Zaketa presents a carefully crafted mask to the world; one of sharp edges, privilege, and bravado. Only those closest to her, her most loyal guards, know the real Zaketa. And she is so much more than what her warlord father has crafted her to be.
In...
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"Why did you become a guard?" Zaketa asked. The thick tumble of her dark chocolate hair was pulled back in a severe tail. Her mask hung around her neck as she jogged in place, letting out little puffs of steam as she started a round of dynamic stretches.
Rhys squinted at her, already wondering why she'd decided to take on this new position. The light of predawn was only just beginning to kiss the landscape. The heat of summer had long since slipped into the crisp chill of autumn. Leaves fell in drifts from the trees, yet the tell-tale crunch of frost underfoot was still a few weeks away. Training with the guards started early, but never this early. Only those still on night watch were awake at this hour.
Beside her, a broad-shouldered, beefy woman jogged, or rather, lumbered in place. Ismay, Zaketa's other guard, shook out her arms and shoulders, rolling her neck. There were audible pops. She was at least as old as Crucis — if not older — scarred and weathered. Like Crucis, she had a bit of a ponch, the rare luxury afforded to them as the Princess' own guards.
"I was tired of going hungry," Rhys finally answered. "The guards eat well."
Zaketa let out a breath and nodded. "So you went hungry before, in your tribe?"
Rhys narrowed her eyes at the plump girl before her. Did she really not know? "Most people go hungry in your kingdom, Princess."
"It's Zaketa," the princess corrected. "Your people are keen hunters, skilled at living off the land—"
"My people are dead." Rhys tightened her jaw, realizing all too late that she'd spoken out of turn.
Zaketa dropped her arms and came to a stop, those keen hazel eyes of hers fully on Rhys now. Rhys expected a slap, or a reprimand at the very least.
"All of your people?" Came the softly worded question. There was tenderness and sympathy in those words. Rhys would have been fascinated by this show of humanity if the questions hadn't hit so close to home.
"There are scattered bands in other territories, but my tribe is dead."
Zaketa considered this before beginning to jog in place once more, rolling her shoulders and rotating her head slowly from side to side, an elegant echo of Ismay's routine. When she was finished she spoke once more.
"It does not make me happy to hear the circumstances that brought you to me. Though I realize my father's policies likely caused your loss, I am glad that you found your way to the capitol and became a guard." She considered Rhys carefully. "I'd like to learn of you and your people. But, time is short. We must take advantage of the predawn. Father would like to keep me plump and pliable. A juicy bit of bait to lure a prospective alliance. I am meant to be nothing but an extension of him and his vision for this kingdom. He must not learn of these excursions or whatever else you may learn while in my company. Do you understand?"
Rhys gave a curt nod. Crucis had explained the need for secrecy. Had made it clear that she was now Zaketa's guard, and should her loyalty falter, she would have him to answer to. Crucis was a legend among the guard, as was Ismay. Rhys had no desire to cross either of them. She had little doubt the consequences of betraying them or the Princess would mean her death.
