Page 6 of Warrior Princess
I gasped and attempted to reach my neck, fighting vainly against the ropes that tightly held my limbs in place. Coughing and sputtering, gasping for air, I slowly bled out on the stone altar. I hoped death would claim me fast, but no …
It felt like hours before I lost consciousness.
I gasped and fell face-first to the floor, clutching my neck. With wild eyes I searched the area around me, slowly realizing I was no longer captive in the cave, but in Ronan’s room. I was alive. Breathing.I’m okay.
I felt the floor beneath me and tried to breathe in through my nose and out my mouth. Gradually, my racing heart slowed to a normal pace. I stood and tried to gather my senses before Ronan returned.
3
The bath water was comfortably warm, the temperature just right, as I settled into the modest tub tucked away behind Ronan’s house. The tub, though small, felt like a sanctuary after the recent horrors I’d experienced. I scrubbed my skin vigorously, trying to cleanse away not only the physical remnants of dried blood, but the deeper stain of trauma that had seeped into my pores. No matter how hard I scrubbed, the reddish tinge remained. My heart pounded with the thunderous intensity of a thousand galloping horses.
“Come on,” I muttered, my voice a mix of desperation and frustration. “Come on,please,” I pleaded to no one but the wind.
“Leila?” Ronan’s voice broke through my focus, his tone soft yet laced with concern as he stepped outside. “Do you need help?”
I froze for a moment, gathering my composure before turning to face him. “I’m fine. Promise.”
“No. You’re not,” he replied, his gaze piercing and too aware of my insecurities. “I don’t like it when you lie to me, Leila.”
“I’m fine, truly,” I insisted, mustering a bright smile. “Just a bit frustrated that my skin is stained.”
He frowned slightly and squatted down beside the tub to meet the level of my eyes. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But I hope you’ll choose to confide in me. Whatever it is,” he offered gently.
“I know.” I returned his smile. “Have you spoken with your father yet?”
He grimaced. “Silas has. He was... content with Shiro’s help, but I think the demon fox is right. My father wanted something more.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I reached out and clasped his hand where it gripped the edge of the tub. “What matters is that your clan is now strong enough to defeat Keldara and free your people… with Shiro’s help.”
He nodded, then his eyes dropped to our intertwined hands. “You’re right. There’s not much my father can do now that the demon fox has returned.”
“Exactly.” I released his hand. “Do you have paper and ink? I’d like to send a message to my father. He needs to know I’m okay before any rumors reach him and a war is started for no reason.”
“Good idea,” Ronan snickered. “The last thing I need is for my in-laws clamoring for my head on a spike!”
I chuckled, covering my mouth. “Yes, that would be unfortunate, indeed.”
Ronan's gaze shifted from my eyes down to my neck and his expression darkened. A shadow passed over his features.
“Does… does it look that bad?” I whispered, my hand subconsciously moving to touch my neck.
It took a moment before he met my eyes again. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay. I figure it’s one more scar I’ll have to live with,” I murmured, feeling a vulnerability I hadn’t expected. I wasa strong blood mage, not this weakened version of myself. Clearing my throat, I shifted topics. “Any word on Keldara?”
“They just crossed the border. They should be here in about two hours. Silas went to inform Shiro.”
I nodded, and a mix of apprehension and resolve settled within me. “Good. I wonder what he plans to do? Starting a war doesn’t seem ideal. Hopefully, this can end peacefully.”
“I hope so as well,” Ronan agreed, his voice low and hopeful.
Ronan watched me for a moment, his concern evident. Silence stretched between us, filled by the distant sounds of village life and the rustle of leaves tossed about in a gentle breeze. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice soft but firm.
“Let me help you.” He reached for a clean cloth that lay beside the tub and dipped it into the warm water, wringing it out gently before extending his hand towards me.
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to assert my independence, yet another part craved the comfort of his touch. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, I nodded and allowed myself this vulnerability. Ronan’s expression softened, and he began to carefully dab at the stains on my skin, his movements tender and attentive.
The softness of the cloth and the gentleness of his touch soothed not just my skin, but something deeper within me. As he moved the cloth over my shoulders and down my arms, each stroke was a balm to my rattled nerves. The intimacy of the moment and the quiet closeness was profoundly healing.
