Electra Rose
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Swordpoint Diplomacy 25
🕑 Added 2022-12-27 09:59:38 +0000 UTCChapter 25
When they finally started to leave the camp, it felt like it had taken years to get organized. The noon sun was directly and spitefully overhead to punish them all for moving. The sun beams bounced off of the pale gray stone of the road and heated it beneath her feet. She had the sudden and childish urge to put her palm against it and feel that heat for herself. Rose kept her posture straight and any silly impulses buried deep.
The sounds of officers going down the line and inventorying became nonsense in her ears, words turned into indistinct noise. Horseshoes clicked against the road and the groan of wood made a subtle background orchestra for her uneasy wait. There wasn’t much more sound because the air was still. The long grass around them on either side of the road barely swayed in the heat.
She was traveling with a thankfully small contingent of about 30, most of whom were there to staff and protect a train of goods for the army. Rose pressed her lips tightly together and watched the mare pulling medical supplies as it fidgeted. She huffed and tossed her head while someone pulled at her feet to check the horseshoes were in good condition. They must have been, because the soldier moved on to the next horse, checking their bit and bridle in a well-practiced routine.
They really couldn’t maintain this war forever. There weren’t infinite supplies to feed and care for troops, and the further away they traveled, the more of the supplies would dwindle on the trip as it was fed to the horses and soldiers escorting it.
‘Unless we’re going to start pillaging. That’s the only way to actually support an army that far away from our civilization.’
It was with that sour thought that she stole a look at Marcel. He looked like an officer even in a common uniform. That was unfortunate, since officers needed to be known. He was waiting patiently by the cart full of grains, ignoring the occasional frowns and the faces that turned to him.
‘He could try to talk and stand less like he expects instant obedience.’
Annoyance tugged at her insides. Rose looked away and let out a controlled huff of air.
They were almost out. They were on the stretch of road outside the camp itself, the horses and their burden a kilometer past the checkpoint. The only thing that they really needed was to complete one last check over the equipment and review marching orders.
She perked up, suddenly alert. It took another second for her to know why- someone else was heading her way, someone who wasn’t walking with the heft and jangle of armor. A messenger, probably. Rose stalked up the hill to meet the interloper, ignoring the questioning glances that she garnered on the way. A woman in her middle age came into view at a no-nonsense clip that had color blooming on her slightly sunken cheeks. Sweat was beaded on her forehead. She wore no apron, but there was a rather impressive ring of keys belted above her yellow wool dress. The inner layer that peeked out at the neckline was a rich green, obviously well-maintained. She looked important enough that her appearance bothered Rose with the worry that this was a servant she ought to recognize.
“Good afternoon,” she said, as soon as the woman was in view. Rose didn’t bother to hide her perusal of the woman’s sensible dark leather boots with a slight heel. They looked fairly high quality.
The woman executed a very competent curtsy and returned the greeting in a surprisingly husky voice. “The King would like for you to delay your exit,” she said in an accent that told Rose she was from the capital. Yes, this was almost certainly someone that Rose should know by name. “He is coming to oversee your departure personally.”
Rose’s stomach clenched. “Wonderful,” she said, and nodded at the messenger. “Is there anything else?”
“No, your highness.” The woman curtsied again and left. Her boots left distinctive prints in the mud as she went.
Rose turned back to her little group with her stomach churning.
‘Something is wrong. He doesn’t do this. He knows something.’
She forced herself not to look at Marcel. It felt like everyone had to know and they were all holding their breath for a disaster.
‘I can arrange for some privacy. I would do that no matter what,’ Rose told herself. Her heart was hammering in her throat but she kept iron control over her voice and her facial expression as she ordered the line to march another few hundred meters. Then she stalked back to wait for her Father in a parade rest, hands clutched behind her back.
He came alone, which was unsettling. He was always accompanied by royal bodyguards, even if they were at a distance or out of sight.
‘This is bad. He doesn’t want witnesses.’
She greeted him first, hoping against reason that she was wrong.
“Daughter,” he said flatly. He came to stop in front of her and cast a hard look at the company waiting for her. “I thought we might wait together.”
Rose blinked. “Wait?” she echoed.
“Yes.” He looked back at her, face impossible to read. “General Celestin will be here soon.”
Her stomach churned. “I see,” Rose said politely. “Of course.” Her heart hammered at her chest.
“There’s no need for you to rush out of camp,” he continued. “As I’ve taken the liberty of sending orders ahead of your departure.”
She wasn’t imagining it. There was something distinctly unfriendly about the way he was looking at her.
‘I am in trouble. He would only do that if he knew I wasn’t to be trusted. He’s sent off any potential allies for me.’
“Prince Etienne should be gone by now, and the others dispersed before you return.”
Rose nodded. She didn’t trust any words.
‘What does he know? He can’t know everything, can he? If I just start confessing I’ll end up telling him more than he already does.’
“Daughter,” he repeated, quiet and dangerous. “Is there something that you wish to tell me?”
It was a trap. She knew it was and she hesitated. She wanted to move her weight around but that would telegraph too much discomfort when really, she’d just been standing for too long.
If she denied it, he would know it was a lie. If she confessed, she would end up telling him even more than he already knew.
“There’s nothing I wish to tell you, Father,” she said, tilting her chin up at him.
Might as well stand her ground. He already knew something.
His face went blank. He hadn’t expected that, then.
That annoyed her more than anything. He really did expect her to be his perfect obedient soldier, even when he already knew she was hiding something from him. He thought she was so spineless that she would fold at the first question.
“Good,” he said.
It took a moment to understand what he’d said and that he was amused. Rose didn’t say a word, just watched her Father shake his head.
“Lying and sneaking around is bad enough, but at least you’re not a coward about it,” he smiled at her. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I would not have predicted disobedience from you, much less treason, but we can all surprise each other upon occasion.”
Treason.
Her stomach lurched. He wasn’t wrong. If she was anyone else, she’d be heading for a court-martial and an execution. She… might still end up at an execution. It depended on Father’s mood.
“I treasure your approval,” she said, barely above a whisper.
He gave her a condescending look. “I wouldn't go that far,” he leaned in to say. “Now tell me, which one of those soldiers is a prisoner you’re sneaking around?” He turned his face to look over the small company. “I find it remarkable that you felt you could bring four prisoners into my camp and then show me three.” His tone went dry. “I can count that high, darling daughter.”
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. She only looked at him, waiting for the boot to drop. Now that he’d finally confronted her she was oddly calm. There was no point in lying or denying it.
He must have read that from her face. Father let out a grim laugh and shook his head again. “Always been strong-willed,” he sighed. “Do you remember the fit you threw when your mother left?”
She eyed him sideways. “What a funny way to say that you had guards march her out of the country,” Rose said blandly.
Father laughed. She didn’t move when he reached out to pull his fingers through her hair. She winced slightly when he wound some around a finger and tugged. “No one is honest with me,” he said, but he didn’t sound at all sorry for it. “I must admit that it is nearly exciting to be defied.” He let go of her hair. “But daughter, I cannot let this stand.” His mouth curled into a smile. “Whichever little friend you’ve made in this barbarous country- you will turn them over to me, and then I will forgive you.”
So that was it, then. He didn’t actually know anything about the prisoner or what she was doing. He just wanted to give her an object lesson about hiding things from him, wanting things for herself.
Rose held eye contact. “I don’t wish to give him over,” she said calmly. It probably wasn’t any new information that the prisoner was a man.
Something dangerous flashed through the King’s eyes- and he was the King, he wasn’t just her Father.
She took a deep breath and it didn’t shake at all. She wasn’t just an officer. She was a princess and even if she was about to lose her status as Crown Princess, she had not been raised to cower.
“I’ll call him over, of course,” she said, because there was no getting around this. If Father was determined to see her prisoner, then he would. The officers all knew each other and they knew their charges. They already knew that Marcel was unaccounted for and he would be found as soon as Father asked for the man who didn’t belong. It was better to beckon him over herself than endure the humiliation of having Father ferret him out.
Rose felt calm, now that she was headed into a direct confrontation. Marcel must have been watching because he responded to her gesture and moved over at a quick clip.
Father absolutely would recognize Marcel. He was obviously foreign nobility, and his portrait had been sent to court.
“Father,” Rose said courteously, as soon as Marcel was close enough. “May I introduce you to Prince Marcel.” She didn’t let her eye contact slip even though Marcel was probably extremely surprised and uncomfortable. “My fiance.”
If it was going to come out, it was going to be on Rose’s terms. She reached out and touched Marcel’s bicep, a subtle but unmistakable claim. “We have decided to get married after all.”
The concession was worth it for the expression of uncontrolled horror and shock on her Father’s face.
