But she knew one thing: Midori would not abandon the women who needed saving. She knew firsthand the terror and trauma of being abducted and torn from her life. She was going to help gain their freedom, too.
"Thank you for releasing us, Zephryn," she said, "but we're not going anywhere. At least, not yet."
FIFTEEN
Midori took a step towards Zephryn and out of Cael's arms. "I'll help you any way I can. I know firsthand how terrified those women are. Whatever I can do to help, I'm in."
Cael's heart swelled with admiration for this small female who was so brave and kind. Did she realize how special she was? He wanted to tell her, but there was a tension between them ever since the moment Pugly revealed who he was.
"We will be grateful for your help," Zephryn said, placing his hand on his heart and bowing before he walked back to his tribe to attend to the wounded.
"Midori, I?—"
"They need our help right now," she said, cutting him off, her eyes not quite reaching his. "After that, we'll talk."
Cael nodded. Midori was right. Now was not the time. But soon he'd tell her everything, even the dark and shameful parts of his past he'd hoped to forget. She deserved to know who he was, who he had been. After that, it was possible she'd want nothing more to do with him. He wouldn't blame her.
He followed Midori into the midst of the tribe and helped bandage the wounded men. Once they were taken care of, theyworked together to gather felled trees. Cael assisted by cutting down trees around the clearing, enlarging it for the funeral pyre to burn without causing a forest fire. Even Pugly helped by pushing the fallen timber out of the way and clearing the underbrush with his tusks.
The bodies of the dead were laid atop the wood as the rest of the tribesmen sang a deep and somber dirge. Zephryn lit the fire, and the men's voices rose in volume along with the pyre's flames. Cael watched the funeral pyre burn, its flames reaching for the sky like desperate fingers as the wood crackled and spit, sending a ribbon of smoke through the trees. The bodies of the fallen tribesmen were consumed, their spirits released to walk among the stars.
Cael felt Midori's gaze resting on him, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of sadness and compassion. His heart lurched. This woman had gone through so much. He wished he could take her pain away. Midori reached out and took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. The warmth of her touch sent heat through his body, reminding him even amid death and destruction, there was still hope.
By the time dawn arrived with the first rays of sunlight and the wakening of the jungle's fauna, the pyre had dwindled down to embers. Zephryn enlisted a few men to care for the remaining funeral rituals, but the rest of the tribe was told to rest. In a few hours, they would begin the journey to the tribe's village at the base of the mountain. After that, they'd head for Mlima City, where they would attempt to rescue the Zebran females.
Members of the tribe gave Cael and Midori their extra bedrolls, and Cael set to work clearing a spot for them on the ground. He felt Midori's hand on his shoulder.
"I think it's finally time we talked,your highness," she said, her voice soft.
Cael nodded and sat down on the bedroll, though his stomach clenched in fear. Midori sat next to him, her leg brushing against his. He hoped when he was done confessing who he truly was, she'd still want to sit so close to him. But he knew it wasn't guaranteed. When she finally knew the real him, she might want nothing to do with him ever again. And he couldn't blame her for it.
Cael took a deep breath and said, "I'm not who you think I am."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't workfor Lord Krissayr. I'm not one of his mobsters."
"Then who are you?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
"I'm a prince of Zyranth. My father was the king of our people."
Her eyes widened further. "You're a prince?"
Cael nodded. "But not a good one. After my mother passed away, my father pushed so hard for me to follow in his footsteps that I did everything I could to disappoint him. I gallivanted across the galaxy spending money that didn't belong to me, tossing it away, and refusing to grow up. When he passed away a few months ago, I wasn't there. I never asked for his forgiveness."
"But why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"At first, I couldn't. I had falsified documents to get on board a ship. I couldn't let anyone know who I was. After my father's death, I returned home to find my uncle had plans for the throne. He convinced the Council of Elders I wasn't fit to lead. And, honestly, he was right. I wasn't fit to become king. But then I learned my uncle had negotiated a deal with Lord Krissayr, supplying him with guards for his slave ring. Slavery is outlawed on our planet; what he's doing is illegal. My parents despisedits existence in the galaxy and were pushing for pan-galactic legislation which would criminalize it everywhere. They'd be so disappointed to know what my father's brother is doing as regent in my name. I began asking questions, doing some digging into my uncle's dealings with Lord Krissayr.
"Then, my head guard, Baelor, disappeared, and I no longer had any protection. I feared my uncle wanted to eliminate me as a threat to his claim for the throne. Without me, he's the next legitimate heir. I decided to search for Baelor, who by that time was my only friend. When I heard he'd been sent to work for Lord Krissayr, I put my plan into action and ended up on the same ship as you."
Midori nodded. Her face gave nothing away about what she was thinking.
Cael felt both relieved and terrified by his confession. What would Midori think of him? Was she disgusted by who he'd been? Did she think he might still be the petulant prince?
His father's death had been like a shock to his system. He'd regretted his behavior and wanted to become the man his father dreamed he could be. He'd always have to live with the regret that it had taken him too long to change for his father to see it.
Midori stayed silent, so Cael continued on. "Then we ended up here, and it felt like one crisis after another. Each time we had a moment to rest, I told myself I'd tell you the truth—all of it—no matter the cost. But each time, I convinced myself the time wasn't right. I'd tell you later. But I know I was a coward. I was afraid you would think differently of me if you knew who I really was."
