Dusk of the Realm

37

"Go to the lake, all of you, and wait by the shore," General Wulf commanded. "I can't afford to talk any longer; I need to leave, but I will meet you there when I can."

He was not kidding about not having time; he zipped out of the dungeon after that so quickly that Vice almost did not see him move. She certainly did not hear him as he passed.

"Only one reason he would be in that much of a hurry," Birches commented. The Wolves all turned their heads towards him, and though they all opened their mouths, Vice was the only one to actually speak.

"The princess."

Nobody responded, though Birches did nod his head a few times in thought. Vice stared into the darkness as if expecting a light to emerge from within it, but was not given such satisfaction. She had no idea how Ambrose had lasted down here for a week. She thought she would have gone crazy; nobody to talk to, and no way to talk even if someone visited. Everyone thinking she was a criminal even if she was entirely innocent. Having nothing to look forward to but her own unjust public execution. Being alone in the dark, and expecting the same to come after death. Vice shivered.

"We'd better get to the lake."

Vice was not listening hard enough to recognize who said it. It did not matter, anyway. The Wolves had already wasted enough time as it was, and General Wulf would not have given them a warning if he did not think it was something they needed to heed. There may be no night more vital than this one, he had told them. From the sounds of it, whatever happened tonight could make all the difference in the world come morning.

                        _____________________

He paused outside of his room, sensing her inside already and inwardly cursing himself for not moving quickly enough. She seemed to be waiting for him, though; she was not moving around, from what he could hear. Perhaps she had fallen asleep. It would not be the first time she had chosen his bed over hers for the night; in fact, as a child, she would often sneak into his room for comfort in the dark. He had always slept gladly on the floor, relieved to have her even nearer and so be able to more easily keep her safe.

He pushed open his door and saw her sitting on the edge of his bed, a piece of paper in one of her hands, the other clenched into a fist. She was wearing a royal blue nightgown that looked like it was made of silk, with lace borders at her neckline and just above her knee. He wondered if she was cold with just straps resting on her shoulders rather than full sleeves - as well as with most of her legs bare, which caused him to flush - before realizing that the blood potion was what kept her warm; she would be burning up from the inside. He gritted his teeth and closed his door quietly behind him.

She still did not look up. Tarin narrowed his eyes and strode towards her just to notice that she seemed to be in some sort of daze. Her eyes were open, but unfocused - even when he squatted down in front of her, her pupils did not shift.

"Princess," he called out softly, nervousness brewing in his gut. When he got no response, he reached up to run his hand over her wet hair - which was interesting to him in that it was much longer and straighter than when it was dry, - pausing when he got to her cheek in order to stroke it with his thumb. She had taken a bath after all, but still managed to beat him here. He was glad to see her without a coating of blood, but she was still covered in enough bruises and cuts to make him despise himself.

He was just about to say her name again when suddenly, she blinked rapidly and gulped in a mouthful of air.

Just as suddenly, she saw him, and subsequently shoved him away before darting towards the door.

Of course he was utterly bewildered as he stumbled and just barely caught himself against his dresser, but he could not let her simply leave after such a scene. "Princess!" he exclaimed anxiously, grabbing for her wrist before remembering that it might hurt her to touch the bandages, and thus grasping her hand instead.