Bedding Camp

Chapter 4: Strawberries And Tragedy

"However long the night, dawn will break."
-Proverb

Chapter Four - Strawberries And Tragedy

“Now ladies, feel free to mingle as we will begin today's activities shortly." With that, the masked man turned, walked off the platform and re-entered his tent.

"Is everyone unharmed?" Illyria turned to face the others, quickly taking control of the situation. Scanning a crowd of familiar women, she was surprised at how different and even unfamiliar each of them looked with the clothing of their homeland no longer adorning them. A sea of different shades of hair hung un-fashioned and undone. Its impropriety made each of them look younger – delicate even.
Each of them nodded politely in response to the question asked.

"In the physical sense," grumbled Rosaline.

"Cousins?" Illyria called out.
The crowd parted slightly to allow Edwina and Natalie to push through to the front.

"We are alright Illyria," Natalie reassured.

"But the tradeswoman...." wearied Edwina.

"Do you believe that she really is unharmed?"

"I have no choice otherwise." answered the princess bluntly.
"But from what I have seen, I believe these Morwicks do keep their word, at least they will until our King arrives to take us all safely home and back to proper civility."

"It’s unnerving that someone has failed this venture so soon. What are we to do?" Called out Lady Grace. Though the tall, auburn-haired maiden tried her best to remain composed, you could hear the urgency beneath her cool voice.

"We are going to play along, but remain vigilant. We simply must find out what this test entails so that we can figure out how to avoid failure." Illyria stated the fact before she turned her attention directly to Rosaline, the shorter, petite brunette was shaking like a leaf. She placed a hand firmly on her friend’s shoulder. Rosaline never had the stomach for court ways, and control for emotion, that is why she had left for the convent.

"Have faith old friend. We shall get through this."

Lord Gale emerged from the big tent and led the women to what looked like a crude dining area. Fifty sets of the same style of two place tables and chairs that were in the tents had been set up, and plates of food lay steaming atop half the settings.

"Enjoy your breakfast ladies, I shall fetch you once you are all through." said the old man, and with a respectful half bow, he departed to let them eat in peace. Once he rounded the corner of the Sovereign’s tent, all eyes turned to Illyria once more, as the oldest princess, and unofficially, the Kings favorite niece, these facts had put her in charge in the eyes of the others.
So, this is what power feels like?
Illyria took a moment as it sunk in, staring back blankly at the sets of eyes staring so intently at her.
It felt... good. Addictive almost.

With a nod of her head, the women of Rowland each quietly found a seat and began to eat the food in front of them. Intricately carved wooden plates were piled high with steaming, spiced eggs, smoked ham, cheese, and a piece of warm, freshly baked bread.
Illyria picked up the silver cutlery with all the grace expected of a princess; her circumstances may be near that of a prisoner of war, but that didn't mean she would abandon her manners. She pierced the eggs with her fork and took a bite. They had an unexpected taste, her majesty had eaten many an egg in her day, but never one as scrumptious or as well-spiced. The morsel practically melted in her mouth.

"How much food do they think we eat?" Rosaline queried, putting a hand on the seat in the space across from her childhood companion.

"May I join you?" she asked, biting her lip as if fearful of rejection.