Chapter Two - Welcome To Camp

When the gates were opened, a small unit of a dozen men was waiting on the other side.

"Good day ladies, your Highness..." an older voice greeted them.

In unison, each of the foreigners removed their masks to reveal themselves. To everyone's surprise, they were a squadron of older men. Grey hair and age lines graced the tanned faces of the well-dressed soldiers mounted across from them. Each man was obviously no younger than forty-five.

Hal chuckled to himself. If these were a sample of the men the Sovereign had claimed could woo his collection of icy, detached maidens, that slip of a man was clearly stark raving mad.

"Good day gentleman." Answered the King politely, urging his horse forward to meet the strangers.

"I trust no harm shall befall my subjects during this journey?" He asked suspiciously.

"On my honor, your Grace." The man saluted the King, bringing his fist to his heart.

"And as promised, the sign of good will."

The soldiers parted, and from the center, a small golden pony dutifully emerged; upon his back was a small boy with piercing blue eyes and dark, raven curls.

The amber eyes of the king widened. When the Sovereign had promised him a sign of goodwill, he had expected a chest of gold, or perhaps a fine stallion, not the small, angelic child he saw before him.

"But... But that is a child."

"Indeed, may I present to you the youngest offspring of the Sovereign." Announced the older man with salt and pepper hair, and unmistakably kind eyes.

"The Sovereign offers him into your personal care until our return. Our leader understands that you are in fact entrusting our camp with several of your own blood. The Sovereign trusts that you will care for the boy with the princely respect that he deserves?"

The King was taken aback. This was an incredible gesture.

"You have my word. I shall treat this boy as if he were my own."

"Now if the ladies would please join us, Daylight is burning." Announced the soldier, placing his helmet back on his face.

With little argument, Chalice carried her master over the drawbridge and away from the safety of the castle.

The journey was long, and the soldiers that were herding them lacked a better word and remained as silent as the grave. After the initial nerves had faded, and when the castle had finally faded from the view behind them, Illyria let Chalice fall back until she reached the side of her childhood friend.

Rosaline's brown eyes lit up when she caught sight of her familiar face. "Illyria!" She greeted. A small smile washed over the face that had spent the few last hours in a deep depression. She had been forced to leave the monastery under royal orders, right in the middle of the first prayer.

"Rosaline, it is so wonderful to see you again." Illyria reached out to pat the elbow of the girl beside her.

"Pity not, it could be under better circumstances."

Over the next hour or so, the two friends quietly conversed. Both were glad for the minor distraction of the company they brought to each other. It was a small relief to the dread that had built up within them as they took each step further away from Rowland.

Rosaline spoke of her time in the service of the church, her excitement of how she was to be made a full-fledged sister and soon become a part of the church wholly. Illyria, in turn, filled her in on the recent events in her life: her silent rise up the ranks, her engagement to the Baron and the perks it would provide. There was no mistake in her ambition or the desire for respect and power in her voice. This ambition did not offend her old friend though, this was who Illyria had always been.

The noon sun had passed, and Illyria grew hungry. Noticing some of the other women had already started to eat, she reached into her satchel and pulled out some of the bread and cheese her servant girl had packed. Breaking off a chunk, she handed it to Rosaline who accepted it graciously. She ripped off some more for herself and was about to take a bite when she noticed her cousin ahead was not eating, only staring glumly at the ground. Urging Chalice up, she reached the side of her cousin and held out the food.

"No, thank you, cousin." Edwina refused politely, the intelligent, strawberry blonde brushing it away. She was not doing well at masking her fear. It was written plain as day across her face.

"Don't be afraid, Edwina. Noble blood courses through your veins, you shall easily conquer any challenge set before you by these invaders." Illyria did her best to encourage her cousin, who had been widowed two years before, after only one day of marriage.

"The test is not what I fear." She was shaking as she spoke.

"There is much more to be feared from being held captive by an army of men who desperately need offspring than just some grievous test." Her cousin gulped.

This took Illyria aback. She realized that unlike every other woman here, her cousin had experienced the joining of the flesh and the amount of fear on Edwina's face was enough to turn her own blood cold.

"No harm shall come to you. I swear it." Glancing around to make certain no enemy was watching, she gripped her cousin's hand and pressed it against her thigh. Edwina's eyes widened at the indecency, but before she said anything, she felt the blade below the fabric.

"Now eat." Ordered Illyria.

"Come along now ladies we must pick up the pace." Announced the soldier at the head of the line.

"Rogues and bandits are notorious in these parts, and you do not want to be caught after dark." He warned them, picking up the pace.

The smoke rose into the air from the thousands of campfires that littered Illyria's line of sight. Her jaw gaped slightly at the size of it. This wasn't a camp, this was a capital. As Chalice closed the distance with her smooth, steady hooves, Illyria took in as much detail of the camp's exterior as she could. Eyes peeled for any and all information that could be useful to her uncle, and perhaps to herself, once she became general.

It was a position she had long sought after, the one her father had held, and ironically the one which had claimed his life. She longed for the power to command an army, it had been her dream since the day her uncle had first put a sword in her hands. It had seemed so far off because her uncle had brushed her off at her every request for command over even just a small squadron of men. She had nearly resigned herself to a fate of never becoming more than the King's bodyguard; hidden in plain sight at his side, with much responsibility, yet none of the power or respect. However, that was all going to change very soon.

The camp was set up in a half moon shape surrounding a large body of water. It was a serene lake, with clear blue water that reflected the perfect palate of colors the sunset had filled the sky with. Her brows knit when she saw small children playing in the lake. What would children be doing in a military encampment? Upon further inspection, she saw something that surprised her further, other women. There were thousands of women, with many different appearances, scattered throughout the camp, going about their businesses as if this were just another village.

They did not stop here. Instead, they followed the line of the glistening water all the way around to the other side of the lake. A full circle of large, extravagant tents awaited them. This portion of the camp was positioned well enough away from the main part on the other side of the water, yet close enough so that a speedy horse could close the distance rapidly should any trouble arise. The grand tents were trimmed in the finest of fabrics. Each was fit for a king, and there had to be at least a hundred of them.
Illyria gulped. One for each of us.

At the center of the circle stood the largest, grandest tent the princess had ever seen. This tent had a ridiculously oversized torch blazing beside its entrance. Upon further inspection, she noted each of the tents surrounding it had its own, smaller, more practical torch beside its entrance. Could this possibly have something to do with the test?

They neared the large tent in the center, and finally, the herding stopped, and their escorts quickly dismounted.

"Welcome to my encampment ladies." The flap of the large tent pulled back, and the Sovereign emerged to greet them. It was nearly dark, but the Sovereign's masked figure was illuminated by the violent flames of the extremely large flaming torch beside the tent.
Illyria noted the leader remained masked and was still wearing his leather armor.

"If you would please dismount. My servants will see to your animals and belongings."
The Rowland hundred cautiously got off their horses, legs sore from riding and shaky from nerves, but they all did their best to hide it; drawing strength from one another.

"Please allow me to put your minds at ease." This was a practiced speech. One the Sovereign had relayed to every single one of these camps, and so far, the Morwick had hosted dozens.

"No harm shall come to you here at my camp. You are under my protection and shall be treated with the respect worthy of your titles and status."

He began,
"For the next several days you are to stay in this camp, and more importantly on this side of camp." The masked figure said sternly, pointing toward the circle of tents around them.

"As part of this trial, each of you will be bound to one of my finest officers and noblemen in what my people call Galiaad. This is a form of marriage." Every woman in the camp let out a noise of horror, shock or disbelief.

"Now... Settle down flowers." The Sovereign held up a gloved hand, silencing the women.

"Galiaad is only the ceremony. The marriage is not valid unless consummated. You shall share a tent with this man, and shall partake in several social events with him daily. Refusal to comply will result in punishment."

What kind of game could this strange man be trying to play?

"This is a test after all, and many of you may fear I shall force your hand to lose, but fear not, none of the scheduled activities you are to partake in are what will cause you to be marked. That is something you have to do all on your own."

"Each of the men who escorted you here today is a Dakia or holy man as you call them. Please choose a tent, and the Galiaad shall take place."

The women had just begun to walk away when the Sovereign called out once more into the crowd.

"Princesses of Rowland, a moment please." Two girls stood still as the others dispersed. One with locks of golden blond, and the other with a shade of hair that could only be compared to darkened blood. Illyria felt every muscle in her body go rigid when the intense blue eyes of the enemy leader solely singled her out.

"Illyria, was it not?"

"Indeed sire." She responded, not entirely sure how this foreigner preferred to be royally addressed.

"If you and your royal relative would please follow Lord Gale and Lord Mash, your tents await you."

Lord Gale, the man who had been the leader of the raiding party that had brought her to the camp, motioned for her to follow. He led her to one of the seemingly identical tents. She knew something must have been special about this tent, or else the Sovereign wouldn't have selected it personally for her while most others got to select their own.

Upon further examination, as they drew silently nearer, she could find nothing different about this particular tent. It had the same regal designs, and a torch burning beside the entrance. Something unusual did catch her eye though, a bucket was hung from the top of the tent, directly above the flame.
Strange... She thought, but it was no cause for alarm. Perhaps these Morwicks were just extremely fire-cautious.

"Please hold your right hand towards the entrance." Lord Gale requested politely, reluctantly she complied. Through the flaps of the tent's entrance, a male hand emerged, which caused her to jump a bit. The hand was tanned, but clean, and the nails were well manicured. Lord Gale produced a red leather strip from a satchel on his belt and proceeded to wrap it around both hers and the strangers. This custom Illyria quickly figured out, he was figuratively and literally binding them together.

He chanted some words in a language she didn't understand, and then, without unbinding them, he pushed her inside.

The hand-tied to hers pulled her in. Gasping, Illyria was momentarily disoriented as she was suddenly thrown into bright light. Blinking, her eyes focused in on the hand tied to hers. Trailing her gaze up from the red leather strip that bound them to the sleeve opposite hers, her brows furrowed in confusion when she saw a familiar dark stain on the forearm, a gash.

"You!" An even more familiar voice laughed in shock and surprise. Amber eyes snapped up to meet a set of intense blue ones, and she gasped for the second time that night. It was the masked man she had fought in the gatehouse!

"You?!" Her shocked response echoed his own as she grasped for something to say.

"Madam Pig-sticker?" He asked in amusement as he looked her over, referring to the remark he had made about her sword the night before. Meridian couldn't believe the girl standing before him and the strange woman from the night before were one and the same. This could hardly be an accident.

He was tall, Illyria noted, like every other Morwick she had encountered. Longer, but well kept, dark raven hair seemed to dance around his sharp jawline. Strong, defined cheekbones led to a nose that had a slight bump in the bridge that she thought had supposedly come from being broken one too many times.
And his eyes. Such mesmerizing, swirling pools of the blue she had never seen.

"This is too much," chuckled the less than a stranger. Anger surged through Illyria at his mocking voice.

"You planned this didn't you?" She asked venomously, pulling away from him violently, completely forgetting they were tied together. This of course only pulled him closer towards her.

"Of course not!" He exclaimed as he steadied himself, now only a pace away from her,

"Bindings are supposed to be random."

"Well, this one wasn't. Your leader obviously had me sent here on purpose!" She cried back. Her raised voice was a strange sound to her own ears, she always trained her collected disposition. This only made the man laugh again.

"It seems the Sovereign does have an odd sense of humor."
Using his free hand, Meridian untied them. Once free, she rubbed her wrist, faint red lines crisscrossing her wrist.

"He did that a little too tight," Illyria grumbled in annoyance as she stretched her cold fingers.

"I'd hope so, it's supposed to last a lifetime," he chuckled, and the irony was not lost on her. She couldn't help but scoff, rolling her eyes.

Walking past him dismissively, Illyria began to examine the space she was to reside in for the next five nights. The ground was covered with a thin layer of mulch, the shrapnel crunching under her stiff heeled boots with each step. The first thing that caught her eyes was the bed, and the only word she felt could do it justice was “extravagant”.
It was huge, canopied, laden with red and golden silk sheets, embroidered blankets, and swan feather pillows. It was ridiculously impractical, especially for a military camp, no matter the rank of its owner. The walls were covered in heavy white and gold canvas, and they draped it in several layers.

"So what do I call you?" She asked, back still turned as she examined the fireplace. Set beside it was a table for two, another completely impractical thing for an encampment. He smiled to himself and tried pushing back the nerves. Years of training and study in the art of romance and seduction had prepared him for these next few days.

"You can call me darling," he began, taking a step towards her.

"Husband dearest," he continued, curling up the side of his mouth in a crooked grin. Closing the distance between them, he stopped only when he was right behind her, his breath stirring the stray curls falling out of her hair.

"Or even..." She became painfully aware of his proximity.

His voice deepened as he placed a hand on her shoulder and brought his lips close to her ear, ‘Lover.’
His strange words and hot breath carried a chill down her spine, causing every hair on her neck to stand up. She quickly recovered, stepping out and away from him.

"Your name. I meant what is your name?" She spun around quickly to ask.

Meridian grinned smugly, pleased to see the slight tinge of color rising in her cheeks. Maybe there was hope here after all.

"Meridian is my name. What is yours? Or shall I just call you Red?" He continued to smirk, noting the way her crimson hair gleamed in the firelight.

"You shall do nothing of the sort," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. Nicknames were considered highly disrespectful in Rowland.

"I am princess Illyria Dalmaha Phial Masteria of the house of Hal. You'll do well to address me as such."

"That's quite a mouthful. May I just call you Illyria?" Asked Meridian, a twinkle in his eye. He was truly enjoying the spark in this one.

"That would be highly informal, and improper... But I guess given the circumstances," she shrugged helplessly,

"Very well."

"Illyria then. Are you hungry?" Meridian inquired with a charming smile, sitting down in one of the hard wooden chairs.

"I'm fine, thank you," she replied coolly, arms still crossed over her chest. In truth, she was famished, her stomach banged at its own hollowness, but she refused to tell him that. Almost immediately she caught the scent of something delicious, her eyes fixated on a small table beside the fireplace. Standing beside it was Meridian, as he lifted the lid off the silver cloche to reveal a fine meal of oysters and rice. The scent hit her once more, and her stomach let out a rather unladylike growl.

"I guess I'll just have to eat this all myself," he waved his hand over the steaming food as if to smell the delicious aroma, strategically ignoring her stomach.

Illyria's mouth watered. She adored seafood and, what's more, rarely had to opportunity to try it. In Rowland, almost all sea produce was considered a delicacy, as most seafood would spoil well before it could complete the journey to her inland kingdom. Illyria imagined the Morwicks could have spent a small fortune in procuring it to even this point of the land.

"Well, if you are going to insist," She plumped down into her chair with a little more haste than was proper for a lady,

"After all, I would hate to see these creatures go to waste."

They ate in silence. Only the clink of silverware against stone plates could be heard inside the tent as Illyria enjoyed what might have been the best meal of her life.

"I take it you like oysters?" Meridian commented as he finished wiping his mouth with the white cotton napkin set beside his plate. Though so far he had not given an indication of even remotely being a gentleman, Illyria had to admit, he ate like one.

"They are not unbearable," she conceded coolly, scraping the last morsels of rice off her plate.

"That is a good thing. You will find out that they are a staple here," replied Meridian.

"Dessert?" Meridian asked as he produced a small, square brown shard about the size of the palm of his hand, from a wrapped up napkin.

"What is that?" She peered at the strange food, resembling nothing she had ever seen before. This was something that was not served in her country.

"We call it chocolai. It is a delicacy to my people." He broke it in half and passed a piece to her. She stared at it hesitantly, caution battling against curiosity.

"Oh please," Meridian shook his head, popping the whole piece into his mouth,

"As if I'd try to poison you on the first day."

His mouth was full as he spoke and his words were slightly muffled, quite ungentlemanly. However,  she had to admit, he did look like he was enjoying it.
Tentatively, she took a small bite, and it immediately began to melt in her mouth. Her eyes immediately lulled at the delicious, sweet flavor, it was unlike anything she had ever eaten before. Illyria wasn't sure if heaven had a taste, but if it did, she was pretty sure it tasted like this chocolai.

"Meridian you say?" She asked after she had finished savoring the delicious dessert.

"I did," was his response.

She had noticed that he spoke with a perpetual smirk on his lips, or at least he had, since her arrival.

"I shall just call you that alone? No rank or title you would prefer first?"

"For you?" his eyes drifted down her body then back up again.

"Just Meridian."

"This is highly improper," She stated, as much about using his first name as the situation she currently found herself in.

"So you are one of those proper ones then?" His question almost raised offense, but Illyria fought to maintain her composure. As a lady, it was an expected skill.

"Of course," she scoffed instead.

"Considering we are married, I do believe that in all cultures, even one as strict as yours, a certain degree of familiarity is warranted."

"We are not married!" She shot back, openly glaring at the irritating man in front of her.

"That little barbarous ritual of yours would never be considered valid in Rowland! I am not your wife, and I am betrothed to another," Illyria said firmly, narrowing her eyes at Meridian in annoyance. Meridian felt an unexpected pang of jealousy at her words. After all, they were married now, and despite what she might think, Meridian fully intended to make her his wife.

"Ah yes, that little soiree my Sovereign interrupted. That was your wedding eve ball, was it not?" He said instead, changing the topic in an attempt to assuage her anger. He spoke calmly, and easy, not letting this newfound possessiveness show through to her.

Meridian thought back to the moment he had first seen her. He had been spying through a window into the ballroom when she had immediately caught his eye. It was not just her unusual hair that had won his attention, though that eerily blood-like color was hard to miss, all pulled back tightly and piled high atop her head as she danced with that greasy, short royal. Meridian, like most Morwick men, wasn't one for beards, and had no mind for foreign fashions; but even he knew the man's beard was quite pitiful.
No, what had drawn him to her was the way she carried herself. As if she were a warrior queen, moving about the room with the grace and confidence of a true conqueror.

"It was indeed. Sadly, this turn of events has forced me to postpone the wedding."

"So you fully intend to marry this man if you return?" Meridian raised a single brow in question.

"Not if. When I return, I shall marry the baron," Illyria stated firmly.

"We shall see," he told her quietly.

"What is your position here? If I may ask," Illyria inquired after a few moments of tense silence. Meridian turned to look at her in pleasant surprise.

"So the warrior princess is actually attempting to make a polite conversation?" he teased, a glint in his eyes.

"Well, this is an improvement, though your tone suggests you intend to align more closely with that of an interrogation."

"Of course this is an interrogation," she answered honestly, and for the first time, he saw the hint of a smile on her face. It was cold and wry, but a smile nonetheless.

"Whatever this test or game you wish me to partake in is, know that I will win. You may have me locked in this canvas cage, but that won't stop me from learning everything I can about you and your Sovereign. Because the next time you see me coming over that hill, it'll be on horseback at the head of an army."

"I guess that would all depend on what you define as 'winning.'"

Illyria's stomach flipped as Meridian propped an elbow on the armrest of his chair and leaned back to look at her with those piercing, blues eyes. She couldn't understand what he meant, nor could she explain her reaction to his words. Shaking herself internally, she put it down once again to his blatant lack of gentility.

Her outburst had strangely pleased Meridian. Though she had kept her voice cold and removed, he could see the passion seeping through. In the fire he saw in her eyes, and the defiant tilt of her chin as she watched him the way he watched her. As if they were sparring, and she was assessing her opponent. The idea didn't entirely displease him. His princess wasn't some meek little mouse like some of the women who had come to the camp before her, which was for sure. Nor was she as cold and unfeeling as the rumors had led him to believe about her people. There was a spark there, and more importantly, there was a passion; and passion, no matter how distorted, could be used to his advantage.
His princess. He liked the sound of that.

After leaving the appropriate amount of silence, just enough for her to begin to squirm under the heat of his gaze, he spoke again.

"You wish to be a general then?" he asked with no mockeries in his voice, it was a genuine inquiry.

"I don't wish, I will be!" she fired back, her fiery amber eyes lighting up in defiance. Meridian couldn't help but smile at the woman who so obviously was meant for the bolder side of life; from her flaming red hair to the glow in her eyes when she fought for what she believed in.

"Alright Highness, I'll play your game. Suppose you do come marching over that hill, I hope you look forward to my company, for it shall be I who will meet you. There is my answer to your question." He watched with interested as she thought over his words for a moment.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are leading me to believe that you are a general?" Illyria laughed, it was undignified and extremely impolite, but she couldn't help it. The notion that this brass, easily amused young man would be put in charge of anything other than party entertainment was highly amusing.

For the first time since she had met him, Meridian's smile faded from his face. Illyria realized too late that he hadn't been joking, and that she had just laughed in his face.

"Oh..." She exhaled, scrambling for something to say that would soothe his obviously bruised ego, and show respect for his position.

"Forgive my outburst. I have simply never met a general who was so young."

It was the truth.
All of her uncle's generals had been rusty old men with grey hair and even grayer personalities. Nothing like the vibrant, enigmatic and handsome man sitting across from her. This brought that grin back to the corners of his mouth.

"You appear younger than I, and yet you have the brass to say that? Princess Illyria, you are too much." Illyria suspected he enjoyed teasing her far more than a gentleman should