Chapter 7

SO SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES! I'm so busy at work and I hardly have the time to write. Before—at my old office—I had a lot of down time and would write when I got the chance, but here? Well...I actually HAVE to work—can you believe it? RIP

Anyways, here's a chapter! Please let me know what oyu think and ENJOY!!!!

I watch as the coyote sniffs the path I walked thirty minutes earlier and feel the corners of my mouth tug upwards.  Emerging from my crouched position through a patch of palmettos, I release the arrow that had already be nocked. It flies through the air before sinking into the intended target's brain and it drops to the ground, dead.

I close the twenty meter gap in-between us and squat down so that I'm balanced on the balls of my feet and inspect the coyote. It's not a pup, but it isn't fully grown either but it will have to do. Give myself a shrug, I pull the arrow out and wipe the tip clean onto my pants before dropping it into its sheath. I then pick up my kill and sling it over m left shoulder before doing the same with my bow on my right. Squinting up at the slanted rays of light that shine through the pines, I decide to head back to camp.

It's not a long walk—about ten minutes or so—and as I enter the small clearing I'm pleased to see Rory and Max mirror me, having just returned from their hunt as well. Max has what appears to be a two plump rabbits in each hand which he carries by their ears while Rory has an ugly looking creature—the word opossum comes to mind when trying to distinguish what it is. Between the three of us we will have enough food for dinner tonight and perhaps have some left over to feed the women in the morning.

Walking over to where Nikolas has already prepared a fire for cooking, I remove the coyote off my shoulder and hand it to him where he begins to expertly skin it. Max takes matters into his own hands and kneels onto a rolled out matt where he too begins to clean his kill.

Looking over my shoulder, I see that the nuns have gathered around Father Anthony for their daily sermon, and listen intently to every word he speaks. Claire's red mane hangs loosely down her back which faces me and our conversation from earlier comes to mind.

"I guess barking out mundane orders isn't the only thing you're good at," Rory teases me, joining young Max.

Rolling my eyes, I look back at him decide to take his bait. "I came out better than some," I retort, glancing at his rat-like creature. We don't have opossums where I'm from, but from my time here in the swamplands I've come across them time to time—generally at night considering they are nocturnal—and will admit they give me the creeps. "Only thing you could ever take down would be something that's asleep. Besides, who is that even supposed to feed? It's hardly got any meet on its bones."

Rory gives a scowl. "It isn't much, sure, but it'll make a turd. Sorry it doesn't please you your highness. Shall I go back into the woods and return with a boar, perhaps with an apple stuffed up its arse?"

I'm about to open my mouth to release a curse or two when Nikolas cuts in. "Alright you two knock it off. I swear you argue worse than an old married couple sometimes," he says, knowing that he's one of the few people that's allowed to put either of us in our place.

Looking over at him, I give him a small smile. "Thing is, you can divorce your spouse but never your brother," I reply.

Rory looks up at me and brushes a strand of hair out from his face, leaving a streak of blood in its place that he fails to notice. "You'd have to find a woman that wants to marry you first. And even so, she'd be the one divorcing you given your track record," he states.

Generally, the two of us get along rather well and can take each other's jabs with a grain of salt, but I allow this one to sting. Max and Nik—who, along with the majority of the men here, is familiar with my track record when it comes to romance—pause, shooting my brother a look. Rory raises a questioning brow, not realizing that he has taken it too far this time.

"I'm going to tend to the horses," I state, turning on my heel.

As I walk away, I've already chosen to forgive him of course, but it doesn't mean that the prickle of his words no longer linger. Nearing the horses who are hitched to separate pines, they nicker and shift their weight from one leg to another, knowing that it's time for them to be looked after before settling down. Their owners have already brushed and watered them and have made sure they have enough food for the evening. Every few days we make sure to give a more thorough check when one has the time. Seeing as that I'd rather be left alone, I assign myself the task.

"Hey girl," I tell my horse, giving her a pat. She exhales out a huff of air through her powerful nostrils and I give her head a good scratch before lifting up each hoof, making sure none are split or carrying hidden seeds that may sprout. I do the same for each mount, applying a cream to a few cuts given by thorns, filing down any hoof that may need it, checking their ears for any parasites. I've just run out of light when I finish up the final stallion, pleased that none required serious maintenance.

Looking up, I see that dinner has already been dished out and that most of sit around the fire, eating whatever concoction Nikolas has prepared.

I'm still feeling somewhat reserved when it comes to people, but stab of hunger in my stomach wins over. Reluctantly, I head over to the others and accept the plate of food that Warren has saved for me. Sitting down next to him, I nod my head in thanks.

"Appreciate it, mate," I say, studying the diced green leafs that cling to the stringy meat. "What's this? Thyme?" I ask, taking a whiff.

Warren nods, stuffing the last piece of his dinner into his mouth. "I believe Alma and Beth Ann found some growing when you were out hunting," he tells me.

A funny thought crosses my mind about the nuns trying to poison us but I quickly dismiss it, knowing that they would never do such a thing—especially since they wouldn't be able to survive our here without us.

The seasoning does wonders to the meat—even the opossum. which is quite gamey and tough to swallow.  As the night draws on, ballads are sung from the men in exchange for angelic hymns from the women. Tales are shared followed by laughs, but as I sip my water skin of ale, I cannot bring myself to join in as I linger on Rory's words.

If I were ever to find a woman who would actually settle down with me, would she stay? Or would she leave like the others? She'd of course have to be queen when I come to power, would that drive her away? In order to ensure that this woman my imagination has conjured would be able to rule by my side, I suppose she would have to be a Duchess or Lady—someone of a higher-class. The thing is, is that none of the prospects I've been offered have even remotely caught my interest.

"At this point it no longer matters," I tell myself, and make a mental note to send out invitations to one final ball where I'll pick a wife out of ones that show. Nearing the end of my early-thirties, it seems I no longer have the luxury of choosing a spouse out of love, or even remote affection.

My gaze lands on Claire and I find amusement in how entranced she seems to be in the tale that Sven spins about his run-in with a black bear that left him stranded on a mountain for three days with a broken leg and a nasty gash on his abdomen until his father and cousin found him. With furrowed brows and wide eyes, she seems to be genuinely worried for him even though he is alive and well right in front of her.

"You alright? You've been quiet," Warren asks me in a low voice, slightly leaning towards me on his right arm.

As Claire's eyes find mine, I look away and turn to Warren, taking a long sip of ale. "Can I ask you a question? Man to man?" I say, matching his tone.

Sensing that what I may say next might require privacy, he stands up and brushes his hands on his pants. "I'm going to take a piss. Come," he instructs.

Allowing a small smirk, I stand up and follow him far enough to where the light of the fire reaches us ever so slightly and I know that whatever words we will share will not be heard, even on the keenest of ears.

"What is it?" he asks, adjusting his trousers before relieving himself.

Sighing, I do the same. "Rory and I were going back and forth after the hunt—nothing unusual as you know," I say. In the dim light, I see Warren nod to himself and I continue, finishing up and giving a shake before fixing my trousers. "Nik said something about us fighting like an old married couple and I teased that one could divorce a spouse but never a brother. In return, Rory made a comment about in order for me to get divorced, I'd first have to find a woman who actually wanted to marry me first, and even then she would be the one leaving me given my past," I explain.

Warren mutters a curse under his breath before adjusting himself and turning to me. "Rory is..." he trails, trying to find the right words. "Everyone knows he was gifted with more brawn than brain. Sometimes he speaks before he thinks, and sometimes he doesn't realize the things he says can hurt. I'm sure he didn't actually mean it, Tommy."

I can't help but give a shrug. "I know he didn't, but still...what if he's right. Do you think that there's something about me that causes women to leave? You're one of my closest friends, so be honest."

There is a pause before Warren speaks up. "Well, since we are being open on that matter, I think you give too much of your heart away to any woman who asks for it—regardless of her intentions."

My head jerks back, not expecting his answer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're too kind for your own good, and you need to realize that every girl who bats her eyes at you and tells you that she loves you might not actually mean it. Your status as a prince—I won't even mention the fact that you are next in line—isn't forgotten on most. A pretty lass comes your way and tells you she likes you, pours out her heart after only a month and promises you that she's yours. That she'll wait for you to return from the war so long as you remain faithful—and you do, only to comeback and find that perhaps she wasn't so genuine, and that there's been more than a few lads that kept her bed warm while you were away," he tells me, and that names of at least three women come to mind.

"Or," he continues, "you stumble into a tavern—either in Paevia or just while passing through—and the sex is amazing. She tells you a sob story about how she's the blacksmith's daughter who struggles to take care of her mother—which in her defense may be true. But each time you pass through or come across her in that tavern, it seems she's always looking for a handful of coin. And you know why? It's because she knows you have it."

Another two women's faces flash across my mind and I know that what he says it's true. Of course, I always assumed this about the last two, and would wonder just how much truth they have to their tales—but I never wanted to take the chance to think that their lying and condemn whoever it was that was sick or struggling to a harder life.

"Now before you say anything, I know in your defense there were some that did seem to truly love you, and you them, like Maria. And that's perfectly fine of course—truly, no one saw the end of that relationship coming. She had us all fooled except your father I think," he says, trying to lessen the blow of his words.

"So you think I'm what, some hopeless romantic that's either too dim to see truth in women's words?" I ask straightforward.

In the darkness, I hear Warren give a soft chuckle. "No," he says, clapping me on the shoulder. "I just think that sometimes people take advantage of your kind heart and at some point you're going to have to learn to recognize the times when to guard it."

Sighing, I nod and look up at the moon. The night sky is slightly cloudy, causing its pale rays to cast a halo around it. "I think I'm going to have to find a wife—sooner rather than later, Warren—for Paevia's sake at the very least," I say.

"Anyone particular you have in mind?" he inquires, following my gaze upwards.

"Whenever this mess in the south is over I'll host another ball and decide that night I guess," I answer.

"Hmm," he hums disapprovingly, and it's not hard to guess why.

"I know—none are really worth a damn and care more about the color of their dress rather than the well-being of their people. But all have at least some knowledge on how to run a kingdom given their background. And unless I find the woman of my dreams in-between now and my return, I don't see me having much of a choice."

He looks at me, a smirk on his face once again. "You'd marry a commoner? A bit risqué don't you think?" he asks, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.

I chuckle together we head back to the fire at a slow pace. "As king—well, when I am king—I can do what I want. I could give a rat's ass about that tradition. And besides, Crispin did it and Paevia seemed to accept the union quite well. Why wouldn't they with me?"

"This is true," he nods, agreeing with me.

When we are a few yards away, I slow our pace even more to save what little privacy we have left. "Thank you, for speaking the truth I mean. And for being a good friend, I feel as though I don't do that enough."

Warren beams and tosses an arm around my shoulder, leading us back to the others, "Ah, don't go soft on me yet Tom, we've got enough women around here as is," he teases.

My eyes flicker to the nuns that sit nearest to us but it appears that none heard his jab.

Although I do feel better about the situation, I still have no desire to be social. Clearing my throat, I gain the attention of everyone around the fire to assign a watch rotation. When hands go up to volunteer, I give a nod of appreciation, thankful that I'm not put into the position of making someone do something they'd rather not. Bidding them goodnight, I turn and head towards the far end of camp where my tent had been pitched.

Ducking inside, I light a lantern and hang it at the peak of the tent before unlacing my boots and slipping them off along with my shirt. My body is exhausted from the day's heat and I want nothing more than to take a cool bath and go to sleep, but first I need to make sure we are still headed in the right direction.

Sighing, I lean forward and scoop up my satchel and pull out a second water skin and my map. Unscrewing the cap, I drink deeply and empty the contents of the container until its empty. With the water being warm from the day's journey, it didn't quench my thirst but it would suffice until morning.

Tossing it aside, I retrieve the lantern and set it beside me on the floor before unrolling the map, smoothing out its tattered edges. Over the next half our, I try to come up with a route that would both get us back to the military encampment efficiently and risk-free. If it were just my men and myself, I'd cut through Razor Bog and do our best navigating the head high saw grass, but I have to think of the women now, and something tells me they wouldn't be keen on the idea of swatting off spiders as well as trying not to get sliced to bits by the grass' serrated edges.

There is a main road, but it would take us four days to reach it if we turned back and even then add another three weeks to our journey given that it veers drastically to the east before continuing south.

That leaves me with taking us through the Silent Swamp—the route we first took on our way to Paevia—that would require us trudging through wetlands that can reach up to our chests, not including alligators or snakes.

Thoughts of our counterparts come to the forefront of my mind once again—specifically Claire.

As soon as I begin to ponder whether or not how she would take the news of having to tread through swamplands, she herself quietly ducks through the canvas entry and I notice her eyes study my bare chest. In the dim light that the lantern provides, I think I can just make out the flush that forms in her cheeks.

"Evening," I greet, selfishly enjoying her embarrassment.

She stands there awkwardly and gives me a nod, looking everywhere around the small space but at me.

"I apologize for the intrusion, it didn't occur to me that..." she trails, stumbling to find the right words.

I give her an easy smile and shrug. "There's nothing to apologize for. Can I get you anything?" I ask politely.

She begins to shake her head before biting her lower lip, the blush returning to her slender cheeks. "Yes actually, but I'm not sure how to ask for it," she begins.

Tilting my head, I patiently wait to hear what she has to say. I see her bite the inside of her cheek as she gathers to courage to ask whatever favor she may need.

"You can ask me anything, Claire," I reassure, "Whatever it is I'll see to it that your needs are met." I cannot imagine what item could possibly bring on such reluctance to ask.

"Okay, well," she beings, "Some of the women—including myself—are in need of certain...hygienic items."

I feel my eyes squint in confusion. "What, like soap? We have a few extra bars in the saddlebags I'd be more than willing to give you," I say.

Surprisingly, she lets out a sweet laugh and shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. For our cycles—when we left the monastery those necessities weren't exactly at the forefront of our minds," she tells me, her gaze flitting to the floor briefly before meeting my own once again.

Now it is my turn to smile sheepishly and I rub the back of my neck with a hand. "Oh, right. Forgive me, we do not usually travel with women." Often, when it comes to women that factor tends to slip my mind.

"I hate to bother you with such matters, but none of the other's felt comfortable enough to bring it up to any of the men, so," she explains.

Strangely enough, I am pleased to hear she sees me as someone to come to—even more matter such as this. "Alright, give me a moment," I say, standing up.

Ducking outside into the night air, I navigate through the darkness to my saddleback and rummage through until my fingers find what I'm looking for. Pulling out two of my spare shirts, I then walk over to Rory's bag and grab a shirt before another two from Warren's. I doubt Warren would mind helping the women, and if Rory does well, I honestly don't care.

As I head back to the tent, I notice that a few still linger around the dying flames of the fire—too busy to take notice of me. Two are women who giggle to each other as they listen to the banter between the remaining three men who are still awake while others lay sound asleep scattered about on the ground.

Opening the rough flap of my tent, I see that Claire now sits at the foot of my bedroll, patiently waiting for my return. I hold up the bundle of shirts for her to see and sit beside her before grabbing my skinning knife from my bag and begin to cut strips.

"Will this suffice?" I ask, showing her the first few I've fashioned from my shirt.

She gives a small smile and nods her head, brushing a lock of red hair behind her pale ear. "They'll work," she says, her tone almost teasing.

Smirking, I raise a brow and begin making more. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm a little rusty at making 'em," I joke back. "Before we reach the encampment I'll make sure we stop and get...proper supplies. We need to restock on a few things anyways."

She turns to the map that still sits by my lantern, inspecting it. "Is that what you were doing before I came in?"

"Mhm," I hum, cutting the last strip of my shirt before moving onto Rory's. "I'll admit I didn't plan on stopping until after we made it out of Silent Swamp, but I suppose we can take an extra day to stop through Ekon."

"Ekon?" she repeats, "I believe there is a small church on its outskirts. I had completely forgotten about it, really—it only had about eight members that were truly faithful."

"By faithful you mean...?" I ask, tossing a strip into the small pile and beginning on another.

Her full lips purse. "Someone who attends and practices consistently I suppose. Not everyone who is a Christian goes to a place to worship, most seem to do so in their own homes," she explains. "Is Ekon a large town?"

I raise a shoulder and move onto one of Warren's shirts. "That depends on the person. Compared to some of the one's I've been to? Not at all. They have the basic shops that most villages do—a bakery, a blacksmith, a butcher, a trader of wares, a tavern. Things of that sort. Who knows though? I haven't been there in a few years, they could have made a few additions I suppose."

Claire surveys the map in silence, the only sound being from the distinct ripping of the fabric. When I finish up the last shirt, I sheath my knife and toss it onto my bag and collect the strips of fabric. "Here you are," I say, holding the bundle in my arm.

She turns to me and accepts them before standing up. "Thank you, I'll be back in a few moments," she says, her blue eyes landing on mine. She then ducks outside and I take this time to roll up the map and prepare for bed. Grabbing my spare blanket, I head outside and lay it down by the fire, making sure to step around my sleeping men that have given up their tent for a second night in a row.

Tossing another log into the fire, I look across our camp ground to see Claire delivering the strips of fabric and a small smile reaches my lips. "She's a sweet girl, I'll give her that," I think. As she heads back to my tent, I try to catch her gaze and nod her a silent goodnight when I do. She offers a wave and ducks inside and in a few moments I see that she's blown the lantern out.

"I thought for a moment you were going to try to cozy up to her. You were in there a long time," a voice says out loud, earning a few tired chuckles from those that are still awake.

I can't make out which form is Rory's under the array of blankets and fur pelts, but I know it was him that said it. Ignoring the comment, I lay down and try my best to get comfortable under the starry night before I eventually fall asleep.