Fida’ for the first time since the king himself had earned a slap from an outraged orphan, was angry. She was livid. Her Prince’s forces were decimated, his confidence and his pride were deeply wounded and she knew, despite her carefulness and avoidance of whole truths, she knew she had caused some of the damage. She had, for as long was safe, hidden her ability, lucky accidents and sneaky kills but in the midst of such a heinous battle what was she to do? Her prince was a capable fighter but with none to guard his rear it was inevitable she’d either lose him to the enemy or be found out.
The latter was her preferred option but he could barely look at her right now, his warriors killed, his own body saved by a serving girl, a peasant. She had told him nothing of import, that she had been raised a fighter despite the oddness of that in their culture and her father had died in the kings service so the King had given her employment. She couldn’t tell him the rest, for despite his strong confident eyes she could see how wounded he was and a further hit would knock him out. There’d be a time for truth and a time for honesty but it wasn’t now and didn’t seem to be in the foreseeable future.
She walked behind her prince, despite the injury he had taken to his leg he refused to allow her to aid him any further. He had sounded like a wounded tiger cub and she was frightened not by him but for him. To her his back looked ever so lonely, so lonely she wished to cry for him, instead she spoke not a word and watched that back. She protected not just because the King had asked it to be done but for him, no matter how poorly he’d treat her he was such a bright hope and his father, the country, had such aspirations for him. Idly she prayed to the sun that one day there’d be a woman to help him shoulder his burdens, an equal that could keep their country protected and in turn protect the prince.
Before her mind slipped fully into a fantasy world she drew her gaze from the wounded prince to glance around the remains of their camp. It was a bloody and scorched mess, bodies and pieces of bodies were everywhere, enemy and ally and the stench was as thick as the fog that threatened to roll in and cover the crime. Her blades, still gripped by slender handles remained at her sides, partially hidden by the cloth of her sleeves now stained pink and black with blood. She had taken a blade beneath the eye, a shallow cut that went straight across her cheek, an inch higher though and it may well have cost her sight.
“I will check for survivors my king.” She stated in little more than a whisper, bowing with one blade crossing her stomach, the black and red of enemies blood glistening on the sharp stiletto’s. She did not of course wait for the permission of her Prince, the enemy were long gone, any that were left were dying and should any make a move to the Prince she was likely to see them easily. Turning to slip between the bodies of the fallen and check the remains of tents for any who might still be drawing breath, no matter how hopeless it all seemed.