Drained, I finally mustered the courage to remove the folded note from my pocket. Taking a seat, I took a few sips of water and reclined against a towering tree. Looking down, I traced my name where Eithan inscribed it in his flawless script. A smile played on my lips as I remembered him griping when I’d forced him to practice to perfection, just as he’d drilled me to tie those damn knots until I could do so in my sleep.
My smile faded as I unfolded the page.
Ny,
Let me guess, you’re up here throwing blades because your family is a bunch of pricks? Good! Maybe you won’t just remember your promise to me, but will actually start takingit seriously. Don’t let them tear you down, Ny. Use every moment they don’t treat you with love, respect, kindness, and understanding as fuel.
I’ll write to you when I’m settled, but it won’t be for at least a month.
With love,
Eithan
PS: I hope you gave the trees hell today.
I read and reread the note, allowing his soothing voice to fill my mind. I treasured how he knew me so well, how he’d known I would seek out my blades for comfort. In that moment, I felt understood. I felt loved.
Morning slipped into afternoon sooner than I wanted. While I wasn’t quite ready to venture back to the cabin, I finally felt centered again.
Eithan’s note had kindled something in me. I wanted to try a new tack with my family, one where I could detach myself from their opinions and cling to my own truths. If they uttered anything as senseless as they had last night, I would just imagine how Mrs. E, or Eithan, would respond. It would lessen the sting of their comments and possibly provide comedic relief. I wasn’t sure it would work, but it was worth a try.
Early evening had come by the time I made my way back. Just as I went to step into the cabin’s clearing, male voices and the soft clopping of hooves caught my attention. I paused, lending my ears to the sounds, then moved to gain a better vantage point while staying hidden behind the tree line. I instinctively checked for the dagger Eithan had given me, which was safely tucked into my boot.
Two men of considerable size, possibly thirty years of age, were loitering by the cabin. The one on the right had a thicker build than his counterpart, although both had the tapered musculature I’d only known mercenaries to possess. But they were too cleanand well-groomed to be hired swords, not to mention they possessed an air of authority that didn’t belong to the lawless.
They faced away from me as they headed toward the cabin’s entrance. Massive greatswords were sheathed across their backs, the hilts extending past their shoulders. Neither of them seemed to take note of the added mass of the imposing blades.
Their attire and riding gear appeared to be of the highest quality, and their horses were beautifully kept—their coats catching what light remained.
The amount of tack they carried suggested they’d been traveling for less than a week.
A third man, with loose, dirty-blond curls, joined them. He faced me, but as he approached his companions, their bulk obscured him from sight.
I strained to listen, but from the distance, I could only pick out fragments of their conversation. I thought one of the men saidslaughter, but I must have misheard. As I moved along the tree line to get closer, I could finally see the third man.
My heart stopped, and I held my breath, trying to reconcile the crisp, white rag that soaked in the crimson from his hands.
All thought and self-preservation left me as I bolted toward the cabin. Toward my family.
Chapter 7
Musing with the Willow
The three horsemen turned to face me, eyes widening as I sprinted forward. Feeling the recklessness of my decision as I got closer, I thought about grabbing my dagger, but abandoned the notion. Not only were they built like warriors, but in addition to the sheathed swords on their backs, each of them carried multiple daggers, some hidden, some overt. Perhaps there was a diplomatic way out of this—whateverthiswas.
I slowed my pace, eventually stopping in front of the man who’d wiped blood from his hands. It was subtle, but his companions moved in, as if taking defensive positions. They were clad differently, although the variance was almost indiscernible at first glance. The blond man’s armor was ornamented with fine detailing that looked like a coat of arms. I scrambled for its meaning, knowing I’d seen it before. Then, realization dawned, and I had to forcefully stop myself from bolting in the other direction. It wasn’t a coat of arms that adorned his breastplate; it was the king’s insignia.
I swallowed, trying to find my nerve as I met the stranger’s gaze. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked. Mercifully, my voice was steady.
“No. Thank you, lady,” he said, inclining his head. His voice was…smooth, calming, almost timeless, with the soft timber of a loving grandfather. I searched his features, confirming I’d been right about their age—no more than thirty. For a fleeting moment, I naively thought that would be that, but as he continued to hold my gaze, he asked, “Are you Nyleeria?”
My breath hitched, and the world stilled as if holding her breath for what came next. Gooseflesh rippled up my back, and down into my arms. Why was my name on this man’s tongue? Should I tell the truth? Would he know if I lied? What would happen if he did?
“May I ask as to who’s inquiring?” I hedged, unconsciously mirroring his formal diction.
“Apologies, my lady. Allow me to introduce myself and my comrades. I am King Thaddeus,” he said with remarkable seriousness, “and this is my second and third-in-command.” He gestured to the other men in turn.
I almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of the declaration—but thought better of it.
