"I know that, but this isn't your post," Ysabel hissed, her voice dropping to a near-silent whisper. "If you were caught here, you'd be facing a military tribunal. Do you understand that?"
The sternness in her tone made Caelith flinch and pull back slightly, her hands clasping behind her back. A blush of embarrassment painted her cheeks.
"I know, but I… I just missed you," she said, her voice small and sad.
"Miss… me?" Ysabel repeated, the words feeling foreign and unfamiliar in her own mouth.
"Yes! After your leave, you just… you haven't come to see me at all. We live right next to each other!" Caelith's voice grew more pleading.
"I was so lonely, you know?"
She took a hesitant step forward, intending to hug Ysabel again, a gesture of comfort and longing.
But Ysabel stopped her, holding her at arm's length with one gauntleted hand. She was thinking, her mind racing.
'I… I did forget about her. How could I?' A realization dawned on her.
She looked down at Caelith's pouting, sorrowful face, but it was another face that swam in her vision, the face of her mistress, Lyssandra. The memory of their time together, of Lyssandra's power, was a brand on her soul.
'What was Caelith to me?' the question surfaced, unwelcome and demanding. She quickly forced it down, burying it beneath layers of discipline and duty.
'Not now,' she thought, her expression hardening.
"You need to go away," Ysabel said, her tone firm but less harsh than before. "This is not the place, nor the time. We will talk later."
Caelith's pout softened into a small, hopeful smile. "Alright," she agreed, giving a little nod. "Please find me after this."
With that, she reluctantly slipped away, disappearing as silently as she had arrived.
Standing alone in the corridor once more, Ysabel's posture became rigid, her grip on her spear tightening until her knuckles were white. Her mind plunged back into the monologue, a storm of confusing thoughts.
'We went on a date. We talked. We had sex… We did have a great time. That's it.'
But the words felt hollow. The memories, once so vivid and warm, now seemed like a film she had watched about someone else's life.
'But… did I love her?'
The word 'love' landed in her mind heavily. It was both achingly familiar and utterly alien. She had never experienced it before. She had felt camaraderie, lust, and duty, but this… this was something else. A feeling so profound it had shattered her entire understanding of herself.
She pictured Caelith's face, her eyes, her smile. She tried to summon the warmth, the affection she knew she should have felt. But the image was flat. It had no heat, no life.
'Why can't I feel it?' she thought, a desperate plea echoing in the silence of her skull. 'Why is it so… blank?'
She tried to remember the passion they had shared, the intimacy of their moments. The memories were there, but they were faded, like an old photograph. The emotions had been erased, overwritten by something else.
Something primal and absolute.
She closed her eyes and saw Lyssandra's face instead. The bright blue eyes, the knowing smile, the scent of her. The feeling that rose in her chest was not a gentle warmth but a roaring inferno. It was possession, adoration, and a terrifying, unbreakable devotion.
Her mind, her heart, her very soul now belonged to her Mistress. Caelith… Caelith was just a ghost. A memory from a person she used to be.
A knot of ice formed in her stomach. She hadn't just forgotten Caelith.
Erasing her was the right word.
And the terrifying part was that she knew, with certainty, that Lyssandra could make her forget anything, or anyone she wanted.
'What have I become?'
The sound of a faint 'Psst' from around the corner of a T-intersection just ahead of her post. Ysabel's training kicked in instantly, the internal turmoil vanished, and her spear was leveled at the ready in a smooth, practiced motion.
"Who's there?" she called out, her voice sharp and commanding, carrying through the empty corridor.
"It's me, Ysabel," a small, familiar voice replied. A moment later, Princess Rosalinda peeked her head around the corner, her expression a mixture of anxiety and impatience.
"Princess?" Ysabel's stance relaxed slightly, her spear lowering a fraction. The thoughts that had been tormenting her were instantly shoved aside, though a residual edginess remained. "Anything I can help you with?"
Rosalinda waved a frantic hand, beckoning her over. "Come with me, I need your help."
"But I can't leave my post!" Ysabel shook her head, her sense of duty warring with the princess's clear distress.
"Don't worry, I have someone who can cover you," Rosalinda insisted, and she shoved a rather bewildered-looking soldier out from behind her.
"This is Bob. He'll take your place temporarily."
"Bob?" Ysabel frowned. "I thought he was on rest after last night's guard."
The soldier cleared his throat. "Actually, my name is Dave…"
"Whatever, just get in there," Rosalinda huffed, giving the soldier a not-so-gentle kick in the direction of Ysabel's post.
"Now you have a replacement. Come. Now!" Rosalinda hissed, her voice low and urgent as she grabbed Ysabel's arm and began pulling her down the corridor.
"F-fine…" Rosalinda finally gave up, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
Inside the princess's room. Rosalinda's fingers resumed their trembling work, and with a final pull, the crimson and white gown pooled at her feet on the plush carpet.
A loud, horrified gasp was ripped from Ysabel's throat.
"What the hell happened to you, Princess? What in the actual fuck is that monstrous thing?" she cried, stumbling backward until her back slammed hard against the solid stone wall.
Her eyes were wide, her mind refusing to process the sheer, horrific absurdity of what she was seeing. Rosalinda's face was now as red as a ripe chili pepper, and tears of shame welled and spilled down her cheeks.
"You promised!" she sobbed, the words broken and small.
"Okay, I need to calm down. Please," Ysabel said frantically, forcing her gaze away from the grotesque appendage. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ground herself.
'A royal princess is naked before me. If anyone else saw this… my head would definitely roll.'
The thought was a jolt of ice water, enough to pierce through the shock. She took several deep, shuddering breaths.
After a long moment, she opened her eyes again, her expression hardened into a mask of professionalism. She looked directly at Rosalinda, forcing herself to ignore the lower half of the princess's body.
"Tell me exactly what happened to you," Ysabel commanded.
-
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Inside the throne room, the king and queen sat upon their gilded chairs, a vision of regal authority. Sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, catching the facets of the countless rare gems adorning their robes, making them shimmer and gleam with every subtle movement. Their expressions were a practiced blend of attentiveness and aloof grandeur as they presided over the day's audience.
"My King, the battle near the border of the Kingdom of Khashahria needs more reinforcement and rations. Please send more," a commander pleaded, his voice steady and earnest as he knelt on the polished marble floor.
The King leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and analytical. "Rise, Commander. Tell me about the report. Do not omit a single detail."
"Of course, Your Majesty," the commander stood, his posture straightening. "The situation is… precarious. Our forces under the command of General Sylvaris, have managed to hold the main pass, but the Khashahrians are proving to be more tenacious than anticipated. They have deployed scavenger units that are expertly sabotaging our supply lines."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
"We lost three caravans this week alone, burned to ash. Rationing is now in effect across the front line, and morale is beginning to fray. The soldiers are tired, hungry, and cold. General Sylvaris estimates that without a significant increase in supplies namely grain, cured meats, and firewood, we will not be able to hold the line for more than two weeks. She has specifically requested a full brigade's worth of reinforcements to be deployed to the southern flank, where the enemy's raiding parties have been most active."
He took a breath, his face grim.
"Their tactics are hit-and-run. They strike at our foraging parties and then melt back into the meadow of Akadia before we can give chase. We need mounted archers to counter them. Additionally, the Khashahrian siege engines, though crude, are slowly chipping away at the outer walls of Fort Anvil. We need either a battalion of engineers to repair the breaches or a sortie to destroy their cannons."
His tone grew more urgent.