Alexandria: The Lost Princess

Chapter 7 - Part 1

*Warning: mild triggers within this chapter I will highlight with a '*' where they begin and end.

Entering the Village of Faycliff, several soldiers direct us towards a small hut. Quinton humming with delight in an odd victorious way. Men fall out of the building onto the dirt that had tuffs of worn out grass. If it rained here, there would be a massive mud pit. Not a single horse is posted out front by the trough even though there are all these men.

Kalen leans down, his fingers digging into my arm and he whispers, "This is a tavern, there is ale here, and men behave strangely when they drink it. Don't leave my side, please." He almost sounds desperate at the end. Is he afraid I will get away with the help of these men? Nonetheless, I nod in understanding of his concerns. Drunken men are not foreign to me, Uncle drank all the time, shouting profanities and smashing things. Always slurring out stories about his better days, I guess I really was a burden to him.

The tavern is bustling with stumbling men, all parting for our arrival. The soldiers bail from their post at our side and march to the counter for drinks of their own. The Northern Clan would never leave a woman unprotected.

A strong odour of stale yeast hangs in the air. Why had they brought us here? Drunks lean over the tables staring at us curiously. This wasn't planned, this isn't an ambush. Looking down nervously, I stumble closer to Kalen. Stains from spilled ale litter the floor. Reaching out for Kalen's hand, he instantly grabs mine, squeezing gently in understanding. A small amount of comfort and safety flows through me. I need him right now, in this situation, I could rely on him.

We migrate to a corner table, a sweaty man sits among empty chairs. His bare foot elevated on the table and a flask of ale tipped to his lips. The foot swollen and red with infection. Whether I am pretending to be Cecile or not, this man needs treatment, and I am the best he is going to get.

Quinton leans on the table studying my every movement. Did I want Quinton to introduce me to this Nicholas Harris? Is it a risk I can take for a possible safe return to the Northern Clan? Kalen places himself between Quinton and myself, he leans over the chair I am to sit in. Sliding into the seat, I inspect the foot. Pus oozes from the wound, slightly embedded inside is a snake's tooth, looking no different than a large splinter. Struggling to recall the liquid Kalen poured over my injury, I look to him.

"She will need ale and a cloth," he informs Quinton.

With a snap of Quinton's fingers, a man rushes over placing the items on the table.

Putting the Soldier's foot in my lap, I look into his anxious eyes, sweat dripping over his brow.

"Don't bite your tongue now," I attempt to smirk, trying to keep with my impersonation until I'm sure of what to do.

He tilts his head in confusion, and I quickly grip my tiny fingers around the tooth ripping it from his foot. A small splinter shaped tooth is pressed between my fingers, the soldier groans and brings me back to the matter at hand. Pressing the cloth down, I try easing the sting. Lifting the fabric, I pour the ale along his wound, and it dribbles down his foot and onto the table, the soldier hisses. Whipping the cut clean, I drop the fang onto the table with success.

I move the foot to the floor, and the soldier hisses when his foot pounds against the floor. "You'll live," I chuckle.

A silence fills our table, and Kalen tugs me away from the table, eager to leave. His muscles flexing with impatience and a tenseness I haven't seen from him. Kalen can't be afraid of the Northern Clan, they are scared of him. Why are all these men drunk to stupor. Could there really be this many clan members in one location exposing their faces like this? The hoods from before flash in my mind.