The Prince And The Queen

Chapter One

Hustling around the small canvas tent, Iona yanked her long, chocolate brown hair up into the same loose knot she always wore as she collected her clothes strewn across the floor. Hearing a groan come from the flat, threadbare mattress behind her, Iona turned back to see Prince Desmond finally waking up. Eyes still shut, he flexed his strong, tanned arms over his head for a few seconds before rolling over and nuzzling back into his pillow. "Getting ready for the day already? Come back to bed, let the men get started without us," he implored without so much as looking at her, patting the empty space beside him. His voice was scratchy and deep, tempting her ever so slightly, but the feeling flitted away in a second. The Prince had brought some troops over the border from his kingdom to train with her squad and assist in domain rebuilds. She was grateful for the help. And the...physical company. Mostly.

"First of all, you shouldn't even be here. You were supposed to go back to your own tent before dawn," she huffed. "I got word last night that King Theron wants me back at the palace as soon as possible, so I'll need you to take the lead on construction. Honestly, I should have left right when I got the message, but-"

"-But you just couldn't leave without spending one more night with me?" Desmond crooned. "I don't blame you." He slunk out of the bed, ambled over and enveloped Iona in his arms. The same touch that she found fun last night had lost its charm in the light of day, and a hostile response mounted itself in her mind. Desmond leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, but Iona was quick to draw in her shoulders toward her ears and lean away before he found his mark. Unfazed, he whispered, "And, if I didn't sleep here, then I wouldn't get to see that angry little face you make when I don't obey your commands, which I just love. It's the perfect way to start my day." Iona shook him off, earning an arrogant smirk that lit up his striking, deep blue eyes- the eyes that always managed to convince her a roll in the sack was extremely necessary any time the two were in the same vicinity.

Iona shook him off, stoicism turning to obvious displeasure. Truthfully, none of her men could care one bit about what she did in her personal life, but she preferred to be less blatant about her sexual escapades and maintain some semblance of professionalism with the soldiers around. She was more irritated at herself for letting Desmond stay the night, but he was being a prick, so she didn't feel all that compelled to be nice. Iona tugged on her weathered brown riding boots over a thick pair of wool socks, and made the inevitable pivot from bedfellows to coordinating officers. Donning her High Commander voice, she directed Desmond, "Break up the men into teams of eight, and finish pouring foundations and building frames. Some parts of the land still need leveling, too. I'll come back through with more men when I'm finished at the palace to complete the walls and final inspections."

"Actually, I'm going to have my men finish the walls on the foundations that we put up when we first arrived, then some families can move in right away and get out of the temporary shelters," he replied, with a slight force in his tone. Iona looked up at the canvas ceiling, closing her eyes, and grasping for a bit of patience. Why can he not just shut the hell up and listen? she swore. Rebuilding Chrysos was Iona's responsibility as High Commander, and she needed to ensure everything was completed to her standard.

"Those foundations aren't ready, Dez" she stated, turning to face the man who was still meandering about her room. Now that she was fully dressed, Iona was eager to get on the road and past this discussion.The King was waiting on her, and the conversation was veering into waste-of-time territory.

Desmond pursed his lips and clicked his tongue before he continued. "If they aren't ready, we won't build walls. If they are ready, then we will. I'll have my men, who I brought here out of the goodness of my own heart, build what I tell them to build. See, Iona, you sometimes forget that my authority does not bow to yours." The condescension with which he said her name snaked its way into her ears, a reminder that the good favor their relationship held only lasted so long. Desmond stalked over to Iona while she loaded the last of her things into a bag. She turned to face him, cranking her neck back to meet his eye line. The visiting prince loomed two heads taller than the High Commander, at least. Her father once said she had the steadfastness and strength of a great oak, which was a lovely thought, but sometimes she wished she had the height to match.

"Fine, Prince Desmond," she bit back, "Have it your way. But please, report back to me how it goes when you arrive at the shelter to decide which families get to move into homes weeks before everyone else. Though, I have a feeling that might cause some general unhappiness and possibly even resentment within the community. Which is exactly what we don't want when we're trying to put a whole kingdom back together after a twenty year war that broke this entire place apart." Sharp in her tone, Iona couldn't leave Desmond with any delusion that his opinion mattered here.

Dez scowled, and ran a hand through his ashy blonde locks; Iona cocked her head to the side thinking about the night before, as she was grabbing that same hair for stability while wrapped around him, but now she was stopping herself from ripping it out if he argued with her for one more second. He crooked his jaw, pressing his tongue against his teeth, "Do you ever get tired of being so full of yourself, Iona?"

"Do you?" she threw back, grabbing Yuna, her trusty sword, off the table near the door, sheathing it, and ducking through the canvas. Ah, shit, I forgot. She popped her head back into the tent, "If you catch word of any hostile encounters, let me know. We're still searching for their hideout." Before he had a chance to respond, Iona was on the move again. She had to get to the capital city as soon as she could, and she was out of time and patience to argue with him.

Desmond was Prince of Morencis, the land to the east of Chrysos. His father, King Ashrae, had been a key ally over the last thirty years, first providing support during the War, then labor and supplies to help reconstruct all that was destroyed in the ten years after. While Chrysos owed them a debt of gratitude, it benefitted Morencis even more if their ally got trade back up and running, hence his willingness to lend out his son and his armies. And since there was still work to be done, Iona assumed she'd see Desmond again soon anyways- they always seemed to fall back together. It was a convenient arrangement, at the least, casual fun with a hot prince she was never going to marry. Not only because she had no interest in being a princess, but also because she could only stand to be around Dez in short bursts. To be fair, he couldn't stand to be around her either.

Her boots crunched against the dry grass as she jogged from the tent out to the makeshift stables. Her steed, Tower, whinnied at the sight of her. She unwrapped his reins from the post, and pressed her forehead against his deep, stormy gray muzzle. "Good morning, boy, ready for a long ride?" she asked, grabbing a hold of the saddle. Despite the fact that Tower was almost a foot taller than the other horses, Iona could swing herself up with ease after all their years together. All settled in, the pair took off together for a three day ride to the palace. The summons from the King replayed in her mind as they galloped along the road, "Iona, you're needed here immediately- important plans to discuss. Return to the capital city as soon as possible. Ride safe." It was less than ideal to have to leave behind her work there in the towns, but when Theron called, Iona answered. At least I can enjoy the change of scenery for now. Chrysos was heading towards the beginning of winter, but the days remained warm enough for the time being, and the trees lining either side of the dusty road were varying, rich shades of maroon, orange, and gold.

A sense of unease rumbled up in Iona a few hours into the ride. Over the last ten years, she couldn't remember King Theron interrupting an ongoing reconstruction project, so whatever he was calling her back for must be something concerning. The obvious case in her mind would be that something was flaring up with the hostiles who vanished after the War, rebels still loyal to their former leaders, the Ladrons. They had launched small attacks here and there, almost all robberies. but they'd managed to evade Chrysos' armies at every turn. Have they been found? Does Theron fear another war is brewing?

The very thought of another war formed a pit in her stomach, and Iona gripped Tower's reins a bit harder and cleared her head as best she could. These fears were unfounded until she knew more. Iona had a bad habit of spiraling, convincing herself of the worst case scenario coming to life in these sorts of situations, impatience to know every detail ruining her focus. A few days, and I'll have my answer. Maybe it's nothing.

Or maybe it's not.