Page 51 of Warrior Princess
“What is it, Lyanna?” Marcellus urged. “Just tell us the truth.”
I nodded. “He’s been poisoned.” My father slowly closed his eyes in resignation.
“I knew it!” Marcel yelled, his hands tightening on Father’s arm. “So itwasMother!”
“No!” our father weakly exclaimed, barely staving off another coughing fit. “It can’t be.”
“Father,” I whispered, “we don’t know anything for sure, but Mother is a likely suspect. She checks your meals every day. If it’s not her, she at least knows who it is.”
He shook his head. “No. We cannot speak ill of her in this manner. She is the Queen of Valoria!” Coughs wracked his body.
Marcel turned his attention back to me, choosing to ignore Father’s protests of our mother’s innocence. “What do we do?”
“Honestly, I don’t know how to treat him until we find out what he’s being poisoned with. It could be a multitude of things.” I gnawed my bottom lip. “I’m going to give you a list of ingredients to get, which you’ll need to boil. Then, you’ll add this.” I pulled a small vial from my pocket.
“What is this?” Marcel reached for the vial and held it closer to a torch to see.
“My blood,” I answered calmly. “Once you’ve boiled the other ingredients, add my blood. But onlyafterthe other ingredients have been boiled. If you add the blood before boiling everything, the heat will diminish my healing properties and it won’t work. Do you understand?”
Marcel nodded. “Thank you, Lyanna.”
“Are you not going to return home, Lyanna?” my father asked sadly, his eyes pained. It broke my heart.
I smiled tightly. “Not yet, Father, but I hope to soon.”
My father nodded toward Ronan. “Is it because of him?”
I shook my head and gave a soft chuckle. “No, not because of him. Because of Caelan,” I insisted. “We need to take care of him before he does something he can’t turn back from.”
“You really believe he was the one who poisoned you?” he asked with furrowed brows.
“Yes. I know it for a fact,” I said, leaving out the fact that Henry heard Caelan admitting to what he’d done.
“Then could it possibly be Caelan who is responsible for poisoning me?” my father countered, trying to cast the blame on someone other than his beloved wife. “Your mother loves him; he could be tricking her!”
I winced. I didn’t want to tell him otherwise. It was highly likely that Caelan and my mother were working together, but what I couldn’t figure out waswhy. What would my mother gain if Caelan took over Valoria? Her dream had always been for Marcellus to become King. When did that change?
Instead, I replied, “I suppose anything is possible.” I clasped his sweaty palm. “Father, come with us to the Grasslands. I can help you there—”
Father stood a little taller. “I refuse to leave my kingdom. I would ratherdiethan desert it!”
“He’s right, Lyanna,” Marcellus agreed with a grimace. “We can’t leave. If we did, it would just give Caelan the keys to the kingdom. I refuse to let him win like this.”
Understanding their predicament, I nodded. Retrieving the letter I’d received from Marcel, I flipped the parchment over and listed the ingredients, then handed him the letter back. “Make sure you get everything on this list with theexactmeasurements. Promise me, Marcel.”
Marcel took the letter and tucked it into his pocket. “Of course, Lyanna. I’ll do it as soon as we return.”
“From now on, you’re in charge of father’s meals. Don’t give them any more chances to poison him again,” I said, taking charge. “If he gets worse or the medicine doesn’t work, send word. We’ll meet here again.”
“Very well.” Marcel looked back at the carriages and then turned his attention back to me. “One more thing…” He motioned to one of the Valorian soldiers, who went to the second carriage and opened the door. “I brought them with me in hopes they could return to the Grasslands with you.”
To my bewildered delight, Selene and Henry clambered down from the carriage and walked toward us. My eyes widened at the sight of them. “You brought them with you!”
Marcel nodded. “It’s not safe for any of us, and if I can barely protect Father, I can’t guarantee I could protect them as well,” he said, sounding embarrassed.
“Marcel,” I whispered. “You’ve truly grown.” He didn’t understand my meaning and opened his mouth to retort when I laid a calming hand on his arm. “Few men would do whatyou’re doing. Knowing when to fold is a skill, not a weakness,” I said, attempting to reassure him. “You’re doing well, and I know whenever the time comes, you’ll be an excellent king.”
Our father patted him on the back, offering his silent agreement.
