Leola waited, but when Barval said nothing, she entered, and only then did she allow herself to cry. The tears welled up and poured silently down her face.
The interior of the tent was much like Sedrak’s; she had the impression that someone had been forced to vacate it—perhaps a warrior—so that she could have it. She lay upon the furs and covered herself with them.
As night dragged on, her fire waned, and it grew cold, but she dared not rise and tend to it. The sounds of the camp died away slowly, and she thought she could hear whispers all around her. The sounds of gossip.
From Sedrak’s tent came the voice of men, rising and falling, loud and then fiercely quiet. At last, she heard them file out, their heavy footsteps mingling with disgruntled murmurs.
She rose, creeping toward the side of the tent nearest Sedrak’s. She could hear his voice, and the voice of another, but they were low and difficult to make out. She could not understand what they were saying.
Her feet felt like ice, so she buried herself beneath the covers and tried to sleep.
Time passed slowly, and much of the noise faded away. She strained to hear Sedrak, prayed that he would come to her, and fold her into his arms to reassure her, but he did not. She heard Barval cough, and wondered if he would sleep that night.
The hours dragged on, and she could stand it no longer. She crept in the darkness to the flap of the tent, peeking out into the darkness.
Barval was asleep across the threshold of the tent, and the sight of him put a dagger of fear through her, but he did not stir. She peered into the darkness: Sedrak’s tent, only a few meters away, glowed with a great fire, and she saw his shadow move upon the outer walls.
She retreated into the tent and crept to the side of the structure, feeling at the bottom edges of the material. It was a heavy fabric, but when she pulled at it, it lifted from the ground and gave way; she could, by crawling upon the ground, worm her way beneath it.
She was still dressed, so she felt around for her shoes and put them on her icy feet. Then she held her breath and listened.
Nothing stirred.
She took another deep breath and lay down on the ground, the length of her body parallel to the tent wall. Slowly, her heart knocking at her chest, she edged herself beneath the wall of the tent, into the cold night air. She looked around; moonlight bathed the camp in a dim and eerie light. She scooted out further, seeing nothing move.
She was almost completely out from under the tent when she heard the crunch of soil beneath a heavy boot, and then a rain of them. Something sharp pressed against her spine, and a foot stepped gently on her hand, before the yelling began.
The men lifted her to her feet, shouting questions at her that she could not understand. She tried to explain herself, helplessly, but the words that fell from her mouth made no sense in any language.
Sedrak was in front of her suddenly, approaching the group, pulling furs about his shoulders, sword in hand and drawn. When he saw her his face filled with anger.
“What is the meaning of this?” he hollered.
He was looking at his guards.
“She was escaping, my lord,” said the guard who held her fiercely on her arm. She glanced at him and saw he was the gray-haired man.
Sedrak growled. “Release her.”
“My lord—”
“Release her!” he bellowed. “That is Leola Grace, the Southern princess!”
The men released her arms quickly and distanced themselves from her, as though she had a disease.
“You!” Sedrak said, pointing to her chest, and Leola felt as if his finger went through her heart. “To my tent! Go.” She stumbled toward him, head hanging, and walked toward the tent, brushing dirt from her dress. She heard the men behind her speaking in low voices.
“I shall deal with her,” Sedrak barked.
“My lord,” a calm voice said. “I pray to the gods you are not making a costly mistake.”
Leola heard a hard thump and the gasp of air being punched from a man’s ribs, and fear gripped her. She turned to see a man falling to the ground, Sedrak standing over him.
“I am the king. Do not forget yourself,” she heard Sedrak spit.
Leola hurried into his tent, heart pounding.
He threw open the flap and Leola cowered, tripping on the furs of his bed and falling to them. Terror gripped her so that she could not speak; when Sedrak was angry, he was a frightening man.
“What in the name of the gods were you doing?” he seethed.
She shook her head, and though she did not want to, she began to cry.
“Explain yourself, Leola Grace! Or you shall be punished soundly!”
“I was coming,” she choked. “To see you. Barval was asleep…” A fat tear dropped from her eye.
Sedrak was still breathing heavily. He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity.
“I was afraid,” Leola said helplessly, when he said nothing.
“Coming to see me?” Sedrak repeated. “Afraid? Of what in the name of gods, what is there to be more afraid of than creeping about in a warrior’s camp in the dead of night by the tent of the king’s bride?”
Leola was caught speechless again. She stared at him with her mouth open.
“Had you not been wearing a dress, and they hadn’t seen you at the feast, you would have been killed on the spot, you stupid, stupid, girl!” he yelled.
Another wave of tears spilled from her eyes.
Sedrak approached her and fell to his knees next to her. “Leola,” he said, pulling her close to him. “What in gods were you doing?”
She gripped his arm. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I thought… Dorva told me something, and I thought that maybe… I heard you arguing with your
