Chapter 120: Mind games
Princess Emma stepped out of the carriage. Her face was still hidden by the veil, but he could see that her bright green eyes were wide with shock.
It was the first time Rhys saw any emotions other than calmness in her. It was rather boring on her face.
Well, not that Rhys had seen her face. Eyes were called gateways to the heart, after all.
But why did he feel like she was fake?
She looked at the kneeling people, at the old man with the grey beard. A small, choked sound escaped her lips.
"Steward Austin?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Again, Rhys cringed.
He decided to think of something else as his mind drifted into the Ashen dimension while he watched Sera sleeping on his throne.
Seduction was nowhere to be seen.
’Don’t worry Sera, papa will let you out...’
His attention returned to the kneeling people. The old man looked up, tears welling up in his tired eyes.
"My princess," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You have come home."
Rhys paused. It sounded grieved.
Emma walked forward, her movements no longer the calm, controlled steps of a noblewoman. She moved with a sense of urgency, of a deep, long-buried emotion finally breaking free.
She knelt in front of the old steward and took his rough, worn hands in her own. If no one found anything abnormal yet, he would have to check the workability of their brains.
Anyway, his simple escort mission had just become something far more interesting.
The reunion was brief and full of emotion. Emma spoke with the old steward, her voice low. The other retainers remained on their knees, their heads bowed, not daring to interrupt.
After a few minutes, she stood up. The trembling in her voice was gone. Her posture was straight and confident once more.
She was the princess he saw in the inn again.
She turned to Rhys, who had been standing silently by the carriage. The gratitude in her green eyes was clear, but her voice was steady and formal.
"My people wish to join us," she said. It was not a request. It was a statement of fact.
Rhys frowned. He looked at the group of about twenty people. They were mostly old men, women, and a few teenagers.
Only a handful of them looked like they had any real combat experience. They were a liability. Then why did she want them to follow her?
Why did she not ask them to wait in the city?
"Your Highness," Rhys said, his voice even. "We are travelling through a dangerous forest. A larger group is a larger target. It will slow us down."
"I am aware of the risks," she replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "They will not be a burden. They are all that is left of my house. I will not abandon them."
Rhys looked from her unyielding gaze to the hopeful faces of the retainers. He knew arguing was pointless.
He also knew that this was the real mission. She had not just come here to visit a ruin. She had come here to gather her army, however small and weak it might be.
He gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "As you wish, Your Highness."
He returned to the driver’s seat of the carriage. The old steward, Austin, organised his people. Rhys watched the orderly manner in which he organised them, then returned to the carriage.
They did not have horses or carts. They would walk. Rhys set a slow, steady pace, allowing the followers to keep up.
The rest of the day’s journey was different. The silence was gone. The quiet footsteps of the retainers behind the carriage were a constant presence.
They did not talk much, to his liking.
He made sure their journey remained undisturbed. Before they had set off that morning, he had taken a moment to sprinkle a fine, almost invisible powder he had created onto the wheels and undercarriage of the carriage.
It was a potent beast-repelling potion, a simple alchemical creation that gave off a scent that was unnoticeable to humans but deeply unpleasant to most spiritual beasts.
He did not want their journey to be delayed by minor threats. The real danger, he knew, was not from the monsters of the forest.
As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows through the trees, Austin approached the carriage.
"Young guard," he said, his voice respectful. "There is a safe clearing ahead, by a stream. It is a good place to make camp for the night."
Rhys nodded. "Lead the way."
The clearing was a small, defensible space, with a clear stream providing fresh water and a rocky outcrop providing some cover.
The retainers were surprisingly efficient. They worked together in an orderly manner, enough to make a trained team shy.
They gathered firewood, set up a perimeter, and erected small, sturdy tents made of a tough, dark-green canvas.
Rhys watched them work. They might not be warriors, but they were survivors; they really knew how to live in the wild.
He set up a simple alarm formation around the perimeter of the camp, a series of small flags that would alert him to any approaching presence. It was a precaution.
He still felt the faint, cold killing intent in the air. The assassins from the Crimson Sun were still out there, watching, waiting for the right moment.
Or already in his shadows. Rhys smirked.
Once the camp was secure, one of the younger retainers, a girl of about sixteen, approached him with a respectful bow.
"Her Highness requests your presence in her tent," she said.
Rhys followed the girl to the largest tent in the camp. It was simple, but clean and well-made. He stepped inside.
Princess Emma was sitting on a small, folding stool in the centre of the tent. A small, portable stove was set up in front of her, and she was in the middle of preparing tea.
The air was filled with the fragrant scent of herbs. She gestured for him to sit on another stool across from her.
Rhys sat down, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. The atmosphere in the tent was quiet and calm, but the tension was still there, an unspoken current between them.
He watched her as she worked. Her movements were graceful and precise as she measured the tea leaves and poured the hot water.
"I think you would do a good job as a tea maker."
Princess Emma paused for a moment, allowing his words to settle in her mind. Then she continued brewing. Silence blanketed them once more. Rhys decided to break it.
"Why did you ask them to follow you, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice direct. "You are putting them in great danger. You know we are being hunted."
She did not look up from her work. She continued to brew the tea, her face hidden behind her veil. The only sound was the gentle hiss of the stove and the soft clink of the ceramic cups.
When the tea was ready, she carefully poured two cups.
She pushed one across the small table towards him. It was a simple, clay cup, but the tea inside was a pale, fragrant green.
She picked up her own cup and took a slow sip. Only then did she finally look at him, her piercing green eyes meeting his through the dim light of the tent.
"Don’t you think the tents are sturdy?" she asked, her voice a quiet, calm question.
Rhys paused, his hand halfway to the teacup. He looked at her, then thought about her strange, unexpected question.
He remembered the tents the retainers had set up. They were made of a tough, thick canvas. They were well-stitched and reinforced at the seams.
They were sturdy.
He looked back at her, and in that moment, he understood. He understood the real meaning of her words.
"Yes, they are," he said, his own voice a low murmur. "Almost sturdy enough that no one could get in from the outside."
He paused, his gaze fixed on her, letting her know he understood the rest of the thought.
’And no one could get out from the inside.’
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Emma’s lips, visible even through her veil. Her green eyes curled at the corners.
Somehow, this smile felt genuine. It was in that exact moment of silent understanding that the world outside the tent exploded into chaos.
A man’s shout cut through the quiet night. It was followed by another, and then a scream of excited cries.
A bright, flickering orange light suddenly illuminated the walls of the tent from the outside.
The tent started to burn.