My hand stopped, hovering over the bag. Straightening, I turned to face the newcomer. Even if she hadn't called out to me, I would've known who it was in a heartbeat. Like me, she was clad in black. Her hair snaked over her shoulder in an intricate braid. It was impractical for a warrior, but barely passable for the noble court: the embodiment of her time in Etherea.
Viorica stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
"I am not running away," I retorted, shoving a cloak into the pack. "This war is because of me; it is only right for me to be fighting alongside the soldiers."
"That is not what I meant," the princess snapped, "and you know that. Why are you running from King Rylan?"
"I do not know what you are talking about."
"Do not give me that!" Viorica hissed,
