The Lost Heiress of Rohan: A Lethal Warrior's Revenge

Song Bird

Seventeen Years Later

(Liora’s POV)

The cool stream of water swirled around my bare ankles. I stepped deeper onto the smooth, flat stone until the current hit my calves, then plunged a heavy linen tunic into the water. Splash. Splash. The sound matched the quiet rhythm of the woods.

I closed my eyes and let a soft melody rise from my throat. My voice felt light today. It carried easily across the clearing, mimicking the morning thrushes in the branches above. I sang of rolling valleys, the summer breeze, and the high stone walls of Vashiti.

“The forest has its own entertainment today,” a bright, teasing voice laughed from the bank.

I stopped mid-note. My cheeks burned hot. I quickly wiped my wet hands against my linen apron as three girls from the lower village stepped onto the dirt path, balancing heavy laundry baskets on their hips.

“Don’t stop, Liora!” Talia called out, setting her basket down with a loud grunt. “We could hear you from half a mile back. Honestly, you sing better than the royal court musicians.”

“Much better,” another girl added, tossing a sheet into the shallow water. “They should put you on a stage, little singing bird. You’d make a fortune at the midsummer festival.”

I laughed, wringing out a heavy cotton shirt until the water rippled away. “A singing bird? If the village elder hears you calling me that, he’ll make me lead the morning prayers. My lungs can’t handle that much attention.”

“Oh, come on, you love it,” Talia teased, splashing a handful of water toward my rock. “You always hide out here by the stream to practice without the whole village crowding around your porch.”

“I hide out here because it’s the only place I get some peace,” I replied, though a small smile tugged at my lips.

I loved these girls, but a part of me always felt separate. While they talked endlessly about the village boys and the local weavers, I found myself staring at the high mountain ridges, constantly wondering what lay beyond the borders of Vashiti.

Amelia’s POV)

The scent of boiling vegetable broth and roasting garlic filled the small cottage, making the air thick and warm. I stood by the stone hearth, stirring the iron pot with a long wooden spoon, my mind drifting.

Seventeen years. Seventeen years since the night I fled the burning palace of Rohan, hiding in plain sight as a simple village seamstress. My hands, once soft from handling royal silks, were rough and calloused from hard labor.

I walked over to the wooden chest at the foot of my bed to grab a clean dishcloth. As I rummaged through the folded linens, my fingers brushed against the false bottom. A heavy leather pouch gave a faint metallic ring.

My heart skipped a beat. Slowly, I opened the drawstring and pulled out the two items I hadn’t dared look at in years: Queen Mara’s gold necklace and Princess Liora’s silver falcon bracelet. The polished metals gleamed in the dim light of the cottage—a silent reminder of the secret I carried.

I stared at the silver bracelet, a chill running down my spine as my mind flashed back to the day we reached the gates of Vashiti.

“Where did you get that child?” the gate captain’s voice roared in my memory, his curved sword pointed directly at Liora’s chest.

I remembered how my knees turned to water. I remembered throwing myself into the dirt, spinning a desperate lie. “Please, noble Captain!” I had wept, squeezing the baby. “It’s a fake! A cheap imitation piece I bought from a street peddler in Rohan for three copper coins! I just wanted my baby to have something pretty!”

If Garrett hadn’t stepped in right then, confirming my identity and laughing off the bracelet as a worthless piece of junk, the guards would have probably searched me and found the queen’s gold necklace in my boot. Liora would have been sent back to Rohan. That was the closest we had ever come to being caught.

I shoved the jewelry back into the pouch, tucking it safely in a metal box as I heard footsteps approaching the cottage door. “Keep her safe,” I whispered to the empty room, wiping a tear from my eye. “Just keep her safe.”

(Liora’s POV)

The sun dipped below the mountains, casting long, purple shadows across the forest floor by the time I finished scrubbing the last linen tunic.

“Are you sure you don’t want to walk back with us?” Talia asked, hoisting her damp basket onto her hip. “The boys are setting up the bonfires for the dance rehearsal.”

“Go ahead without me,” I said, lifting my own basket. It felt twice as heavy now that the clothes were wet. “I’m taking the path through the willow grove to gather wild mint for my mother’s tea. If I’m late, she’ll think a bear ate me.”

“Alright, singing bird,” Talia laughed, waving her hand as the girls started down the dirt road. “Don’t let the shadows catch you!”

I watched them leave, their chatter fading until the forest returned to its natural hum. I breathed in the crisp, cool air, enjoying the sudden solitude. I hoisted the wooden basket against my hip and began my journey back along the narrow trail bordering the stream.

The wind rustled through the leaves, making the willow branches sway like dancing spirits.

Snap.

I froze mid-step. My eyes darted toward a thick cluster of barriers just ten feet away. That wasn’t the wind. It was the distinct c***k of boots breaking a dry twig.

“Hello?” I called out, my pulse quickening. “Talia? If you’re trying to scare me again, it’s not working.”

No one answered. The forest became unnaturally silent. Even the birds stopped chirping.

My grip tightened on the handle of my basket. My heart thumped against my ribs as I took a slow, deliberate step backward. I scanned the shifting shadows between the tangled branches.

Suddenly, the leaves parted just an inch.

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. Deep within the dark foliage, a tall silhouette stood perfectly still. The figure was wrapped in a heavy, dark cloak, a deep hood pulled low to obscure its features from the fading sunlight.

The hood shifted, and the shadows broke. I caught a glimpse of a pair of sharp, striking grey eyes tracking me with an intense, quiet curiosity.