Far From Home

29 April, 1358. Magdaline Castle, Islia

Camilla cracked her eyes open and tried to raise her head slightly. Her vision was blurry and the side of her head throbbed with pain. Exhausted, she fell back against something soft and closed her eyes again, seeking refuge in sleep. It was oddly quiet, without the noise and chaos of battle she last remembered hearing.

Her eyes popped open when she realised the silence meant she could no longer hear the battle raging outside Arlen Castle. Was it over? What had happened? Had her father's forces won against unlikely odds and defended the castle?

She blinked, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. There was a green velvet canopy draped above her, nothing like the one in her bedchamber. Where exactly was she? Camilla sat up, ignoring the almost blinding pain in her temples, and looked around. The room was unfamiliar.

She was on a bed within a large bedchamber, with walls made of rosy coloured stone and an ornate fireplace. Though the large arched window she could see the sun slowly sinking in the sky. She carefully swiveled her head searching for something, anything, familiar. Then she saw an armchair not far from the side of the bed and gasped.

A young man was sprawled on the armchair fast asleep, his arms crossed over his chest and his head slumped forward at an awkward angle. His upper body was free from armour but he was still wearing his cuisses and greaves, as if in his hurry he'd only had time to discard half his armour.

His fair hair partially covered his face, though she could see the line of his jaw and a pair of beautiful bow shaped lips. Why did he look vaguely familiar? Was he one of her father's men? But his armour looked different, so that couldn't be right.

Dread pooled in Camilla's chest when she remembered his face from Arlen Castle. She had been hiding inside a small guarderobe and listening in silent horror as the enemy soldiers had moved through the castle, slaughtering anyone they found. Camilla had stayed quiet even as men entered the room she was hiding in, biting her lip with fear. All until she heard the voice of Agatha, her old nursemaid, begging for her life in the room next door. She heard the clang of a weapon and the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh, silencing Agatha's pleas.

Despite her efforts to remain utterly silent, Camilla had whimpered in grief at Agatha's fate and a few moments later, the guarderobe door had been pulled open. A burly stranger in blood spattered breastplate peered down at her crouched form and grinned at her. "Well hello there." he'd rumbled. Her arm was grabbed and pulled with such force that she screamed, thinking it had surely come apart from her shoulder. She had stumbled to her feet as she was hauled out of her hiding place, to avoid being dragged across the floor.

Straightening up, Camilla had noticed three men around her, with another two entering the room. All of them clad in strange looking breastplates, and all of the staring at her as if she were a small animal about to be devoured. She had started to back away. The men laughed and moved forward slowly in unison, slowly cornering her.

Perhaps they were her uncle's men, in which case she had better beg for mercy. Her uncle had no love for the children of his half-brother, even less after the duke's treasonous uprising. She had no idea where her father or brothers were, and they couldn't protect her now.

She had turned her head a little, calculating. Could she reach the window slightly off to the side and leap through it? It would mean falling the distance of an entire floor before she hit the ground and she could be gravely injured by the impact. But it was still a chance of escape, no matter how slim. Would risking the fall be better or worse than just letting herself be captured and facing her uncle's wrath?

A fair haired young man strode into the room, in silvery armour and carrying his helmet. A pair of pale green eyes met hers, showing not even a hint of friendliness. She glanced at the crest engraved on his breastplate. It looked like a royal crest, but not that belonging to the Stephenson family, the royal house of Moraigth. Camilla had grown up surrounded by that crest, with the eagle soaring over a cluster of reeds. But this knight's crest was different-

The princess flinched when she realised what the crest represented. Her last glimmer of hope was snuffed out like a candle.

The royal house of Islia.

These men were Islians, foreigners invited by her own uncle to invade her kingdom and help bring down her rebellious father.

And now she would die at their hands.

One of the men lurched towards her and she quickly closed her eyes, bracing for the impact of a blow. But to her surprise, the fingers that grazed her throat didn't strangle her. Instead, they did something that in a way was even worse by tearing off her diamond necklace. The snapping sound created by the delicate chain breaking filled her eyes with tears.

Camilla knew it was ridiculous to cry over a necklace when she was about to die. But it had been her mother's favourite necklace, one of the few reminders she had left of her beloved mother. The brute who had stolen it dangled the diamonds far above her head while his companions howled with mirth.

She could have the jewels back in return for a kiss, the brute had told her as he roughly grabbed her chin. Fury flooded through her. If she was going to die regardless, it wouldn't be after being forced to kiss that monster. As he leaned forward Camilla raised her hand and slapped his face as hard as she could. The incredulous look on the man's red face was the last thing she remembered. And now…

She had no idea how much time had passed since, or where that brute was now. She turned again towards the man in the armchair and paled when she realised he was now awake and watching her quietly.

She gulped as he pushed the hair out of his eyes and and slowly straightened his back. "Do you know who I am?" he asked in a low voice.