Rebel Spring
“Never mind.”
It would appear that the assistant engineer did not know the true purpose for this road, other than its being . . . a road. Such dangerous secrets would best remain hidden.
Aron’s gaze slid past Franco’s sweaty, pudgy face as they made their way back to the engineer’s tent. A pretty girl was moving toward the tent, her arms heavily laden with firewood. She had light brown hair that fell down her back. Her figure, beneath the simple dress she wore, was thin but shapely. She was daring enough to look directly at Magnus with curiosity in her eyes as she passed without a word.
“And who is that beautiful creature?” Aron asked.
Franco glanced toward the girl. “That is my daughter, Eugeneia.”
“Tell her to come here. I wish to be introduced to her.”
Franco hesitated, glancing briefly at Magnus.
Magnus nodded to give permission for more introductions and Franco called out to the girl. She put down her heavy load, brushed off her hands on the front of her dress, and came to join them as they entered Franco’s tent, shutting out some of the noise from outside.
“Yes, Father?”
“Eugeneia, I’d like you to meet our very important guests. This is Prince Magnus Damora and Lord Aron Lagaris.”
Surprise lit her gaze and she immediately curtseyed deeply. “A true honor.”
“Tell me, Eugeneia,” Aron said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her beauty up close, “how do you like spending so much time at this camp with your father?”
She flicked a glance toward Franco, then back at Aron. “May I be honest, Lord Aron?”
“Certainly.”
“I don’t care for it at all.”
Franco clucked with disapproval and reached for the girl as if to pull her backward. Aron held up his hand to stop him.
“What don’t you like?” he asked.
She studied the ground for a moment before raising her gaze to meet his. “My father is a brilliant engineer in his own right. It bothers me that he can make no decisions without approval from Xanthus, even if his decisions would improve things. It doesn’t make sense to have one cruel, brutish man in charge of everything and absolutely no one is able to disagree with him!”
Franco drew her to his side, tightening his arm around her shoulders. “Hush, girl. Your opinions are not necessary or appreciated. Do you want to insult our guests?”
A flush spread across her cheeks. “Please forgive me. I forgot my manners for a moment there.”
“I appreciate your passion,” Aron said. “It’s so rare for someone to speak their mind so freely. It’s refreshing, I think.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Franco, I have a request,” Aron said, his gaze still fixed on the girl.
“Yes?”
“I wish for your daughter to join me for a late meal in my tent.” Magnus rolled his eyes and turned away.
“Tonight?”
“When else?”
Franco cleared his throat, looking flustered by the request. “I suppose that is all right then.”
“Father . . .” Eugeneia began, her tone doubtful.
“You will go with him.” Franco’s double chins lifted as he nodded. “Lord Aron is kind enough to take notice of you. The least you can do is share a meal with him in gratitude for such an honor.”
The girl lowered her head. “Yes, of course.”
The night stretched long and endless ahead of Magnus once he retired to his private tent. Thoughts of magic, of unsuccessful quests, of a dead mother, a slain rebel, a disrespectful exiled Watcher, and of a golden-haired, defiant princess filled his mind. He tossed and turned on his pallet. After awhile, he decided that fresh air might help clear his head and rose.
He began to walk through the camp, past the long lines of tents of all sizes. He wondered which one belonged to the mysterious “cruel and brutish” Xanthus. Bonfires dotted the large clearing, sending sparks up into the darkening sky. Night-watch guards were set up to patrol while others slept, and they lined the area, their red uniforms easy to make out in the torch-lit surroundings.
Something hadn’t sat right with him about Aron’s request to dine with Eugeneia. He didn’t trust the boy, not with a pretty girl like that. Not unchaperoned.
“It’s none of your concern,” he told himself. This fact seemed to make little difference. He found himself at what he realized had been his destination all along.
Aron’s tent was almost as big as Magnus’s. Both were easily the size of a Paelsian cottage, with a seating area, a comfortable bed, a table to take meals at. Nothing like being at the Auranian palace, of course, but Magnus was accustomed to these sorts of austere accommodations.
He drew closer to the flap, glancing inside past the modest opening to see that Eugeneia had arrived and was seated at the table. Empty plates and platters lay discarded across the table. Their meal was over. Her hair was swept up off her shoulders into a braided coil and she’d changed her dress to one a bit finer than before.
“You must feel so honored right now,” Aron was saying. “To be here with me.”
He perched on the table next to where she sat. He ate a peach, slicing it with a fancy silver blade. The juice trickled down his chin before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt.
She sat in a chair an arm’s reach away from him. “Very honored,” she said after a pause.
“The moment King Gaius met me, he knew I was destined for greatness. It’s unheard of to be appointed to kingsliege at my age— especially not by a conquering king.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her reaction.