Page 34 of Fated Flames: Volume Two
“There is no need for you to apologize, Your Highness,” Boyd says.
I rub at my temple, damp from hours’ worth of sweating. “You don’t need to say that simply because of my position.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “And you don’t need to stay here if you don’t wish. You’re welcome to join your comrades.” At least they can keep each other company. This is likely the least exciting assignment they’ve ever had.
“There is nothing better than guarding our queen,” Boyd answers.
“I am not queen yet.”
“You are our queen now, Your Highness.”
I almost remark that his statement is contradictory but don’t bother. Instead, I let out a long, weary sigh. “I hope you know I’ll do everything I can to reinstate you to your original position, you and your comrades. Just give me a little time.” Standing about a tent all day can’t be what Tirenth’s most elite guards hoped for. The three of them are likely feeling as trapped as I am.
With this, I shut my eyes and begin seeking my lethargic friend below.
“You dishonor us.”
I blink up at Boyd. “Pardon?”
He’s staring straight ahead, a soldier at perfect attention. “To say you would send us away, that you would return us to our previous positions—” His chest heaves on a ragged breath. “You would dishonor us beyond recovery. Your Highness.”
His eyes stutter my way, as if fearing he’s overstepped his bounds. “Please don’t dismiss us,” he whispers.
Then he faces forward and falls silent.
I gaze up at him in utter bewilderment. “I did not mean…” My words dwindle away as I try to piece all this together.
I never meant to insult him or his comrades; I meant to help, to restore. This whole swearing-themselves-to-me business seemed a begrudging assignment at best and an unfortunate accident at worst. I assumed my forced departure humiliated them, that my actions subjected them to ridicule amongst their fellow guards, unintentionally so, yes, but done all the same. I meant to right that as well as I could.
Except I seem only to be deepening my wrong.
I rub at my face. I feel like a bumbling mess right now, not a future queen. Minister Abely leaps to mind, and uncharacteristic anger for the one who left me so utterly clueless in a foreign land sears through me.
No, that’s over and done with. I wish Tilly were here. She may be younger than me, but she’s kind and far better informed. I’m sure she can help me navigate this.
Before I can think of what to say to Boyd, I hear a shift in the crowd’s murmuring, a stirring over some new point of interest. Boyd notices, too, and strides outside, returning moments later with a pinched look.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It seems one of the Ilanthren princesses has just arrived here, Your Highness.”
I puzzle over his apprehension. A princess’s arrival doesn’t seem terribly concerning. A royal wedding is happening soon; Ilanthren nobility would be invited and expected to attend.
Though I suppose finding the king in the midst of mangling his opponent doesn’t make the best first impression.
“Do you happen to know which one?” My sisters and I were forced to memorize the nobility from all the wealthiest nations. There are three Ilanthren princesses, as well as two princes.
“Princess Rosa Noviko,” Boyd says.
Interesting. Princess Rosa is the youngest of all the siblings, though she’s still two years older than me. I would have thought the heir would have been sent on Soren’s account, though perhaps he means to come later.
I should go greet her. This is at least one part of royal life I understand, and besides, she’s likely taken aback by the scene she rode into.
I rise to dust myself off and grimace at what I see. Hiln dressed me in a loose linen shirt and pants when I returned to draw, and though they’re embellished with lovely embroidery, they’re also rumpled beyond all saving.
Should I change into a gown? Calling Hiln here will take time. I glare down at the sand between my sandaled toes. What would my sisters do?
Selena would say poo on gowns (for which my mother would scold her). The others I hear say that, given the circumstances, promptness would be more appreciated than courtly attire. Only Celeste squeals that she wouldn’t be caught dead in trousers, and if she were dead, someone best change her into a gown before she’s seen, unless we want her to come back and haunt us all.
“I’m going to greet the princess,” I say, and quickly wiping my face, I exit the tent, knowing I’ll be followed.
