The Princess’s Bodyguard Can’t Say No

The road to Redhill was bad.

Stones and dust were on the road, tree roots protruding like bones from the ground. The mist hadn't cleared.

It clung to the leaves and congealed in the lowest places in the road. Crows cawed overhead. Something moaned in the distance.

Reth and Asthia rode in silence.

Asthia's black robe was cinched in around her. Her hood was over her head, and red eyes snapped back and forth—watching darkness, listening for sounds.

Reth strode alongside her, a satchel across one shoulder. He threw glances over his shoulder every few steps. Habit rather than fear.

"How far?" he asked.

"Half a day," she said. "If the road is steady."

Reth gazed around at the deserted woods. "It's quiet."

"It's not," she said.

She didn't elaborate.

And that ended the conversation.

 .

Later, they reached a low ridge. Reth stopped and pointed. "There. See it?"

Above the trees and fog, a tiny village nestled between the forest. There was smoke coming from several chimneys. Perhaps ten buildings total. Wooden. Uncomplicated.

Reth observed the smoke ascend. "Be worth a look. Perhaps they have food. If they are welcoming."

Asthia ceased pacing.

"No," she said.

He turned toward her. "Why not?"

"That is not a village."

He frowned. "Seems to be one."

Her eyes were still fixed on the distant rooftops. "No animals. No crops. No watch posts. No noise. Who constructs out here with no guard, no road, no reason?"

Reth studied it again. The place seemed off now. Too quiet.

"Tribals," she'd said. "Raiders. Maybe worse. Some of them kill travelers, barbecue their meat, and toss the bones in the fire. You come in looking for soup. By nightfall, you're supper."

Reth's jaw hardened. "You sure?"

"Close enough."

That settled it.

They took a wide detour around the place.

An hour had passed. The trees drew in closer. The path grew slick with mud. The light struggled to penetrate. Now.

Then they heard it.

Footsteps.

Behind them.

Reth stopped as Asthia pulled one hand in without even turning towards him. She leaned forward, cocking her head. Listening.

"Four," she breathed.

He nodded once. No surprise.

Then the creaking of twigs.

Four men appeared from behind the trees. Tall and skeletal, dressed in dust and bone beads. Hollow eyes. Vacant faces. One had red paint running down his face in dirty stripes.

They uttered nothing.

Just stared and grinned.

Reth slowly raised his arms. "We don't want to make any trouble," he said. "Let us through. That's all."

They both laughed. One of them ran his tongue back and forth over his teeth.

The one covered in paint stepped forward. Reth could smell him now—sweat, rot, and something else. His voice was crude and husky. "You talk pretty," he said. "But you still bleed."

The other man waved at Asthia. "Leave the girl alone. You can go."

Reth didn't move.

He looked over at Asthia.

She hadn't winced.

She wasn't even looking at them.

She was gazing at him.

Then, her voice cut through the fog.

"Reth."

The pull was instant.

[Command Issued: Kill them.]

It acted before he could think.

His hand moved.

His sword slid free with a metallic snap.

One of the men stepped forward—and that was as far as it went.

Reth swung low, slicing through the wrist that held a blade. Next, he sliced higher—through the throat.

Blood splattered the leaves like rain might.

The second man stepped back, but Reth didn't pause. He drove the sword into his side, yanked it, pulled it out.

The third tried to run.

Reth didn't follow.

The fourth shrieked and raised a club. Reth dodged the blow, kicked his knee with his boot, and drove the blade down through the man's chest.

That quickly—it was finished.

The forest fell silent again.

Reth stood in it, chest rising and falling. There was blood on his blade. His hands shook slightly.

He looked around at Asthia.

She said nothing.

She was staring past him.

Reth turned to look.

That's when he smelled it.

Not blood.

Meat.

Cooked meat.

He trudged through the bodies, the smell leading him. Just short of the trees, behind a broken log, he found it.

A fire pit.

Warm.

Yes, warm.

On the surface was a flat log with a knife stuck in it. The knife was covered in blood. And the log… it wasn't to chop firewood.

It was to cut meat.

By the fire was a scrap of cloth.

A child's boot. Half buried in the mud.

Reth walked more slowly now. He did not wish to see.

But he did.

At the rear of the pit lay the bodies.

Three of them.

A man. A woman. A small boy.

Ripped in two. Faces half eaten. Bite wounds on their arms, their legs, their sides. Amputated limbs. Charred remains at the edge of the fire.

Reth stood there.

His sword still clenched in his hand. Knuckles white.

Behind him, Asthia spoke. Soft. Cold.

"You tried to be kind."

He didn't answer.

"You gave them rest."

Still he didn't answer.

Her boots moved behind him. Leaves crunching beneath.

"And they were chewing on children."

Reth closed his eyes.

The [System] chimed quietly:

[Obedience Complete – EXP Gained: +24]

[Loyalty Sync: +2.1% – Morality Confirmed]

[Emotional Note: Justification Logged]

Asthia turned. Her cloak snagged against his arm as she passed.

"Let's go," she said.

Reth stood there an extra moment.

He looked at the dead bodies. The fire. What was left.

Then he followed her.

They walked silently for a while.

The trees were still thick, but the trail did seem slightly less entwined now. Less tangled. The air wasn't as heavy. But whatever Reth had seen back there—the fire, the dead bodies, the shoe—stayed with him. And was not like to leave.

The blood on his gloves had evaporated. It clung between the folds of his knuckles like jam. He made no effort to scrape it away.

Asthia hadn't looked back since they left the clearing. She walked with the same deliberate steps she always walked, as if it didn't bother her in the slightest.

And then she spoke.

"There is a trade road nearby," she stated. "Old one. Traders used it before the Main route to redhill were built."

Reth looked over at her. She wasn't looking at him—just in front, focused.

"People still use it occasionally. Families. Small caravans. Anyone who's trying to get through to Redhill in a hurry."

He nodded his head slowly. "That family, you think they—"

"They were headed east," she stated. "They must have felt secure."

She breathed. "Just woods. Just mist. No need to be frightened."

Reth said nothing.

Asthia's tone was milder now. Not cold. Just tired.

"They weren't travelers. Not towards the end."

Reth looked down the length of the trail, watching how the mud seeped beneath their feet.

"They probably didn't even realize they were getting ambushed," she went on. "The tribals move stealth behind. Wait until nightfall. They attack the quiet ones. The ones with children."

He was sick again, just remembering it.

Asthia spoke the next words in a pause.

"They've done it before. And they would've done it again."

Reth looked at her. Her expression was always the same—governed, stoic—but there was something about her voice that was different. Not remorse. Not sorrow. But heaviness. Like it had cost her something.

"That's why we don't hesitate."

He didn't argue. Because she was right.

And part of him detested the way right she was.

They moved a little further before he spoke again. His voice was low.

"Why isn't the Empire doing anything about this?"

Asthia did not slow down.

"About what?"

"These people. These monsters. The whole region. Why let this happen? Why not send soldiers to drive them out?"

Asthia breathed—not a sigh, just an exhalation that had something bitter in it.

"No one is going to clean it out, Reth."

He glared. "Why not?

At last she looked at him.

"Because this is Graykeep," she replied. "The capital doesn't care what gets done out here."

"But it's still the Empire."

"Paperly."

Reth's jaw tightened. "That family was headed somewhere. They believed in this place. Believed in the banner that flies over it."

She stepped over a broken branch.

"There's no one out here worth saving. No grain fields. No noble lines. No true trade. Just iron. And even that only comes from one place—Redhill."

She looked at him again, calm and matter-of-fact.

"The cost of getting rid of Graykeep is more than the profit that it yields. So the Empire does what empires do when things are too broken."

She paused.

"They pretend it doesn't exist."

He continued to look forward again. The path felt heavier under his feet.

"And you're all right with that?" he inquired.

Asthia's reply was immediate. "No."

Reth watched her. The way she never tripped. The way her cloak fluttered with each quiet tread. She wasn't unsettled by what they saw.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe she'd seen worse. Maybe she just didn't have the energy to care anymore.

They walked as the forest grew less dense.

Mist clung close, but the trees yielded to brambles, to naked stone. Gravel snapped beneath feet. The air shifted—pine giving way to iron and smoke.

A ridge loomed ahead. They walked in silence.

And they saw it.

Redhill.

The town blunted against the cliff face, as if hammered into position and defying anyone to budge it.

Three sides were closed by serrated stone walls. The fourth was closed with a tall wooden barricade banded with black iron.

Six towers looked down. Movement stirred behind the slits—guards, armed and watchful. Crossbows followed without winking.

No banners waved for display. The one which did fly—a red field with a black split fang—appeared more like a warning than an invitation.

Smoke streamed from chimneys. Stone structures made up the backbone of the town, with wood frames grouped around them like ribs.

Ropes hung between roofs. Thin alleys passed through blacksmith shops, taverns, and bunkhouses. Even at this distance, you could hear the clanging.

They drew their cloaks around them.

Both had ash-gray robes, frayed and indistinct. Mercenary garb. Enough to be ignored without seeming soft.

Asthia had done even more—applied soot under Reth's eyes, covered her own face with a cloth wrap, and tucked her hair under the hood.

Two anonymous wanderers. That was all they had to be.

She spoke low. "Let me do the talking."

Reth nodded. No disagreement.

By the time they reached the gate, the air was charged tight.

"Travelers coming," someone shouted up. Sharp. Cold. As if they'd called it a hundred times and were tired of issuing warnings.

Crossbows clacked into place. The gate remained closed.

"Halt."

They did.

One second elapsed. Then a hatch in the palisade swung open. A guard emerged—helmet shaped like a snarling wolf, armor with red paint streaks.

He opened his jaws.

Asthia didn't let him talk.

She laughed, and she reached into her cloak, drew something from a concealed fold, and held it up.

A broad iron token, worn but recognizable—inscribed with the swirl of split fang and scarred in old blood. An officer's brand.

The guard halted. His eyes flashed to the attic-like towers above them. Then back to her.

He did not ask her name. He did not ask their business.

He stepped aside.

The gate groaned open.

No words. No challenge.

Just space created—silent, swift, and unchallenging.

They passed through.

Redhill's streets closed in around them—narrow, rough, thrumming with silent industry. Leatherworkers, traders, armored citizens.

Mercenaries lounged in shadows. A bounty board hung nailed to a blood-stained post.

WANTED – RORIK, CHIEF BANDIT – DEAD IF POSSIBLE.

Voices yelled orders. Forges clanged like drums.

Asthia walked quickly, not speaking until they had passed the outer market and arrived at a less crowded section near the stables.

"There," she said.

A squat hovel of peeling paint. A twisted sign creaked: The Broken Stirrup.

They went in.

A warm air. Ale. Horse sweat. Quiet.

The man at the counter looked up, measured the cloaks and the ash. Did not say a word.

Asthia pushed a coin across. "Room. Quiet."

He nodded. "Upstairs. Left hall."

No questions.

Upstairs, door bolted, Reth leaned back against the wall. Asthia shrugged off her gloves. Dried blood crumbled from her knuckle.

"So, you guys finally here?" a voice interrupted.