How The Warrior Fell (Falling Warriors series Book 1) (8 page)

At Tristan’s nod, Xavier gathered his reins tighter in his hands.

“Ride out!” Xavier called to his men loudly over his shoulder before he kicked Killix’s side and took off in a gallop, twenty men following after him on their own horses as they charged after the unknown.

It was dark. The once-roaring fires of the camp were now nothing but embers, and the men all scattered around the encampment were fast asleep.

Leawyn silently and stealthily made her way around the bodies, her booted feet making no sound as she quickly made her way to where the horses were. Spotting her mare, she quickly rushed to her.

Deydrey nickered softly when she caught sight of her, and Leawyn hastily shushed her. “Quiet now, Deydrey,” Leawyn whispered softly to her, petting her velvety soft nose. “We must be quiet.”

When Deydrey made no more sounds, Leawyn made quick work of putting on the saddle and tying necessary items to withhold her until she was farther away from her imprisonment. She was just about to grab the reins when a voice behind her caused her to freeze in her tracks.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Leawyn whirled around and faced the person who spoke, feeling her heart drop when she met the boyish, dark brown eyes which belonged to Tristan. His face was void of any emotion as he stared at her; only his eyes glittered with unspoken words.

“You were just taking a quiet walk,” Tristan said casually, taking measured steps towards her. “Because I know you weren’t trying to escape . . . were you, Leawyn?” Tristan asked her as he finally stopped in front of her, staring into her cerulean eyes seriously.

“Please,” Leawyn whispered. “I can’t go back to him.” She shook her head, her small hands clutched into fists. “Please don’t make me go back to him!” Leawyn pleaded, her eyes seeming to shine in the moonlight reflecting off her unshed tears. Tristan didn’t reply.

“I know you care; I can see it in your eyes.” Leawyn’s lip trembled as Tristan’s brows furrowed, his eyes flashing with an unknown emotion.

By his expression, she could see she was right; he did care. He knew she was far too innocent and pure to deserve the treatment his older brother gave her.

“Please, let me go . . .” Leawyn begged desperately, searching Tristan’s eyes for any indication he would let her leave. But he stood there, staring down at her much like he did at her wedding.

“Please.”

Tristan’s expression turned pained. For the second time, he drove the spear through what little hope she held.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his face scrunching up with mixed emotions.

Her heart broke as the tears slowly slid down her cheeks. She was so hurt that Tristan would betray her. But then again, why wouldn’t he obey his brother and chief over helping her?

“He’s my brother, and you are his wife,” Tristan said as he gently but firmly grabbed her arm. Leawyn didn’t fight him; she just let him take her away in defeat. When she felt she could no longer hold her own weight, Tristan swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way back to camp.

He placed her down on the bed, staring into her eyes as he gently took her wrists and tied them together, then secured them to the bedpost holding up the pallet. He pulled away, and Leawyn stared into his eyes. He looked sad and guilty. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, wiping a salty tear from her face with his lips.

“I’m sorry, Leawyn,” he whispered hoarsely, holding her head to his lips for a moment more before he rose to his feet and walked out, leaving her tied up to the bed like the prisoner she was.

I
T HAD BEEN
almost five days since Tristan caught her trying to sneak out, and Leawyn had never felt so much like a prisoner than she did now.

Every day Tristan would come in and give her water and meals. During the day, he would unbind her wrists. He knew she had no chance of escape because he always had a guard posted outside her tent.

The only time he let Leawyn outside was when she begged him to because she was going stir crazy.

But even then, Leawyn was guarded with him by her side.

When nightfall came, Tristan would again tie Leawyn to the bed to make sure she didn’t try to escape.

The only good grace was that Tristan didn’t tell anyone about her almost-escape.

Sometimes, Tristan would try to talk to Leawyn, but each time he did, she ignored him. She knew she was being a bit irrational and childish to be snubbing him like she was; it wasn’t his fault she was stuck with a man she didn’t love.

It wasn’t his fault the man was his brother and chief. Tristan would be held accountable for her actions, and the repercussions of going against the chief of the tribe were dire.

It would be like Lyrical and Chienef all over again.

It was wrong of Leawyn to ask him to betray his brother for her. But even with her rationalizing, Leawyn couldn’t bring herself to forgive him.

Eventually, Tristan stopped trying to talk to her and let her be.

Each night Tristan would guard her tent, she would cry herself to sleep. She knew he could hear her.

Leawyn looked up at the sound of someone coming towards her tent. Figuring it was Tristan coming to bring her the evening meal, she turned her attention away, content on ignoring him.

However, the unfamiliar sound of another deep voice caused her to whip her head back to look at the man in front of her in surprise.

“Who are you?” she asked, her tone a bit more rude than she intended.

She quickly cast her eyes down to her hands, worried she offended him. She didn’t know much about the Izayges men, but if they were anything like her husband, they wouldn’t appreciate her tone.

“Easy now, I only came to bring your meal.” The man held up the small bowl in his hand as proof. “No need to kill the server.” He chuckled, placing the bowl in her hands.

At Leawyn’s look of surprise, the man chuckled again, his teeth showing as he gave her an attractive smile.

“Don’t look so surprised, ‘tis not like we want to starve you.”

“I know that! It’s just—” Leawyn flushed in embarrassment. “I was afraid I offended you.”

Leawyn blinked when the man let out a booming laugh.

“I have no reason to be offended of a girl asking for a name to an unfamiliar man, now have I?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with humor.

“Well, when you say it like that . . .” Leawyn mumbled. “Yet, you still fail to answer the question,” she said when she got a hold of her embarrassment.

“Ah, you’d be correct! Tyronian, at your service!” Tyronian bowed down mockingly at her in humor.

At Leawyn’s small giggle, Tyronian winked.

Leawyn took a moment to look at Tyronian. He was the only male besides her husband and Tristan she’d had a semi-conversation with.

Tyronian was tall, but not as tall as Xavier. He was built much like Xavier, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles in both his arms and legs. Leawyn was certain that behind his armor he had a very toned stomach.

He did not look at all like any of the other Izayges men she caught a glimpse of. In fact, he looked more like her people. Blond hair that stopped just above his shoulders, and sparkling blue eyes. Tyronian was different; Leawyn could tell. He lacked the usual cold indifference most of the Izayges men had, and instead he was warm and welcoming. Already, Leawyn could tell he had a good sense of humor.

She instantly liked him.

“Leawyn,” she introduced before taking a small, hesitant sip of the soup in her bowl.

It was disgusting.

“I hope you like it. I made it myself.”

Leawyn quickly stopped herself from spitting the soup back into her bowl.

“Hmm . . .” Leawyn forced herself to swallow it. “It’s good,” she coughed out, shooting a false reassuring smile at Tyronian. “Just hot.”

Tyronian beamed at her. “That is because I put a special type of spice in it!”

“Are you Rhoxolani?” she asked as a way to cover her grimace before she took another sip of the foul soup.

“No, but you are not the first one to ask.” Tyronian chuckled, pulling up a seat in front of her. “My mother was Siraces, my father Izayges.”

“Siraces?” Leawyn inquired, puzzled. “I thought the Siraces and the Izayges didn’t get along. Since Lyrical slept with a Siraces man the night of her wedding,” she pointed out unnecessarily.

“They don’t really, but my father’s brother thought it a good idea. So he arranged for my father to marry the Siraces chief’s daughter.” He paused before he grinned impishly at Leawyn. “Y’know, for tribe unity and all.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can see the Siraces relation now,” Leawyn said dryly. “You said your ‘father’s brother.’ Was your uncle the chief before?” Leawyn asked, readying herself to take another sip of the soup.

“He was.” Tyronian nodded in agreement. “But when my father died, his son took over as chief.”

He was quiet as he watched her take another spoonful of her soup.

“Xavier is my cousin.”

This time Leawyn
did
spit out her soup.

Tyronian frowned when she went into a coughing fit. He thumped her on the back a couple of times—which almost knocked her off the bed.

“I’m fine!” Leawyn coughed out, waving his hand away. She took in a deep breath before she looked up at Tyronian with wide eyes.

“Xavier is your cousin?” Leawyn squeaked out in disbelief.

Tyronian frowned down at her again, his brows drawing together. “Well, yes. His father was my uncle and chief before Xavier took over. I am third in line, should anything happen to Tristan.” He spoke slowly, as though he was explaining something complicated to a child.

“I know how it works!” Leawyn snapped, glaring at him. “I’m just surprised. You look nothing like him.”

“’Tis a fact I’m very proud of!” Tyronian laughed, standing up from his chair. He bent down and placed his hand out to take the bowl back from Leawyn, which she gladly gave over to him. “I am better looking, after all.”

Leawyn watched him walk towards the flap of the tent in a daze.

“’Till next time, my Lady Chief!” Tyronian called over his shoulder. He flashed her one last mischievous grin before he ducked out of the tent.

She stared after him, waiting for him to come back and laugh at her for falling for his joke. But the longer she stared at the flap in stunned disbelief, the more she knew it wasn’t a joke. Tyronian was Tristan’s cousin, which meant he was Xavier, her 
husband
’s, cousin. Third in line to be chief of the Izayges.

When she was fully able to process it, only two things remained on her mind.

If Tyronian was the chief, she imagined she would actually like the Izayges.

Why couldn’t she marry 
him?