For King and Country

Trust

Chapter 6

Elijah went back to barking orders, and I wandered away, sitting on a boulder that hung over the river. Looking over the horizon, I struggled to wrap my head around the events of the last day. I'd broken Micah's heart. He would never forgive me, but who knew if I would ever get to see him again. My parents and siblings were now in the heart of a war zone, they could be killed without a thought. Then, bile rose to my throat as the picture of the greasy haired man raising his sword to kill Elijah, and the way the sword felt in my hands cutting through his side like butter. I looked down, trying to fight the tears, trying not to vomit.

"Are you alright?" I jumped, hurriedly wiping my face as Elijah sat beside me. I shift, putting more space between me and him. He was very different than Micah. Micah had the innocence of adolescents still in his face, a wildly big grin, and funny ears. His hair had been messy and dirty blonde, curling every way around his ears. His mother was always badgering him to cut it. He'd been tall and lean, and I'd been the envy of every girl in the village. He was kind and funny, and he would be an excellent father. Micah loved children. He often told me he wanted as many as his wife would give to him, but I knew that was a diplomatic answer. I didn't know if I wanted children, and I doubted I'd want a brood. Elijah couldn't have been much older than Micah or I, Micah was only eighteen, but there was no doubting he was a man. His honey colored eyes held the ghosts of the men he'd seen killed, the men he killed. He wasn't overly big, but he had broad shoulders and powerful legs. He had the build of a warrior. He stood with the air of a noble mans son who stood to inherit his father's riches, and carried himself with the pride of a man who had fought for what he believed in. Micah hadn't been forced to grow up, ever. But Elijah had the demeanor or a boy forced into a man without a say in the matter. His hands showed the strain of battle, but Micah's only knew packing crates and playing in the sun. Micah was easy to understand. But Elijah had a mystery about him, it was the glint in his eyes, a tiny hint of something more.

"I'm fine." I replied, looking straight ahead again. He nudged my arm, holding out a handkerchief. I narrowed my eyes, but took it, using it wipe under my eyes.

"A word of advice," He said, putting his hand atop mine, "Don't cry at court. Not in front of anyone. If you're going to be broken, be broken in your chambers in the dead of night where no one will know." My eyebrows knitted together at his harsh words, but his face was knowing.

"I told you I'm fine." I hissed, snatching my hand away. To my surprise, he laughed.

"There's the fire we need." He whispered, leaning in close. "Any weakness will be exploited, my lady. There are those in your court who would love to see your cousins in charge or themselves on the thrown." His gaze was directed at the soldiers lazily milling around, chatting among themselves.

"Why don't we just kick them out?" I asked. He shook his head.

"It's not so simple. They are powerful." Elijah hissed. "But they will quickly try to bend you to their will, influence your choice of your gowns or your food, then your husband or your allocation of funds. You must see through the flattery, be as cold and steadfast as stone, but warm and inviting all at the same time."

"How do you suppose I do that?" I snapped, meeting his eyes again.

"I know war, Princess, I've been in the war room planning this one for nearly all my life. War is a game, all about moves and countermoves, and understanding your opponent." He used his hands as he talked, his face hardening as he explained the basics of war to me. "Court is no different. It's a game. Everyone there is out for their own gain, everyone wants something from you, everyone will press you to do different things. No one wants to be your friend unless something is in it for them. Do not trust anyone, not these men who escort you home because they don't answer to just you at the end of the days, not the ladies who tell you how pretty you look when you get into your ball gowns, and especially not the men who kiss your hand at balls and claim they love you." His face was serious, his eyes earnest. He grabbed my hand. "No one is looking out for you."

"Not even you?" I asked, my voice in a whisper of shock. He smiled slightly.

"Well your grandfather and I might be the only ones. Him because he hates being called regent, and I, well, I owe you my life." Elijah laughed, a smile coming to his face.

"So people will press me to find a husband. As a girl who just broke a man's heart, I don't exactly wish to marry so quickly." I snorted.

"My advice, don't marry. Men are power hungry animals, no matter what pretty words they say they will steal your reign and use your name. So don't marry." He stood. "Jeremiah's right, you look like hell, freshen up in the river, the ladies are going to be horrified at the state of you."

I slid off the rock, walking to kneel on the bank of the river. The reflection was distorted, but I could tell my hair looked wild. I quickly wet my hands, the water was freezing, but I splashed my face, feeling the grime and sweat wash away. I undid the pins of my hair, dragging my fingers against the tangled curls. Once I was convinced they were manageable, I tugged the waves into a braid that fell over my shoulder, when I stood, I looked down at my paneled skirt. The taupe fabric was covered in dirt and mud. The pattern my mother had taken hours to embroider was only faintly visible. But splattered over my stomach and my chest were rust colored stains that I tried my best to ignore.

"Well, still not great but certainly an improvement," Jeremiah laughed from where he stretched out in the warm grass. I rolled my eyes.

"When you kidnap a girl in the middle of a festival, what do you expect her to look like?" I asked, sitting down beside them.

Jeremiah laughed, "For the festivals back home the girls where these big head dresses to show their wealth and to guard their hair. They wear these dresses that cling to their skin with gold bands that weave around their arms. It's quite impressive." I screwed my face in confusion and distaste.

"I won't have to do that will I?" I asked, one soldier beside me laughed.

"Jer is from the far south, near the border. They have strange customs." The man said. "In the capital, our festivals involve dancing and singing, and our maids' hair loose and flowing." That sounded a lot more normal than what Jeremiah described. "You should've seen him the first night of his first festival, you would've thought he'd never seen a girl before."

I laughed, forgetting that I was supposed to be lady like. I didn't giggle, I didn't chuckle, I never mastered that. I was one who snorted when she heard something funny, my laugh was loud and many said obnoxious. The soldiers around the camp turned to stare at me.

"Sorry," I quickly stifled my laugh, then turned to see Elijah standing with his arms crossed. He shook his head at me, looking down before grabbing onto his horses reins.

"Time to move out." He ordered, "We've got to get to the palace soon." 

The picture at the top is the guy who I picture Elijah to look like, Henry Cavill. He's great, and totally goals.