COME HOME PRINCESS (PT.3)
572 Words
Misha’s eyes flicked toward the guards lining the gate and then back to her. “Because this realm has too many ears attached to foolish mouths. Right now, only those closest to me know the truth. My left hand, the guards I trust with my life, and now the two of you. That is enough.”
One of the captains near the gate glanced back at Azaliyah briefly, then lowered his head in a subtle gesture of respect she almost missed entirely. It unsettled her more than hostility would have. “So while I’ve been stumbling around here looking stupid,” she muttered, “half the people in charge knew exactly who I was?”
“ Not half,” Misha said dryly. “The competent half.”
Camron coughed to hide a laugh and failed miserably.
Azaliyah looked between them, disgusted. “I hate all of you a little.”
Misha’s mouth twitched. “Good. Stay sharp. It’s healthier than trust.”
The heavy gates groaned as the locking beams were pulled free one by one, the sound dragging across the courtyard like something ancient waking up angry. Every guard along the wall straightened. Bows lifted. Hands found hilts. Even the villagers who had crowded back to watch knew enough to stay silent now. The air itself felt sharpened.
The heavy gates groaned as the locking beams were pulled free one by one, the sound dragging across the courtyard like something ancient waking up angry. Every guard along the wall straightened. Bows lifted. Hands found hilts. Even the villagers who had crowded back to watch knew enough to stay silent now. The air itself felt sharpened.
Azaliyah stepped forward beside Misha before anyone could stop her, pulse hammering hard enough to feel in her throat. Questions still tore through her head, but instinct drowned them all out. Whoever had come here under that banner had come for one reason.
Her.
The gates split wider.
First came armored riders in silver-trimmed black, their expressions carved from discipline and contempt. Behind them rolled a polished carriage bearing the crest of the Village of Urella, silver thorns twisted around a crown. Murmurs spread through the crowd like sparks through dry grass. Camron shifted beside her, grip tightening on his sword.
Then the carriage door opened.
A tall man stepped down slowly, dressed in dark ceremonial armor threaded with silver, every movement measured with the confidence of someone long used to being obeyed. Age had touched him without weakening him. His face was sharp, composed, handsome in the way dangerous men often are. His eyes found Azaliyah instantly, and the smile that followed was colder than hatred.
Azaliyah’s stomach dropped so hard it felt like memory turning physical.
“No way,” she breathed.
Misha’s expression hardened. “You know him.”
Azaliyah couldn’t tear her eyes away. “He’s the elder of Urella.” Her jaw tightened. “He’s the one who cast me out.”
The man walked forward, boots striking stone as the guards of Urella parted around him.
“My poor child,” he called, voice smooth and commanding, the same voice that once decided her fate. “Look at you. Alive after all.”
Violet light bled into Azaliyah’s hands at her sides.
Camron glanced between them and exhaled slowly. “Well,” he muttered, “this just became everyone’s problem.”
The elder’s smile widened.
“Come home, Princess.”
- Writer
