Chapter 34 Sunpointe

Chapter 34 Sunpointe
Starlyght, Astra, and Varynx looped and twisted about, hovering over the fleet for some time before their bonded riders urged them onward, picking up speed.

The wind whipped at her face and hair, but Aizurah barely felt the elements. She was far too focused on the obstacles that waited for her on the patch of islands across the bay.

The flight was nearly the same distance they had flown to Rainfall, but somehow the trip felt longer to the princess. By the time they reached Sunpointe, she longed for nothing more than her own bed and Zeidan’s warmth. She was granted her second desire; Zeidan’s arms wrapped around her the moment she dismounted.

Aizurah took a moment to look around. The Summer Isles were little more than barren rocks, with bits of the sea separating them. Even the beaches were made of thick, coarse grains rather than the soft, fine sand she’d experienced at home.

Who on earth decided to name them the Summer Isles? The islands were uninhabitable, and she found it almost hard to believe such a fuss was repeatedly made over the tiny slabs of lifeless stone.

Until the fleet arrived, they had little to do in the way of talking strategy. A small camp had already been established, but Aizurah knew there was plenty more to do. She immediately offered her assistance to Lord Taevar and his men.

In one busy afternoon, the princess had been taught how to erect a tent, sharpen a blade, and skewer a fish. By the time the sun began to set, she felt very accomplished and thankful to have been accepted among some of the men.

The day’s events took their toll on her. As she lay intertwined with Zeidan in their cot, covered in furs, she struggled to stay awake. The prince ran his fingers through her hair, humming softly.

“How are you doing, little dragon?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“It doesn’t seem real,” she replied sleepily. He hummed in response.

“The fleet will arrive in two days. Tomorrow, we train.” He told her. She barely murmured an agreement, the hands of sleep beginning to claim her…

Aizurah woke just before dawn, the call of gulls rousing her from her slumber. She tugged on her trousers and woolen tunic, then tied her boots. After securing her hair in a tight braid, she glanced back at her husband, a warm feeling settling in her chest as she left Zeidan asleep in their cot.

Many of the men were gathered around the warmth of the fire, and one of them offered her a cup of hot ale. She sat down on the ground beside him and sipped from the steaming cup.

“What’s your name?” she asked the soldier, noting that he looked far more worn than many of the other men.

“Warryk, my princess,” he replied.

“How long have you been positioned here?”

“I’ve been here just over a fortnight, princess.” She hummed in acknowledgment, the pause allowing them both to drink. The warmth of the ale spread with each sip, and she felt oddly at ease.

“Has the fighting been terrible?” she suddenly asked, turning to him. He chuckled.

“Is my appearance so haggard that our own princess is losing hope?” he asked with a smirk. Aizurah couldn’t help but smile back.

“Certainly not. I would just prefer to know what exactly we will be walking into once the fleet arrives,” she explained honestly. “While the crown supports my decision to fight with you all, I’m not going to pretend I have any experience when it comes to battle. I’m as green as they come.” He grinned at her and took another swig of ale.

“Your candor is appreciated, princess. War can be gruesome, but you may find it’s far easier to kill a man than you think. It’s much like slaying an animal; man is merely flesh and bone.”

The princess thought back to the many hunts she’d gone on with her father over the years. More than once, her blade had gone straight through an animal. Aizurah could recall the weak struggles before her prey had bled out. She couldn’t help but wonder if killing a man would feel the same way. The pair continued to sip their drinks in silence as Aizurah contemplated what he had told her.

The sun was cresting over the sea when Zeidan emerged from their tent. Warryk immediately made space for the prince to take his place beside Aizurah. The ale in her hands had gone cold, and she hurried to fetch her husband a new cup. She cuddled up against him on the ground, laying her head on his shoulder. For a moment, they simply enjoyed being together.

When that moment finally ended, Zeidan tugged her up out of the dirt and ordered her to put on her armor. The plates of steel were cold, even with her clothing separating them from her skin, and a chill crept into her as she readied herself. She made her way out of the tent, slightly uncomfortable in the extra layer of metal.

“We train with proper blades today, princess,” Zeidan informed her. “I will try not to cut you, but you need to learn properly, as it will be on the battlefield.” She swallowed and nodded as Zeidan pressed her sword into her hands. Her blade was nowhere near as impressive as his sword, the pommel decorated with jeweled dragons. It was heavier than her sparring swords, but she could grip it easily enough.

“It’s time to see just how effective your training has been, my love,” Zeidan said with a grin. He lunged, and Aizurah immediately jumped back, evading his blade by mere inches. She pivoted and swung her blade at him, desperately trying to remember everything she had been taught.

She had been taught that form was important, but in the heat of the moment, she knew analyzing her opponent’s moves was far more critical. The princess began to watch her uncle’s steps closely, recalling his tactics during their sparring sessions.

Aizurah feigned right, and Zeidan shifted, but she dove to the left, pressing her blade to the back of his neck. He smirked at her and twisted away, darting at her.

Seconds later, he knocked her to the ground, her armor clanking as she hit the dirt. The princess kicked out, attempting to trip her husband. Zeidan stumbled but quickly regained his footing, grinning victoriously.

On and on he drove her, until her limbs were aching and perspiration dripped down her face. Aizurah dropped her sword for a moment, and Zeidan pressed his lips to her damp neck. She took advantage of his temporary distraction and elbowed him in the ribs, yanking the blade from his grip and holding it to his neck.

“I do believe a woman just disarmed you, uncle,” she declared with a smile. Zeidan chuckled and knocked the swords from her hands, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her into a heated kiss.