The Witch's Cursed Daughter

65. Rebellion Ahead

"I do not know," Wen sighed, "unlike most other feats that my sister brazenly boasts about, this was a victory she did not share the details of. Our father seemed to have a working hand in the matter, but I was unable to find any information on what had taken place at the time."

The tent was quiet; soft yells in the distance reminded the group that the battle continued without them. Ugly crusts of blood and mud on their boots oozed a putrid scent that flooded Wen's mind with picture reels of Evianna's cell. Momentarily shutting his eyes, Wen cleared his thoughts before Romile spoke over the far-off calls.

"Why would the King send his ten-year-old daughter to the frontlines anyway? She is obviously his favourite child," pausing Romile glanced over to Wen, who did not react to the words. Dipping his eyes, Romile added with a mumble, "No offense, Your Highness. I mean Imperial Highness."

"None taken; I am under no illusions about my father. Due to Illea's Magical Heritage, her abilities have always been strong; I'm guessing that she was capable enough to put on a display that shocked Rohnelle enough that they shied away from confronting Waldemyre for a time."

"Perhaps it was some manner of experimental technique," Voster suggested, as he cleared a seat for himself which had been hidden under maps and untouched paperwork.

Julian laughed sharply in return, slumping further into his chair behind the map table and swinging his feet onto the scored wooden top. "Are you suggesting that Illea scared an army with one of her research projects? I doubt it."

"You can't completely rule out the possibility, Your Highness."

"I can, or have you forgotten, the Chimeras she created that the King so kindly gifted us on the day of our departure?" His eyes darkened as he pulled at his long black fringe, rubbing the unkempt ends between his fingertips. "Those beasts did not even make it to the frontlines before turning savage, killing almost fifty of our men before being put down. Our party was delayed by more than a day, costing us valuable land to the Northern army."

"I remember, Your Highness, but you must admit that the princess is talented. One failure does not negate that," Voster's tone had reminded the same, but his expression was beginning to shift; a tired expression, exhaustion, boredom and frustration, an expression that Wen knew well.

"Wen, I suppose you have come with news other than its time to attack," Julian said loudly as if he had been irked by Voster's face.

"Indeed," the first prince replied, trying to keep his amusement from showing, "I have been recruiting members for on the oncoming fight against the crown."

"And?"

"The Head of the Order of Anzu has answered my call."

At the mention of the knightage, Voster and Julian turned their gazes to Romile, who had stiffened at the very name. As a young boy, he had trained himself hard enough to awaken as a Blade Master; this resulted in praise and ego, which was unmatched, except by one man.

"My father? Are you sure?" Romile asked, eyes wide like a moon on a cloudless night.

Wen nodded as he waited for an explosion to die down before speaking, "Sir Everett Vol Fassie is more than willing to replace the current monarch, provided that his position is unencumbered by any changes to the nobility upon the new reign."

Romile laughed dryly, "Of course," in the yellow-tinged light that penetrated the tent, Romile looked empty. Feeling others' eyes on him, the Guard smiled and wandered over to Julian, patting him on the shoulder, "Well, Your Highness, I guess you have the whole Fassie family backing you."

"Romile, I know how you feel about your father, considering the incident with your elder brother in the past; however, The Order of Anzu is a powerful knightage, and your father is also a Blade Master, which brings our total up to four," Julian reassured.

"I wouldn't be too excited about holding an advantage, Julian," Wen interjected into the softened atmosphere.

"Why is that?"

"The Grandmaster is irrefutably siding with the King. However, out of respect for me, his student, and our time together on the battlefield, he will not share my intentions with our father...."

"But he knows that we will be coming," as Julian finished the sentence, his mouth transformed into a desert, and his heart raced faster than a stampede.