When Dareios Falls

The pre-dawn air bit at Kaerith's skin as she secured the last of her gear to her horse. Around her, the camp stirred with the lazy movements of soldiers who knew they had nowhere urgent to be—unlike her.

She'd packed light, as ordered: her sword, a few changes of clothes that could pass for merchant's garb, enough coin to maintain a cover story, and the small arsenal of tools that had kept her alive through countless missions her father deemed "necessary."

"You're really going through with this."

She didn't turn at the sound of Captain Marcellus's voice. The old soldier had a way of appearing when she least wanted company, though she suspected he meant well.

"Did you expect me to refuse?" She adjusted her saddle one final time, more for something to do with her hands than from necessity. She sighed.

"No." His weathered boots appeared in her peripheral vision. "But I hoped you might."

Now she did look at him. Marcellus had served her father for twenty years, had watched her grow from a girl who hid behind tapestries during court sessions to... whatever she was now. The expression on his scarred face was carefully neutral, but she caught the concern lurking beneath.

"Careful, Captain. That almost sounds like treason," she mocked, playfully whispering the latter sentence.

Arms folded, one eyebrow raised, and head jerked to the left with a little playful smile, "It sounds like common sense."

His expression shifted as he glanced around the camp, ensuring they weren't overheard.

Marcellus stepped closer, his voice dropping.

"Your father sees you as a weapon, but even the best of them break. Especially when wielded carelessly."

The words hit closer to home than she cared to admit. She gathered her reins, focusing on the familiar weight of leather in her hands rather than the uncomfortable truth in his observation.

"I've survived worse assignments."

"Have you?" His question was quiet, almost gentle. He looked at her with concern, his eyes holding something akin to fear.

"When was the last time you came back from one of these missions unchanged?"

She didn't answer because she couldn't. Each assignment carved away another piece of who she might have been, left her a little harder, a little more isolated. The girl who once was felt like a distant memory.

Clenching her fist, she smiled, "My escort is waiting," she said instead, nodding toward the five mounted soldiers gathered near the camp's edge.

Marcellus followed her gaze and frowned. 

"They're not supposed to help me. They're supposed to get me close enough to work alone." She mounted her horse and urged it forward, then paused. "Captain?" he still looked worried.

He sighed, "Just be careful."

She smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes. "I will, Uncle."

She spurred her horse toward the waiting escort, "Save me some pie when you get home," she shouted, leaving the old soldier standing among the dying embers of cook fires and the gradually awakening camp.

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The ride to the Reijsh border took three days through terrain that shifted from rolling hills to dense forest. Her escort—handpicked soldiers, some of whom had accompanied her on previous missions —proved adequate company.

They made good time, stopping only when necessary and setting watches that let her sleep without having to constantly looking over her shoulder.

On the second day, as they navigated a particularly treacherous mountain pass, one of the men—a young sergeant, Tomaj—rode up beside her.

"Princess," he said carefully, "might I ask what our orders are once we reach the border?"

She studied his face. Tomaj was maybe twenty-two, still possessed of the kind of earnestness that hadn't been beaten out of him by years of serving her father. Part of her envied him that innocence.

"You'll escort me to within sight of Greiholld, then return to camp. Simple enough."

"And you, Princess? Your orders?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice

The question held layers she wasn't sure he intended. Was he asking as a soldier following chain of command, or as someone who was concerned?

"My orders are my own concern, Sergeant." she said plainly

He nodded, but she caught the way his jaw tightened. Falling back, he let her horse go ahead and followed closely behind

That evening, they made camp in a grove of ancient oaks that provided cover from both weather and prying eyes. As her men settled in for the night, she found herself staring into the flames of their small fire, thinking about Marcellus's words.

When was the last time you came back unchanged?

She couldn't remember. Each mission stripped away another layer of the person she'd once hoped to become. Her father called it strength, tempering steel in the forge of necessity. But steel could be tempered too much, made so hard it became brittle.

"Princess?" Tomaj approached with a steaming cup. "Thought you might want some tea."

She accepted it gratefully, wrapping her fingers around the warm metal.

"Thank you. You should get some rest—we reach the border tomorrow."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a man wrestling with a decision.

"Permission to speak freely?"

Here it comes, she thought. The well-meaning advice, the concerned questions about her welfare. She'd heard variations from too many good soldiers over the years.

"Granted."

"My aunt served in King Aldric's court before the war started. As a lady's maid to one of the Vaelthorne nobles." His words came out in a rush, as if he feared losing his nerve.

"She said... she said he's a formidable opponent, but an honorable one."

This was unexpected. "Oh? And what else did she say?" she asked, taking a sip from the cup.

"That he cares for his people. That he's brilliant in battle but takes no joy in it." Tomaj glanced around the camp, ensuring the other men were out of earshot.

"My aunt, Emma said he'd walk through the castle without guards, stop to help servants with loads. Even during wartime, he'd personally visit wounded soldiers in their medical tents."

She kept her expression neutral, though something heavy settled in her chest. Another honorable enemy. Another 'good man' she might have to kill because their kingdoms couldn't find peace.

"Your aunt, sounds like she admires him," she said carefully.

"She does. But she also said he was dangerous—not cruel, but absolutely dedicated to protecting Vaelthorne. The kind of enemy you respect but cant afford to underestimate." Tomaj looked directly at her then, and she saw something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. Concern.

"Princess, if the stories are true... this won't be like facing some border lord or corrupt noble, or any of the kings from the other nations we've conquered. King Aldric is the real thing."

The implication was clear: getting close enough to gather intelligence on someone like that wouldn't be easy.

"Get some rest, Sergeant," she said quietly. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

He nodded and withdrew, leaving her alone with thoughts of the challenge ahead—spying on yet another enemy who was probably just trying to protect his people the same way she was trying to protect hers.