Edric glanced between the rigid, unyielding back of his commander and the loathing gazes of the crowd.
With a heavy, world-weary sigh, he spurred his horse forward.
The Second Princess had remained barricaded in her carriage for the entire journey, a silent, mounting protest against the world.
She only emerged in the evening, after they had left the capital far behind and made camp on the winding banks of the river.
The servants, busy with the frantic work of setting up tents and preparing for the night, stole nervous glances at her as she stepped onto the grass.
Her earlier declaration that she would change her clothes ten times a day had clearly been no exaggeration.
Instead of the gown she had worn for departure, she was now clad in a weightless silk ensemble shimmering with gold embroidery.
A necklace that could have purchased a minor duchy sparkled around her pale throat, and a diamond-studded bracelet sat heavy on her slender wrist.
Edric watched her from a distance, a look of complete bewilderment on his face.
They were in a field preparing for a night on the hard ground.
Why in the name of the gods was she dressed for a state banquet?
Her behavior was so utterly incomprehensible that it left him feeling bone-tired before the first day was even done.
He suppressed another sigh, handed his reins to a squire, and approached her.
As soon as his shadow fell across her, she turned a look of pure, unadulterated fury upon him.
Edric’s throat went dry.
Bathed in the dying light of the sunset, Thalia looked less like a woman and more like a creature woven from flame and gold.
Her hair, the color of ripe, wind-swept wheat, formed a radiant veil around her face.
Her skin, as flawless and white as milk-agate, seemed to glow with its own internal light against the fiery sky.
He involuntarily took a step back.
There was something so fragile about her, as if she were a glass figurine that might shatter into a thousand jagged shards at any moment.
He swallowed hard, a sudden, inexplicable premonition settling in his gut.
Then, her blood-red lips parted, and her voice—sharp and irritated—shattered the spell.
"I don't like it here.
Move the camp."
The sheer absurdity of the command brought him back to reality.
He stiffened.
*This woman is nothing but a poisonous mushroom hiding beneath a beautiful cap.* To let her looks fool you was a death sentence.
"This location was chosen by the guard for strategic and security reasons, Highness," he replied, his voice strained.
"It is not possible to simply move it on a whim."
"Who asked for your opinion?" She leveled an icy glare at him.
"I gave you an order.
Fulfill it."
Edric took a slow, deep breath to keep his temper in check.
"All decisions regarding this expedition are made by Lord Siekan.
I repeat: you cannot break rank without his express permission."
"So, I only need Barkas’s permission?" She cut him off and turned on her heel immediately.
It was as if she had been hunting for an excuse to confront him from the very start.
Edric hurried after her, unable to fathom a woman who seemed so determined to incite a scandal before the first night had even fallen.
He moved to block her path.
"What exactly is it about this site that displeases you?"
"Everything!" she snapped.
"We're too close to the river, and too close to the treeline.
There must be thousands of insects here!"
"How can we camp away from water, Princess?
Besides, these territories are home to griffins and harpies.
The forest provides natural cover against aerial predators—"
"I don't care about your protection!
I’ve already been bitten twice by some wretched crawling thing!
If I stay here, those creatures will devour my skin before morning!
And the noise from the woods—the rustling leaves, the screeching birds—how is one supposed to sleep in this cacophony?"
Edric stared at her in stunned silence.
Even a spoiled five-year-old wouldn't have thrown such a spectacular tantrum.
"We will be on the road for many more days," he said, his voice flat.
"If you do not acclimate yourself—"
"I told you, just move the camp!
Why should I be forced to endure something I loathe?"
She let out a sharp, frustrated sound and lunged forward.
Edric had to clench his fists to keep from seizing her by the arm.
"The men are exhausted after a day’s ride, Highness.
We cannot dismantle the entire camp and search for a new site without a valid reason.
Stop this childish behavior.
Return to your carriage and rest."
He stood his ground, his voice heavy with a deliberate, cold severity.
For a heartbeat, Thalia’s beautiful face twisted in a way that was genuinely frightening.
The next second, a sound like a whip-crack echoed through the air, and Edric felt a blinding heat erupt across his right cheek.
He stared at her, his jaw set.
He had known that serving as her knight would mean enduring her hand, but the reality of the humiliation was far more visceral than he had imagined.
"How dare you give me orders?"
She grabbed his collar and pulled him down until they were inches apart, her breath hot against his face.
"I am the daughter of the Emperor.
Your entire existence is predicated on my convenience.
If I order you to march through the night, you will march until the sun rises.
Now, shut your mouth and get out of my sight."
She shoved him away and continued her march along the riverbank.
Edric stood frozen, staring at the back of her head.
More than anything, he wanted to do exactly what his commander had done—throw her over his shoulder and dump her back into the carriage.
But he didn't possess the status that would allow him to touch a member of the Imperial family with such impunity.
He let out a long, bitter breath as he watched her retreat.
*Will I truly be able to survive this witch’s whims for the rest of the journey?* His head was already beginning to throb.
***
As Thalia walked, she felt the prickle of gazes on her skin.
Whenever she turned, people would immediately look away, pretending to be absorbed in their tasks.
It was the same reaction she always received; people treated her like a powder keg on the verge of detonation.
But this time, the looks felt different.
Suspicious.
*There is undoubtedly a spy among them.
One of Seneviere’s dogs.*
She scanned the faces of the retinue.
Perhaps they were all spies.
Her mother was more than capable of such a thing.
Her thoughts raced down a dark, jagged path.
Seneviere had spent years trying to dismantle Gareth’s power.
Perhaps she had decided this was the perfect opportunity to remove every obstacle in her son's way.
Thalia’s heart began to hammer against her ribs.
If her mother’s target was Gareth or Ayla, she didn't care.
She would have gladly helped.
But what if Seneviere was planning something against Barkas?
She looked at the rows of military tents with a growing, frantic anxiety.
No, the camp had to be moved.
If she could just create a physical distance, it would be much harder for Seneviere’s agents to operate under the cover of darkness.
She quickened her pace until she spotted Torque, Barkas’s gray warhorse, tethered outside one of the larger tents.
The stallion let out a low snort of recognition.
Thalia ignored the animal and stepped into the dim interior of the tent.
It was arranged with a Spartan, almost temple-like precision: flickering candlelight, heavy trunks, and a stand holding his armor.
She caught sight of a shifting shadow behind a partition and marched toward it.
"I want my camp moved to another location," she began, her voice already climbing with indignation.
"But my 'valiant' knight claims nothing can be done without Sir Siekan’s permission.
It seems your men believe the Commander of the Knights of Roem holds a higher rank than the Imperial family.
I fail to see how the Imperial Guard has devolved into such a pathetic collection of ignoramuses who cannot comprehend a basic hierarchy—"
Thalia yanked back the screen, her tirade dying in her throat.
She froze.
Barkas stood before her, stripped to the waist, a damp towel in his hands as he wiped his face.