Page 50 of Warrior Princess
“What if my father didn’t believe Marcellus and still thinks you poisoned me?” I asked worriedly. Marcellus had never reached out to tell us my father’s thoughts. I was afraid they’d show up with an army, all because of Caelan’s lies.
Before Ronan could answer, we heard the distant sound of hooves and our attention was pulled back to the path. Figures appeared on the horizon, slowly becoming more distinct as they approached. My heart raced. This was the moment of truth, the meeting that could unravel the tangled threads of intrigue and family secrets.
As they drew nearer, I saw Marcellus, my brother, leading the group. Relief washed over me, followed by a surge of anticipation. What news did he bring? What fate awaited my father?
“Looks like we won’t need that second message after all,” Mykal remarked, a slight smile breaking his stoic demeanor.
“Yes,” I agreed, standing as I prepared to greet my brother. “Let’s hope they bring good news.”
Past Marcellus was a carriage… no, two carriages, followed by a procession of soldiers. Marcellus rode across the clearing and stopped at the border without crossing, staring intently where we stood on Keldara’s side. When he dismounted, I was struck by how different he looked.
Marcellus stood tall with the confidence of a young man who was starting to come into his own. His dark hair was swept back from his face, revealing intense blue eyes that matched the azureskies of Valoria. His presence was commanding, yet his gaze was warm when he looked at me, with a protective glint that reassured me. The crescent moon birthmark, a proud symbol of our heritage, was prominently displayed on his forehead, a mirror to my own.
“Marcel!” I called out. The urge to hug him was strong, but I knew I needed to keep my composure.
“Lyanna!” he breathed. “You’re safe.” Relief made his body relax and we met at the border between Valoria and Keldara. A guard brought a flickering torch to light the path and stood a discrete distance away. “When I received your message, I was worried about you crossing Keldara with the current political climate.” He turned to Mykal and Ronan. “Thank you for escorting her safely.”
“Of course,” Mykal answered as Ronan nodded.
My attention was diverted from my brother when the doors to the first carriage opened. I watched as Viktor helped my father climb down the short steps and assist him as he walked toward us. Another guard walked on his other side, carrying a torch so his king could see.
My father, once a robust and vigorous king, was a shadow of his former self. His dark hair, usually so neatly combed, fell slightly unkempt around his face, which was more lined than I remembered. His blue eyes which had always been so full of life and authority, held a tiredness that worried me deeply. Like Marcellus, he bore the crescent moon birthmark that marked him indelibly as Valorian, but today it seemed less a mark of power than a reminder of the vulnerabilities that even a king could not escape.
As he walked closer, I saw the strain of recent hardships etched into his features, yet there was an undeniable resolve that kept him moving forward. The sight tugged at my heart, stirringa mix of relief at seeing him and concern for the evident decline in my father’s health.
“Father!” I called out.
He lifted his head and smiled wearily. “My Lyanna,” he murmured. Viktor handed him off to Marcel, who supported his elbow. Sending me a silent nod before stepping away. “I am so glad you are safe,” he sighed.
“How are you? Are you okay?” I said in a rush, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch him. To check his pulse and see how bad he was.
“That’s what we don’t know, Sis,” Marcel said. “The healers at the palace have all checked him, but they say he is well and claim nothing is wrong, saying only that he’s suffering from severe fatigue.”
“I can tell by looking at him he is unwell. How could they say otherwise?” I said in shock.
“I think Mother is behind it,” Marcel grumbled under his breath.
Father proved there was nothing wrong with his hearing when he exclaimed, “Marcellus!” His sudden outburst forced a violent cough from which he struggled to recover.
“Father, calm down,” Marcel whispered as he patted our father’s back. “I told you—”
“Your mother would never!” our father countered. “How dare you speak of her in such a manner.”
I frowned, worried about his mental health if he truly didn’t suspect Mother even just a bit. He trusted her wholeheartedly, which was just as dangerous.
I stepped closer. “Can I check your pulse?”
Marcel nodded. “That’s why I brought him, so you could check him out. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked him to make the journey. Father is too delicate right now.”
“This is completely unnecessary!” Father blustered, though he couldn’t speak without coughing again. “I’ve just been overworking and I’m tired. Nothing else.”
“Father, please,” I begged. “Give me your wrist.”
Hesitantly, his blue eyes met mine and I saw fear in them. He worried what I would find, knowing it would give credence to everyone’s speculation. Realizing he had no other option, he held out his wrist. Before he changed his mind, I gently took his wrist and placed three fingertips on his pulse.
It took no longer than ten seconds to detect a volatile pulse that skittered sluggishly, a tell-tale sign of someone who had been poisoned. Any amateur healer could have figured that out, which led me to believe the palace healers were compromised.
I looked up at him. “Father, please stick out your tongue.” He tentatively complied and presented his darkened tongue. The progression of poison was obvious, even lit by only a flickering torch. If I noticed, the healers in the palace would have as well.
