in the camp until we receive a reply. I’ll arrange your accommodations.”
“Thank you, Mykal.” Ronan acknowledged the commander with a nod. “There’s one more thing we need to ask of you.”
Mykal’s eyebrows lifted, inviting the question.
“We’re looking for a Valorian midwife named Abigail. We don’t know her surname, but we heard she’s hiding somewhere in Keldara,” Ronan stated. “She was involved in a sensitive matter in Valoria concerning Leila’s family many years ago.”
“A Valorian midwife here?” Mykal mulled it over. “We do have a small community of Valorian refugees. I’ll have my people look into it. Is there a reason you’re looking for this Abigail person?”
I looked at Ronan, wondering just how much we should divulge to Mykal. He nodded to my silent question. “She was a midwife for my mother… for her first-born child.”
Mykal’s eyes widened, and he looked between the two of us. “Pardon?”
“Supposedly that child was a stillborn, but everyone involved in the birth died mysteriously, leaving only the midwife Abigail, who somehow managed to escape to Keldara.” I shrugged one shoulder. “She might have some answers we’re looking for.”
“I see.” Mykal’s tone turned serious as the gravity of the situation sank in. “That puts things into a different perspective. I’ll start inquiries immediately. Write your letter and I’ll get your tent outfitted.” He excused himself with a respectful nod, leaving Ronan and me alone to craft the letter.
“Do you know what you want to say?” Ronan kept his voice low as he watched me uncap the ink bottle.
“Yes.” I dipped the quill into the ink. “I’m going to tell my brother about the poisoning, but I’ll ask him to keep it from Mother in case she has something to do with it.”
“And you think he’ll believe you?” Ronan’s concern was evident, his brow furrowed in the dim light of the tent.
“He has to,” I said with more hope than certainty. “I’m also going to ask him to meet us at the border with Father, away from the prying eyes of Caelan or anyone else who might be pulling strings in Valoria.”
“That’s a solid plan,” Ronan concluded. “Once we have their response, we’ll head to the border to meet them.”
We strodeinto our temporary abode within Mykal's camp, where the tent struck a balance between functionality and minimal comfort. Instead of the typical single bedding arrangement, two separate cots were meticulously placed, underscoring Mykal's consideration—or perhaps his sense of decorum, given our partnership.
Ronan gave a wry chuckle as he surveyed the room. “Mykal's not subtle, is he?” He dropped onto the nearer cot with a soft thud. “Thinks he's being clever with this setup.”
I smiled and dismissed the implication with a wave of my hand. “It’s just standard protocol, I think. No need to read too much into it.”
“Maybe.” His voice lowered, a playful yet serious undertone threading through his words. “But I notice the way he looks at you. It’s familiar because it’s howIlook at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing.”
A flush crept up my cheeks and I turned away to hide the rising warmth. “Mykal respects our relationship, Ronan. Let’s not start a fire where there’s no spark.”
“He’d better.” Ronan was half-jesting, but his tone held a protective firmness that made me glance back at him. He kicked off his boots and stretched out, making himself at home on the rugged cot.
Shaking my head at his mock jealousy, I approached the small basin situated at the foot of my cot and splashed cool water on my face. The chill was a welcome relief against the dusty warmth of Keldaran air.
Climbing onto my cot, I pulled the thin blanket up to my chin and nestled into the pillow. I stared up at the canvas ceiling bathed in the soft glow of a lantern hanging from the center pole. “How long do you think it’ll take to get a response back from Marcellus?”
