The command tent stood dead center in the camp. 'By now the soldiers would be packing up to head home,' she thought, but with her father's presence, who knew—they might have to stay a little longer or maybe not. With him, anything was possible. His moods shifted like the weather—unpredictable and often dangerous.
As she walked towards the tent, she noticed a familiar set of capes draped over a stand. A frustrated look immediately crossed her face.
She straightened up her facial expression, then pulled aside the tent's front flap.
The command tent was quieter than usual. Her father sat on the right, behind the campaign table, which lay horizontally from her, the maps spread out from the morning before him, while 'the stepmother' stood at his left side, her two young sons, in their teens, a little ways farther from them on the right side, hovering over some maps.
Captain Marcellus and his three deputies stood on the other end; they saluted when she entered.
Her step-brothers raised their heads, "Sister," they said in unison, greeting her rather politely, bowing slightly.
"Hmm." She forced a smile and nodded at them.
"Ah, my 'deadly' daughter returns," her father said, looking a bit angry, but then again, he always did, eyes still on one of the maps. "Tell me about the mountain."
"It's been cleared. Twelve enemy soldiers were eliminated, two taken hostage, and the pass is secure for transport." She reported, arms gracefully in front of her.
"Casualties?"
"None" except some bruised rookies, she thought.
Now he looked up, and she saw something that might have been pride flicker across his features. "Excellent. As always, you exceed expectations," she could have sworn she saw him raise his shoulders.
The stepmother's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. "How... efficient." Her smile stretched across her face like a crack in porcelain.
"Indeed." Her father leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Which is why I have a special assignment for you. One that will require all of your particular... talents."
She waited, knowing better than to speak first.
"Intelligence suggests that the King of Vaelthorne will be traveling to the border fortress of Greiholld within the fortnight," her father continued, his finger now tapping against the wooden table. "A peacekeeping mission, they claim, but we both know better." A predatory gleam entered his eyes as his lips twisted upward.
Her expression remained neutral, though her pulse quickened. Both from her father's smile and the mention of their enemy, King Aldric—she'd heard the name many times; in her father's court, whispered around campfires, always with a mixture of respect and wariness.
He was young, supposedly handsome, and dangerously competent. The kind of enemy that made her father's jaw clench. The thought almost made her smile—a younger king who had been successfully matching their kingdom sword for sword ever since his ascension.
"You want me to intercept him?" she asked carefully.
"I want you to gather information. Find out what he's really planning." Her father's smile was cold, calculating. "Get close. Use whatever means necessary."
She almost felt sorry for the paranoid old man. Did he even sleep at night, or did suspicion keep him awake plotting against shadows?
Behind him, she noticed the stepmother's hand moving to rest on her younger son's shoulder—a protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed. The boy couldn't be more than fifteen, still soft around the edges, nothing like the hardened soldiers surrounding them.
"And if it really is a peace mission?" she asked, though she already suspected the answer.
"Hmm...since we both know it isn't, you'll just have to remain in position to find out more." His eyes glinted with something that made her stomach turn. "Useful information can still be found even if it is a...." he said, a look of disgust on his face now, waving his hand as if shooing away a fly, "peace mission"
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Captain Marcellus shift uncomfortably, his weathered hands clasping behind his back. Even he seemed unsettled by the assignment, and the man had seen decades of war.
One of her step-brothers—the older one—looked up from the maps with poorly concealed excitement. "Will there be a battle, sister? A siege?"
"This isn't a game," she said quietly, her voice cutting through his enthusiasm like a blade. The boy's face fell.
"No," her father agreed, his tone turning serious. "This is much more important than any single battle. This could give us the upper hand in the war."
Or start something much worse, she thought, but kept the words to herself. The tent fell silent except for the distant sounds of the camp—soldiers talking, horses nickering, the crackle of fires. She could feel all eyes on her, waiting for her response.
Her jaw clenched. She'd been in the field for three weeks. Three weeks of sleeping on hard ground, eating rations, and spilling blood for his cause. All she wanted was to return to the palace, to her bed, to... other comforts. But of course, that was too much to ask.
"Forgive me, father," she said, her tone carrying just enough edge to make the stepmother's eyes narrow, "but I've been wondering when I might actually get to see the palace again. It's been what—three weeks? Four? The servants might start to think I've abandoned my duties as a princess entirely."
Her father's lips twitched—whether with amusement or annoyance, she couldn't tell. "Your duties are wherever I need you, daughter."
"Right...Of course. How foolish of me to think rest might be... productive." She let the words hang in the air, a calculated risk that made Captain Marcellus shift uncomfortably. Her father's eyes narrowed furiously, but he kept silent and smiled.
"When do I leave?" she asked, her voice carefully controlled despite the fury building in her chest.
"Tomorrow at dawn. You'll travel light—just you and a small escort to the border. After that..." Her father shrugged. "You'll be on your own."
"Naturally." The word slipped out before she could stop it, earning her a sharp look from the stepmother and what might have been an impressed glance from her younger step-brother.
Of course, she would be. No rest, no reprieve, no chance to return home to everything—everyone—she'd been thinking about during those long, cold nights in the field. That was how these things always went.
Send her into danger and see what happens. If she succeeded, he'd somehow manage to take the credit. If she failed...well, there were always the new sons to carry on his legacy.
"I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach and the white-hot anger threatening to crack her composure.
The stepmother spoke for the first time since her cutting "efficient" comment. "Perhaps one of the boys should accompany her? For additional security? Since she'll mostly just be spying"
The suggestion hung in the air like a blade. Her father's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked between his wife and his daughter.
"No," he said finally. "This requires... subtlety. Something my daughter has in abundance." The compliment felt more like a calculation than genuine praise. "Besides, I need the boys here. There are other matters to attend to."
Other matters. Like grooming his chosen heirs while his expendable daughter risked her life for his ambitions.
"Very well," she said, inclining her head in a respectful nod that fooled no one.
"I'll begin preparations immediately then." As she turned to leave, her father's voice stopped her.
"And daughter?" His tone had shifted, becoming almost conversational. "Do try not to get yourself killed. You're far too useful for that."
The casual cruelty of it nearly made her flinch, but she'd had years of practice. Instead, she smiled—the same polite, distant smile she'd perfected for court functions.
"I'll do my best, father."