The Fallen Princess

Twelve

The twins were hiding something. Prince Callen's suspicions had grown from a fleeting shadow into a solid, immovable certainty. He had questioned Zakai twice about what happened to Zaria in that forest and both times the elf had given poised, polite, perfectly empty answers.

The kind of answers a man gave to protect a secret he would sooner die with than utter aloud.

Whatever secret the twins carried, it clung to them like a second skin. Callen could feel it whenever Zaria looked away too quickly… Whenever Zakai stiffened at certain questions. Whenever their eyes, so identical, flashed with something unspoken between them. He fully intended to pry that truth from them eventually. But not today.

“Sir, when are we expected to depart?” one of his personal knights asked as the prince stepped outside the inn for the first time in days. “That’s the first thing you ask?” Callen scoffed, pinning him with an incredulous glare. “Not even a ‘How are you faring, my mighty and fearsome prince’?”

The knight opened his mouth. “How are you fa-” “We leave at first light,” Callen cut him off sharply. “Be prepared.” He resumed walking before the knight could try again.

The town of Orilon was modest with quiet stone cottages, winding cobbled streets, and the distant sound of axes splitting firewood. The smell of baked bread mingled with the scent of damp earth.

No one paid much attention to the foreign soldiers camped on the outskirts; Orilon was used to travelers. “Zakai!” Callen called as he strode into a small residence as though it were his own home.

An older man rose from his chair, bowing deeply. “Welcome, Prince Callen.” “Please, Desmond, sit,” Callen said, waving him down. “Don’t encourage my behavior.” The older man chuckled. “They’re in the bedroom, my prince.”

Callen stepped forward just as Zakai nearly collided with him. “Prince Callen,” Zakai greeted with practiced calm, dipping his head respectfully. His shoulders, however, remained tight. “How is my sister?” “That’s always the first thing you two ask,” Callen replied dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “A little hurtful, truly.”

Zakai simply waited, unamused. Callen rolled his eyes and gave in. “Your sister is fine.”

Relief washed over the elf’s face. “We leave at first light,” Callen continued. “Make sure your little sister is comfortable here. Then go to the inn and escort Zaria so she can say her goodbyes.”

“Yes, Prince Callen.” Zakai bowed again. “And thank you. I will never be able to repay your generosity.” Callen grinned. “Oh, I’ll think of something. Enjoy the grace period while it lasts.”

Hours Later, when Callen stepped into the temporary camp on the outskirts of town, he was greeted by the usual chaos of men preparing for departure. Raised voices, clanging pots, arguments over rope knots, someone yelling about missing firewood.

“My prince, could you sign off on this?” A knight asked breathlessly, jogging at Callen’s side with a stack of papers. “What is it?” Callen asked, snatching the top sheet. “A supply request. These are the provisions available in Orilon, with prices.”

“Approved,” Callen said without hesitation, handing it back. Another soldier approached. “My prince, permission to update the hostage- ah, the civilians about the little girl’s condition? Some have been asking.”

“They’re not hostages,” Callen corrected sharply. “But yes. Go.” He continued toward the command tent, irritation simmering just beneath his skin. Three days of coordinating scouts, managing supplies, calming panicked survivors, and watching over Zaria had left him depleted.

Inside the tent, his father’s favored commander was already waiting. “My prince, it’s nice of you to join us,” the old man said stiffly... too stiffly. Almost insolent. Callen was in no mood for passive aggression. He already knew his father would be displeased by the delay, but the king’s preferred method of discipline, shouting, had long since ceased to impress him.

“I was confirming the route,” the commander added crisply. “Oh? Funny…” Callen replied, folding his arms. “I don’t recall granting you the authority to confirm anything.” The commander stiffened.

“But,” Callen continued, smiling without warmth, “by all means… continue.” The old man’s jaw clenched, but he bowed his head and read the routes aloud with the obedience of someone who knew exactly how far he could push the prince and no further.

Callen reviewed the map himself, adjusted several markings, and dismissed the officers. As the others filed out, he said quietly, “Stay.” The favorite of his personal knights halted. “Did you find anything on the elven twins?” Callen asked under his breath.

“Nothing of relevance, my prince. It seems they kept mostly to themselves.” Callen nodded. That was what bothered him. People who kept to themselves usually had something to hide. “Keep this between us,” he ordered. The commander bowed. “As you wish.”

By the time Callen returned to the inn, the sun had dipped behind the rooftops, leaving Orilon bathed in a dusky glow. Bone-deep exhaustion weighed him down like armor he couldn’t remove. The scent hit him first. Cooked meat. Warm herbs. Fresh bread.

He entered the room expecting silence. Instead... “The family fostering my sister sent it back for you,” Zaria said from the window seat. Callen jumped slightly, hiding it poorly. “I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he added. “In fact, I half-expected to have to track you down and drag you back.”

“I’m currently schemeless, your highness,” she declared proudly. “No tricks left up my sleeves.”

Callen laughed; a low, tired, genuine sound. “Even if that weren’t true, would you tell me?” “Probably not.” She told him honestly.

He shook his head, amused despite himself. He slumped into the chair and propped one leg over the other, reaching down to untie his worn leather boot. “Let me help,” Zaria said. She crossed the room before he could refuse, tugged his leg down from the opposite knee, and knelt to remove the boot herself.

Callen stared at her hands... small, delicate, stubbornly determined, as they fought with the tangled laces. “Why are you suddenly being kind to me?” he asked skeptically. “I’ve always been kind,” she argued, tugging harder.

“I think our definitions of kindness differ,” he said dryly. She yanked the boot free with a sudden jerk and fell backward onto her butt with an undignified squeak. Callen pressed a hand over his mouth to smother his laugh.

“I think mischievous is more accurate,” he added, tearing a warm piece from the loaf of bread. Zaria scrambled up quickly and reached for his other boot, but Callen stood abruptly. “I’ll do it myself,” he said, removing it in seconds.

Zaria scowled at the efficiency. Callen sank back into the chair, spooning stew into his mouth.

It was rich, hearty, spiced perfectly. Better than anything he’d eaten in weeks. “I hope you got to say your goodbyes,” he said between bites.

“I did…” she murmured. Then, quieter: “My brother told me everything. What you did for us... My sister. Thank you.” Callen looked up, studying her in the dim light. Zaria climbed onto the bed like a weary creature seeking warmth, tucked her legs beneath her, and curled up atop the blankets.

The way her breathing slowed; soft, even, fragile, made something tighten in Callen’s chest. Within minutes, she was fast asleep. Callen froze mid-bite, spoon halfway to his lips. He watched her... watched the tension slowly leave her face, the faint twitch of her fingers as she slipped deeper into rest, the small rise and fall of her chest.

She still wasn’t well. Not entirely. And he still had no idea what had happened to her. He set the empty bowl aside, rose quietly, and crossed to the bed. At the far end of the mattress, he gently tugged the blankets up, draping them over her small frame until they reached her chin.

He brushed a loose strand of white hair from her cheek. Then he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. A simple gesture. An unguarded one. One he did not analyze and did not intend to explain. He straightened, exhaled slowly, and stood watch over her until sleep finally claimed him, too.