Page 5 of Warrior Princess
“What is going on with Keldara?” Shiro interjected, his voice deep and concerned. “Chief Aryan mentioned they are enslaving our people? How did that happen?”
Ronan turned his gaze to the demon fox, his expression somber. “Our relationship with Keldara has always been delicate. From what I understand, the moon goddess deflected their attention from us to Valoria, thinking they’d be more equipped to handle them with you gone,” he explained. “But over a century ago, my great grandfather made a deal with Keldara. In exchange for their war horses and weapons, we would provide Keldara with tributes to supplement their dwindling birth rate. We've tried to cut ties, but their military is strong. And with you gone, our powers have diminished, which left us vulnerable.”
Shiro nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Chief Aryan mentioned a representative from Keldara would be here today to collect this year's tributes. Is that correct?”
Ronan frowned and a hint of confusion crossed his features. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Yes, it’s true,” I interrupted, remembering the chief's words. “Chief Aryan told me last night; it was why he decided to perform the ceremony then, in hopes...”
“In hopes I could be of some assistance,” Shiro concluded for me, his voice calm but edged with a hint of intrigue.
I shakily swung my legs over the side of the stone altar and Ronan helped me to my feet, supporting me as I gained my footing. “Will you help them? I mean, I know my resurrection took up their wish, but I’ve seen your people in Keldara, and they’re suffering. They could really use your help.”
“Leila,” Ronan began, his arm tightening around me protectively. “We can’t—”
“Do you really think me capable of leaving my people to suffer?” Shiro cut in, his brow arching questioningly. “No matter what, I will help the Crimson Clan. But I suspect Aryan was hoping for something else besides my help.”
“Like what?” Ronan asked, his brow creasing further.
Shiro shook his head, his expression unreadable. “I do not know. I sensed deceit behind his words, so whatever I say would be pure speculation.”
Ronan exhaled heavily and renewed determination settled over his features. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I can feel the power surging through me now that you’re here. I’m sure my father has a bigger plan in play. We must be careful.”
A chill skittered up my spine, no doubt released by being in proximity to the place of my recent demise. “Let’s get out of here. I need water and a bath.”
“Of course.” Ronan ushered me out of the cave before pausing to look over his shoulder. “Shiro … are you coming as well?”
I turned in time to see Shiro shake his head. “I would like to take a look around.” His crimson eyes scanned the cave. “Come get me once the representatives from Keldara have arrived. Tell Aryan I will be ready.”
Our returnto the village was laboriously slow, hindered by my lingering weakness. Ronan supported me the entire way, at times practically carrying me through the dusty pathways that led back to the heart of the Crimson Clan’s community. As we approached, the familiar sights and sounds of village life unfolded around us—children playing near the well, the distant clatter of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the mingled scents of cooking fires and fresh earth.
When we arrived, Silas was waiting, his figure tense with anticipation. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw me. “You’re alive…!” he choked out, his voice laden with shock.
“Tell my father that everything is still on track. Shiro will assist us once Keldara arrives. He has nothing to worry about.” Ronan’s voice was firm as he guided me past his friend toward a home situated near the ritual hall.
After pushing aside the thick cloth that served as a front door, we stepped into a cozy, single-room dwelling. The space was warmly inviting, lit by the soft glow of lanterns that cast dancing shadows across the walls. A bed large enough for two was tucked against one wall, its linens crisp and inviting with a fur blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Small personal touches adorned the space: a series of framed portraitsdepicting landscapes and familiar faces, potted plants perched on windowsills, and various trinkets collected from far-flung travels.
I turned to Ronan. “Is this your house?” I asked, though the answer seemed self-evident.
He responded with a shy smile and a nod. “Yes. I’m rarely here since I travel a lot for my father, but this is my place when I am in the Grasslands.”
“It’s very… you,” I chuckled, taking in the quaint charm of his personal space. “I like it.”
“Well, now it’s your home as well. Your home away from home.” He wrapped his arms around me from behind and placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder.
I closed my eyes and tried to savor the warmth of his touch, but the vivid memories of the previous night surged forward and I shuddered. I feared I might never close my eyes again without seeing the grim specter of my demise replaying on an endless loop.
“Are you okay?” Ronan’s whisper was close, his breath warm against my ear.
I managed a smile, though I kept my face turned away so he couldn’t see what I wasn’t ready to share. “Of course. I just had a chill. Do you think I can bathe?”
He hesitated as if he wanted to delve deeper, but acquiesced with a comforting nod. “Of course. Let me get someone to fill the bath for you. Make yourself comfortable.”
When he released me and headed outside, the absence of his warmth was immediate and stark. I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my middle, fighting to steady my breathing. Haunting flashes from the night before plagued my thoughts. I struggled to push them away, seeking solace in the safety of Ronan’s room.
“Apologies for being rough, Your Highness,” Chief Aryan said as he hovered over me with a dagger clenched in his hand. I was lying on my back on an altar above where the demon fox was buried with my arms and legs tied down. “I will make several incisions and allow your blood to flow and feed the demon fox. Granted, it will be a slow and painful death. But have no fear, Your Highness; it will be for the greater good.”
Without offering a word of warning, Chief Aryan sliced both my wrists and my blood trickled onto the stone altar. The scant amount told me it would be a while before my blood had been depleted. But before I could think further, he held the dagger to my neck. A wicked grin spread across his face as he sliced my throat. In stark contrast to the thin beads that ran down my arms, blood gushed from my neck … blood that choked me to death.
