VIKING AND THE TIGRESS.

❧CHAPTER 11: PLANNING.

(Written).
(Edited).

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She had gone back to her hut, just before the sun fully settled. Hours passed by as twilight blanketed the sky. The moon hung high and proud, and the stars twinkled in the midnight sky like little fireflies. She slept peacefully in her chamber, yet, she tossed around the sheets covering her bare skin. Sweat dripped down her rising chest as they clung to her body. What was she thinking about? Although the night was airy and cool, heat still found its way to her body, causing her massive discomfort.

The morning she woke up, she forgot what had happened last night. Her mind ruminated over and over through her plans and its outcome. She ran through so many possible scenarios of what could go wrong until a hand placed on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up at the male and she smiled gratefully at him. He understood — no words exchanged — as he responded with a nod and a small smile of his. She looked forward at the path she was walking through with four other males.

These males are — what you could say — her trustees. Drawing her attention out of their bickering, she focused her eyes on the path ahead, though her mind was somewhere else. She didn't even know when one of the males had called out to her, and as she noticed, she blanched not knowing what to do with six pairs of eyes looking at her. Snapping out of her daze, she cocked a brow at them making the male repeat his question. Yet, her head was slightly muddled with anxiety, doubt, and worse... fear.

She was afraid, scared, terrified. ‘So many things could go wrong....! And if that happens, the deaths of so many people would be on her hand’. Her head was riddled with so many questions of "what if's".

‘What if the plan doesn't go accordingly?’ ;

‘What if someone died? Someone she cares about...’

But of course, she couldn't answer these questions that plagued her mind.

“Please stop thinking too much, your Highness,” a male spoke. She hadn't taken note that she was mumbling to herself, and as her men kept shut when she didn't answer the question, what she said rang out loud and clear. She jumped up, startled, then she visibly relaxed and said: “Don't call me 'your Highness.'” They wanted to refute her claims, but she held up a single finger to silence them. “We are not in public, there's no one here. So please don't make use of formalities whenever there's nobody around”. She surmised.

They gaped at her claims... At her demand. They had no other choice but to accept. In politics, there's nothing like friends. There are allies, those you keep in touch with for both parties to benefit from each other. There are acquaintances and associates; there are enemies, but there is no friend in things of politics. If there are, then these friends would be used against you; they would be used as leverage to gain something from you. And you, having no other choice, would give in. The males knew this, and that's why they were shocked at what she had said. Even though she didn't say the 'f' word out loud, they still knew what it meant, and that warmed their heart. Yes, she looked tough on the outside, but years of staying with her had made them know that that's what she uses to protect herself, just in case someone hurts her. It's sad, not having the trust to open up to someone, and the males somehow pitied her. But they knew that she wouldn't like their pity, as ‘...It makes me feel weak...’ She had said to them.

They trudged slowly, as if they thought of what they were about to do next was a crime. Technically, it was, somehow. But still, it was a necessity, a reluctant one albeit. They reached the place, the meeting site and it felt like a huge stone had dropped on her heart as she looked at the imposing building, one that the whites had erected.