Page 65 of Warrior Princess
Marcel frowned. “What are you saying, Lyanna?”
I took a deep breath, knowing my next words would blow his mind. “I think she had an affair with King Alwyn. Avery showed me letter Mother wrote to him. It all makes sense now.”
Marcel’s mouth fell open as he absorbed all the information I was throwing at him. Though the word “Impossible,” flew past his lips, I could tell he was coming to the same realization I had.
“You can’t let on that you know.” I gripped his arm, jerking his attention back to me. “Promise me, Marcel. We can’t let her know we’ve discovered her secret. Not until we know the whole truth.”
Marcellus nodded. “Of course… Do you still want to come upstairs?”
I nodded and turned to Ronan. “Can you do me a favor?”
My Crimson Clan warrior nodded resolutely. “Anything.”
“Can you go to Stella’s Fabric Shop and send a message to Avery? I want to make sure she’s okay.” Worry for the princess gnawed at my insides, particularly since I hadn’t seen her in the melee.
“Of course.” Ronan turned to Shiro. “Will you stay with her?”
When Shiro nodded, Ronan placed a tender kiss on my forehead and left to find the shop. That left me, Marcellus, and Shiro to head upstairs in the inn. The innkeeper gave us a slight nod as we passed him on the way to the second floor.
Each step of the creaky wooden stairs echoed above the din of the gathered crowd, magnifying the pall that had descended. The dim corridor was lit by sparse candles casting long, flickering shadows that eerily danced against the peeling wallpaper. It felt as if the secrets we now harbored were seeping into the very walls of this place, imbuing it with a sense of foreboding.
Once at the top of the stairs, Marcellus led us down the narrow hallway to a door at the far end. He paused with his hand resting on the doorknob and turned to me. “Are you ready?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I nodded and took a deep breath to steady my nerves. The thought of seeing my parents under such strained circumstances was daunting. I was not just their daughter returning home; I was the bearer of dark revelations which could unravel the fragile threads of our family.
Marcellus opened the door and we stepped into a modestly furnished room. The curtains were drawn, the room illuminated in somber twilight. My mother, Queen Derinda, sat by the window, her silhouette outlined against the dim light. Beside her, my father, King Malik, rested in an armchair. His features were gaunt, but his eyes were alert.
“Lyanna, my child.” While weak, my father’s voice was filled with warmth as he extended a trembling hand towards me.
I moved quickly to his side and took his hand in mine, feeling the frailty of his grip. “Father,” I whispered, my throat tight with emotion. “I've missed you.”
“And I, you,” he replied, squeezing my hand. My mother remained silent, her eyes fixed on the floor, a stark contrast to her usual poised, regal demeanor.
“Were you hurt during the massacre?” I looked him up and down for any injury.
My father shook his head. “No, not at all. Marcellus broke a window and got us out as quickly as possible.” He looked at his son with pride shimmering in his eyes.
I looked behind me to where Marcel stood and smiled proudly at him. “He’ll make a fine king one day.”
Marcellus blushed and chuckled, his gaze dropping shyly to the floor before meeting mine again. “I only did what any son would do for his family,” he said modestly.
Father nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Indeed, he acted with the courage and quick-thinking befitting a leader. We were lucky to escape unharmed, thanks to his actions.”
Mother finally spoke, her voice eerily composed. “The whole ordeal was terrifying. To think that such violence could occur at a time of mourning...” Her words trailed off as she shook her head, pretending to be disturbed by the memory. But the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. If anything, her upper lip twitched, and I wondered whether she wanted to smile at the memory instead.
“It’s a tragedy… a whole family was massacred.” I directed my icy tone at my mother. “Now a tyrant is on the Eldwain throne. Caelan is a menace to every nation in Asteria.”
My mother rolled her eyes and looked away like a petulant child, peering out the window through a slit in the curtains.
“You don’t believe it?” I challenged her.
My father cleared his throat and squeezed my hand. “Lyanna…”
My mother’s emotionless demeanor finally cracked. She whirled around to face us, her face painted in fury. “A tyrant? You mean aking! If you’re lucky, he’ll still accept you as his queen.”
The room fell into silence as my mother’s true colors were revealed. She’d always liked Caelan more than any other friends we’d ever had. He was invited to every family celebration, and when in Valoria, always ate with us as part of the family.
My eyes narrowed as I watched my mother, my eyes slowly growing wider and wider as realization dawned.
