The Grey Ones

JUNIPER

It could have been the wine, or the exhaustion that had come across her the moment she entered the encampment—but it was presumably the low vibrations of the Vasaath’s voice and the intentions in his words that caused the turmoil inside of Juniper. Her heart beat loudly in her chest and her ears, and she felt numbness come upon her.

She tried to convince herself that it didn’t mean anything; the Vasaath was hardly interested in her in such a way, she wasn’t of his kind. He found her beautiful but that did not have to mean a single thing. It was, however, difficult for her to try to convince herself of that when he kept looking at her with that burning gaze, his golden eyes as rich as honey. But she did wish—oh, how she wished!—she could catch the eye of someone like the Warlord, if there only was a human like him somewhere.

She had to look away. The general’s eyes became too intense, too intimate. She had to change the conversation. Clearing her throat, she kept her gaze on the table and said, “What happens now? With the peace, I mean?” There was a tense silence that made her slowly raise her eyes again.

The Vasaath’s demeanour had changed. His eyes had hardened, his jaw had clenched. Slowly, he straightened. “Your engagement with Lord Christopher tells us that your father and the Duke of Westbridge are forging an alliance. I have to assume they are preparing for war. So must I.”

Juniper swallowed hard. “I need you to know,” she started, but knew not how to continue. She sighed. “My father—I had no say in the arrangement. My father and Lord Cornwall made the decision despite my objections. My wishes and feelings were ignored in the matter, as in most matters.” She laughed nervously and shook her head. “Forgive me, I don’t know why I needed you to know that. I just want to assure you that I am still an advocate for peace.”

“Peace,” said he and knitted his brows, “is not on the table, and I am even less inclined to spare these lands when I see the evidence of the savagery you were put through, my lady.”

Juniper exhaled an unsteady breath. When being imprisoned in her own home she wondered whether or not it was foolish of them to fight the Kas—would it perhaps be better to just submit to the Kasenon? Would it be easier? When shut inside her room, filled with hatred towards her father and the Duke and his son, she certainly thought so. But now, she didn’t know.

Despite feeling safe with the Vasaath and despite running to him on her own accord, she wasn’t so certain anymore. To hear the Warlord himself speak of war and doomed peace was terrifying. Talk of war was never pleasant, but when he spoke of it, it sounded much more sinister. How much death would follow? How much suffering would ensue?

She had failed her mission—it was indeed all her fault. Had she not been sent as the ambassador, the treaty would not have been broken because of her absence. Had she not been sent to the Vasaath, she would not have been under his protection and her terrible fate, which was sealed the moment she was born into this world, would not have been an insult to his honour. It was indeed her fault that thousands of people were going to lose their lives at the hands of the Kas warriors.

She tried to keep her voice steady as she said, “Please, sir. I beg you to reconsider. Lord Cornwall and my father won’t make an alliance without me, and I am here, am I not? He has no more daughters to marry off.”

A deep groove had formed between the Vasaath’s eyebrows. Then he sighed and blinked slowly. “My lady, do you trust your father?”

She was taken aback by the question. It was unfair. Did he think she was a fool? “Forgive me, my lord, but if I tell you I do, you’ll call me gullible. If I tell you I don’t, you will ask how I could ever expect you to trust him.”

“Then how can you expect me to trust him?” he said, his teeth gritted.

“I never expected you to trust him,” Juniper said, her voice louder than she intended, “but I trusted you. My father is incompetent, yes, but I thought you had more patience than that!”

He glared at her and his anger was sudden and explosive. “I did not come here to deal with your petty politics! I came here to conquer. Peace was never an option.”

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms as she yelled, “Then why am I here?”

His nostrils flared, his eyes burned, and his body tensed. “Yes,” he roared, “why are you?”

Juniper was taken aback, shocked. She had felt so welcomed, and now she felt rejected. She knew not what delusions she had been under, but it was clear now that the Vasaath did not keep her because he cared but because he only played along with her father’s charades—now when the lies had been discovered, there was no more need for her. Now, she was just a pawn in the game of power and leverage.

The general seemed to try to contain his anger, but with little success. He growled lowly, “I think that is enough conversation for today.”

And that was the end of it. Juniper did not dare to press on. She feared she might lose her temper altogether. She rose, said good night like a civil person, curtsied, and left for the inner chamber. Indeed, she had not been granted the privilege to spend another night in a comfortable bed, but she didn’t bother asking. She figured it would not matter—war was coming either way. What was such a small insolence in the grand scheme of things?