Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Red River!
A/N: I am absolutely overwhelmed by all the positive feedback for this fic! I never expected all of this! Thank you so much! All of you who favorited, followed, and reviewed - it means the world to me! Your support inspires me to keep writing!
I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I've been in a bit of a slump recently, what with college and exams and internship applications. But I hope you enjoy!
Looks like harvesting season has finally arrived.
As Hariel walked around the set of small village homes and their nearby farms, she couldn't help but notice that the grass was greener than it was when she first got here… wherever 'here' was.
It had been a little more than a month since Hariel had mysteriously woken up in a lake in this charming little town smack dab in the middle of nowhere, and although Hariel was sure she had responsibilities and duties and people's expectations she had to attend to back home (when didn't she?), she found herself incredibly reluctant to part with the peace this place provided.
She had sent Hermione a patronus telling her she was alive and well - and that she just might stay wherever it was she was for a bit longer. Perhaps take a year sabbatical. Hariel had always wanted to travel around and experience different cultures (going to different countries looking for horcruxes while on the run did not count), and what better time to do so than the present? Voldemort was dead, killed by yours truly, the Death Eaters were defeated, said defeaters led by yours truly, the Ministry all crumbled and ready for rebuilding (she couldn't actually take credit for that. That was all Voldemort).
Hariel was done; the prophecy was fulfilled, the war won, the madman killed.
Now Hariel just wanted to relax and finally live a little before she had to go back and face everyone's demands of the Woman-Who-Conquered, as though she still owed them anything.
This little village was perfect; it was secluded, surrounded by nature, and not chock-filled with tourists like other more traditional vacation spots were.
Plus, the villagers here were finally warming up to her.
Case in point; the first time Hariel had timidly ventured into the small village market (about three weeks into her stay, when she had grown absolutely sick of eating only the meat she had hunted and the fruits that she had found in the forest and increasingly frustrated at how one of the laws of magic was that one couldn't conjure food) grand exclamations had been made and most of the merchants had run off into the nearest hut, leaving all their produce outside and unattended. Only one merchant had stayed – probably petrified with fear and incapable of movement, poor thing, but it had certainly served Hariel's purpose.
.
.
.
Two weeks ago…
Hariel slowly approached the lone merchant's stall, politely ignoring the faint trembling of his shoulders – Hariel didn't know what the socially acceptable thing to do was when someone was so frightened of you they were literally paralyzed, but she felt it must be like when someone's stomach growled in public or when someone tripped over nothing and the surrounding people politely pretended they hadn't noticed– and looked over the products offered. She spotted a few fruits and meats but wasn't interested in those. All of those fruits she had readily available to her in her forest, and she had easily hunted the local animals in the forest for meat. One of the reasons she had come to the market in the first place had been to escape the constant fruit and meat from her diet. Moving down the row of produce, Hariel's gaze locked onto a brown rectangular thing and – oh sweet Merlin, is that bread?
Was it really? Were her eyes deceiving her? But no! Even after closing her eyes and opening them again repeatedly the brown rectangle of happiness and wonder was still there!
She picked the loaf up, noting how hard it was, and how surprisingly heavy it felt in the palm of her hand. She ran her thumb over the edge, surprised at the coarse texture, so different from the bread found back at home, which was light and fluffy, but despite the differences there was no denying it. This- This was-
It's definitely bread!
Now, some might wonder why Hariel was so enthusiastic about bread, and indeed Hariel wouldn't blame them. Previously, bread had never been something she was a fan of, per se, in fact she wouldn't have even thought to list it as one of her favorite foods, or even foods she particularly liked. But, as the saying very accurately stated, 'you never know how much you love something until it's gone'. This was very much the case with bread. After three weeks without eating bread, which had been so readily available to her even when she was on the run, Hariel found she missed it terribly. She had never realized how much she ate bread before that moment.
That day, Hariel made a silent promise that she would never be anything less than one hundred percent appreciative of bread ever again.
Animated by a new resolve to buy and eat this delicious-looking loaf of bread as soon as humanly possible, Hariel quickly looked back up to the merchant. This, however, proved to be a bad idea. Either the quickness of her movements or the new eagerness that overtook Hariel's expression, or perhaps a combination of both, scared the merchant even more, making him sway dangerously, as though he would faint at any moment. Thankfully, the merchant seemed to eventually regain his bearings, bracing himself against the side of his stall a bit before being able to stand back straight again.
Hariel took a moment to wonder, a little horrified at what exactly it was about her that scared all these people so much. She agreed that she looked quite different from them – the damnably white and unwilling-to-tan-but-very-willing-to-turn-lobster-red English skin provided a sharp contrast to their darker shades, and her green eyes stood out in a sea of brown ones. She also had to admit that her clothes were quite different from theirs; the expensive black robes and dragon-hide armor she had mercifully been sent into this foreign land with looked nothing like the cloths the villagers mostly sported.
And this was without even commenting on how her ruby red hair practically glowed in comparison to their brown and black heads.
But really, couldn't all these things just be chalked up to her being a foreigner? And how did they make her in any way intimidating? Hariel had been told, on multiple occasions actually, that when she wasn't mad her delicate-looking frame, relatively short stature, and long eyelashes made her look doll-like and harmless. Generally non-threatening or terror-worthy.
Apparently not to these villagers.
Of course, when she was mad she looked anything but harmless; a few of her soldiers had once nervously told her that when angry her green eyes would glow Avada Kedavra green and apparently her reactive magic would make the strands of her hair fly around her face as though they had a will of their own (even more so than they already did, the miserable, misbehaving things that they were).
Really, Hariel couldn't possibly think of a reason these villagers would be so terrified of her when they surely didn't know of her past or her ability with a wand. Perhaps there was something strange about the way she arrived in this land that frightened them?
Pondering this, Hariel frowned in frustration. That was actually a rather plausible answer, but she didn't have any way of confirming it because she had no way of asking the villagers and she had been unconscious herself during her time of arrival. All she remembered was waking up in a lake, anxiously observed by these spear-wielding men and women she had never seen before in her life.
The redhead's attention quickly refocused on the bread when said food appeared, shaking, in front of her. Having apparently gotten increasingly anxious by the small frown on Hariel's face as she deliberated, the merchant had gathered up all of his courage and tremulously handed Hariel the loaf of bread he had seen her previously focus on, probably hoping this would curb her displeasure somehow – and any consequences her displeasure might have upon him and his village.
The merchant's plan was a complete success, as all worries about why the villagers were so frightened of her fled Hariel, her thoughts wholly consumed by the prospect that she would soon be eating bread.
Taking the loaf with one hand and ignoring the way the merchant's hand shot away from hers at the speed of lightning the moment he was certain the bread wouldn't fall on the floor, Hariel used her other hand to search through one of her bottomless robe pockets to take out a galleon to pay the man.
She was aware that chances of galleons being the local currency in this small town were approximately zero, but galleons were made of gold and that was valued all around the world, wasn't it? At least she certainly hoped so.
When she stretched her hand with the galleon in it and offered it to him, the merchant seemed surprised that she was paying him anything at all. Hariel internally huffed at all these judgments the villagers were passing on her – did they think she was a criminal of some sort? Was that why they were so terrified of her and thought she would steal a loaf of bread? – but didn't let it bother her. She had spent entirely too long being governed by what people thought of her and she wasn't about to go back into the habit now.
Seeing the merchant look incredibly uncomfortable and having an idea as to why, Hariel decided to set the galleon in the middle of the stall table for the merchant to pick up. She had accurately guessed that the merchant was uncomfortable touching her hand – did they think she was disease-ridden as well? Or that if they touched her she would attack? Merlin – as the minute her hand retreated from setting the galleon on the table, the man picked it up to examine it.
As soon as he got a proper look at it, the merchant froze again, but this time not in fear but in apparent shock. Hariel had no idea what shocked the merchant like that but decided that he was much too prone to freezing and trembling for her tastes. This entire exchange had been taking much longer than it had to. If he would just hurry things up, then he'd be free of her apparently diseased, criminally inclined, terror-inducing self and she'd go back to her house and eat her bread.
Suddenly, the man seemed to regroup and started shaking his head frantically and speaking rapidly in his native tongue. Hariel sighed again because she had been fairly sure everyone here knew she didn't speak their language, and cursed herself once again for not learning the translation spell.
(Hariel ignored the part of her brain that reminded her how in war there was not much of a choice. Every second was spent learning spells to attack, defend, sabotage, and heal. Time not spent learning said spells was spent planning and discussing tactics, training her soldiers, and fighting off the enemy. If she had to speak to a foreign diplomat, one of her less battle-oriented advisors would perform the translation spell for her. Seemingly useless spells had no place in war.)
Acutely aware that a loaf of bread could not possibly be worth an entire galleon but growing tired of listening to what, to her, was incomprehensible babble, and impatient to just get home to eat her newly bought bread, Hariel made moves to leave the stall. Realizing this, the merchant appeared even more horrified. He finally stopped shaking his head and started shoving some more products into her arms, fear of touching her apparently forgotten in his frantic need to give her more things for her galleon.
Oh, so he's worried about cheating me, Hariel realized with a start. Well, that is nice. A lot of people simply prey on tourists.
Hariel smiled slightly before grimacing as a thought occurred to her.
Now I feel like an absolute toerag for thinking badly of the man.
Hariel reluctantly took everything the flustered merchant had shoved into her arms, some of it meat and fruit – damn it - but some bread and pink – what on Earth are those? – as well. She smiled at him (he was an honest man after all, and those were regrettably rare) before nodding and proceeding to walk back to her home in the forest, on her way back occasionally spotting a pair of eyes peeking from a hut's window or the crack of a door before hastily hiding again when they realized she had seen them.
.
.
.
That had been a few weeks ago, and Hariel laughed a bit at the memory. But now, things were so much better!
She had been to the market a few times since that day, and each time more and more people stayed when she appeared, apparently comforted by the fact that the merchants she deal with weren't mauled or infected by some lethal disease. Out of respect for the first merchant's bravery in staying to sell her goods when everyone else had run away – or perhaps just his terror that paralyzed him and didn't allow him to run away, whichever, Hariel didn't much care – Hariel usually went back to him for more food. But sometimes she ventured into other stalls as well, and had quickly discovered what seemed to be a dessert stall that she bought sweets en masse from.
In fact, she was just on her way to the village market place to buy her bread and sweets. As she walked through the village, Hariel noticed that most villagers stayed where they were if she passed them, although admittedly there was the occasional villager that ran back to his hut and hid from her.
Still. It was much better than before. At least not everybody was running for the sand dunes upon seeing her.
Which brought her back to the question of exactly why all these people were so terrified of her. Was it the Avada Kedavra green eyes? She'd had people tell her that her eyes made a frequent appearance in their nightmares (She'd had one arrogant bloke tell her they made a frequent appearance in his dreams of an entirely different sort, accompanied by a very much uninvited pat to her ass, but the resulting beat-down had ensured that her eyes would feature solely and prominently in his nightmares for the rest of his miserable life).
Was it because people thought she was a criminal on the run? Well, it was hard to argue against that. She had actually been one not too long ago. Or did people really think she was a violent, disease-ridden person? Was there something about her face that just screamed "violent criminal that will contaminate you with a deadly disease"? All of the neighbors at Privet Drive had believed the Dursleys when they said she was some sort of deranged juvenile delinquent, so maybe it really was just something about her?
Deciding to think less depressing thoughts, Hariel chose to observe the nature around her.
One of the best things about this small village is its nature, she thought. She had never seen anything quite like it. The village itself was located on grassy lands that they used for farming. To one side of the village was the forest where Hariel now lived. But to the other side were endless dunes of sand. Hariel had never seen the like before. It was beautiful.
And recently, the scenery had become even more beautiful.
While initially, the grass in the village had much resembled the color of please-just-kill-me-and-end-my-suffering straw, now it was the vibrant green only seen in places of wild natural beauty untouched by man (or one of Aunt Petunia's 'best lawn' competitions).
With the grass came colorful new flowers, fruits and vegetables. Why, just that morning Hariel had spent a solid hour admiring the blooming flowers around her area of the forest.
Hariel wondered how grass could change color so fast – even if suddenly it was in season for fruits and vegetables, could the grass's appearance truly change so completely in a matter of two weeks?
The young witch knew a little about caring for grass from being the one working on Aunt Petunia's lawn for her 'best lawn' competitions, and from the little – very little – she knew, she felt this sudden change in grass was a little bizarre.
(She'll have you know that Herbology was Neville's strong point, and even Hermione hardly bothered to compete with him in the area. With Neville as one of her closest generals during the war effort, anything herbology-related was delegated to him.)
Now that she thought about it, there had also been many hunters coming back with large catches as well.
Honestly, how did these people look so starved when there were so many animals in the forests, and they came back with a new big catch every day?
Hariel had worried that eventually the forest would run out of animals, what with how many deer and – were those gazelles and hyenas, just where was she?! – the villagers had been bringing back, that overhunting could lead to the downfall of the forest as well as the humans who depended on it for food, but her instincts reassured her that it would not come to that.
Hariel was a little skeptical, but… The Woman-Who-Conquered had survived this far thanks to her instincts. She wasn't about to start ignoring them now.
In the end, she resolved to simply be happy for the villagers for their time of plentitude. Questioning why the grass was so green sounded like something Luna would do, anyway, and although Hariel loved the quirky witch like a sister, she knew that doing anything like Luna without actually being Luna was generally a bad sign.
Besides, it was a wonderful thing to see the change in the villagers. Seeing their gaunt, half-starved faces slowly fill up with life was more beautiful than any blooming wildflower.
.
.
.
Hariel was kind of really weirded out.
No, really.
What the hell was going on?
She had been walking through the village, coming back from a productive trip to the village market place – a lot of bread and sweets and even what she thought might very well be wine – stuffed into her bottomless bag, when she felt a drop of water hit her cheek.
Quickly, she had looked up, seen the clouds, grey and angry-looking, and promptly cursed herself for having forgotten to bring an umbrella.
When she had looked back down from the sky, she was greeted with the sight of the villagers freaking the fuck out.
She didn't mean this in an 'oh, the villagers were surprised by the rain because they had also forgotten their umbrellas. They then proceeded to calmly walk to their homes for cover.'
No.
She meant that the villagers started laughing loudly – which wouldn't be a problem if some of the laughter didn't sound borderline hysterical. Some villagers got down on their knees and started crying, others got down on their knees and didn't stop there, deciding to prostrate. Everyone abandoned what they had been doing to throw their arms heavenward. Hell, Hariel would have sworn even the cows and goats looked unduly ecstatic by the rain!
The redhead watched with a sort of distant fascination as more and more villagers all ran out of their homes and turned their faces heavenward.
Shoes were taken off, no thought given to the dusty ground that was quickly turning muddy, and hats were practically ripped off heads in people's haste to feel the water on their skin.
And then they started dancing.
They all grabbed each other's hands, matching smiles on all of their faces, and made a huge circle. To the rhythm of the pitter-patter of the droplets of rain hitting the floor, they twirled, the circle of humans first moving left, then moving right, then left again, the people always twirling, always laughing, always dancing.
Well, this was a fairly heartwarming sight, if rather random.
Maybe rain was sacred to them?
Hariel took in another second to take in the villagers' awed, elated faces.
Oh Merlin, it was! And here Hariel was, judging them and getting weirded out. That was so disrespectful! She had been the leader of a faction that fought for acceptance – not only of Muggleborns but also of magical creatures and members of all religions. She had even drunk pure dragon-blood during a gathering with goblins as a proof of her willingness to work with them and understand their culture! To think that she would judge others for simply practicing their religion! How shameful!
She had thought she was open-minded. Obviously not enough.
Wanting to rectify her moment of bigotry, Hariel looked around to see how she could pay her respects to the rain as well. Belatedly, she realized that the circle of dancing villagers had actually formed around her, with her as center.
Oh dear. How awkward. Was she supposed to do something?
Putting down her bag, which was still full of all the things she had bought at the market place, Hariel figured the safest bet was to copy what everyone else was doing.
And so she started dancing.
Under the rain, feeling her hair and clothes getting drenched, Hariel laughed as she too twirled under the raging sky.
It wasn't the organized dancing the villagers were doing, with complicated leg movements they had probably been taught as children. Nor was it the stiff, ballroom dancing Hariel had been forced to learn back in England.
No, Hariel danced the way she had always been meant to dance. She danced with no rules or regulations. She danced feeling the wet earth under her feet, the wind in her hair, the rain on her face. She danced as her body felt, with no plan or pattern. There was only the rhythm of raindrops hitting the ground, of thunder rolling in the distance. Her movements were not skilled, nor were they complicated, nor did they require any great dancing talent.
And yet, she felt powerful.
Hariel danced like she was free.
Together, she and the villagers danced all night long, for as long as the rain lasted. Sometime in the night, the large circle broke and people started dancing in pairs or trios. The villagers surprisingly got over their paralyzing fear of her, at least for the time of the rain, and she danced with many of them – men, women, children, elders – throughout the night. Looking at the villagers, sensing their joy and sharing in it, Hariel couldn't help the smile that refused to leave her face all night long.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so full of life.
There was no thought as to how long she had been there, reveling in the hammering rain. All there was was the sound of the rain, the rhythm of feet on wet ground, the thrum of primal energy passing through Hariel, to the villagers, back to her again in a circle of renewal and celebration.
And so Hariel danced.
And twirled.
And laughed.
All under the pouring sky.
.
.
.
Hariel was currently in quite the dilemma.
Oh, it wasn't the villagers. They still acted a bit strangely, and after that night dancing under the rain they had mostly reverted to their skittish, trembling selves, but no longer did they seem so absolutely terrified of her. In fact, they kept smiling at her. Hariel would count that as a huge improvement.
Nor was it her house. She quite liked the small white hut she had made for herself. She even liked the fact that she had to hunt her next meal – she enjoyed the thrill of the chase. (What could she say? It was the adrenaline-driven Gryffindor in her).
No, Hariel's dilemma was that there was a wounded lion in front of her.
Now, any sane person would have noted the lion, seen that it was wounded, correctly concluded that that meant the lion was even more ferocious – as the 'animal backed into a corner' saying hadn't come from nothing – and turned right around.
As it so happened, Hariel sanity had been called into question ("Bonkers, Hariel. You're absolutely bonkers") on more than one occasion.
She also happened to suffer from a bad case of 'hero complex', which apparently was extended even to bloody ferocious carnivorous animals.
Cursing her Potter Luck, her stupidity, and her inability to see someone suffer when she could possibly save them (even when that someone was a huge lion), Hariel slowly made her way closer to the great feline.
Sensing her approach, the lion pinned her with a fierce glare. Even from its position, lying hurt and bleeding on the forest floor, it posed an intimidating figure.
She couldn't help but admire the luxurious golden mane that the lion sported, its beauty not marred by the specks of blood in it but instead accentuated. His body was large and muscular; Hariel knew that he could crush her fragile and delicate frame with little effort. His paws sported fearsome talons, and one swipe would surely mean a human's death. Worse still were the sharp fangs that could be found in his large maw, threateningly opened in a growl at the moment actually, sending chills down Hariel's spine.
What was perhaps most striking about the lion, however, were his eyes. They held fiery passion, the desperate will to survive, the primordial desire to eat and fight and mate visible through bottomless amber pupils. There was an absolute intensity to them impossible to look away from.
He was primal energy confined in mortal fur and skin.
Slowly, Hariel struck her hand out, not wanting to surprise the lion with any sudden movements. Seeing as this garnered no reaction, Hariel approached the lion with cautious steps.
The large beast stared at her with those all too ancient eyes before growling once more. He made to get up from his lying position, possibly to attack her or just scare her off, but quickly fell back onto the ground with what Hariel thought was a pained grunt.
Resisting the urge to rush to the lion and help him immediately, as that would probably result in an arm being bitten off, Hariel resumed her slow approach of the lion. This time, the majestic beast seemed to be in too much pain to pay her much heed.
Upon closer inspection, Hariel noted that the blood was coming from the lion's leg. There was a large hole there, probably made by the horn of a gazelle, deep and red and wet and ugly. A normal woman might've cringed and looked away. She might have even run off to throw up at the sight.
Lucky for the lion, then, that Hariel was no normal woman.
Hariel had fought in war. Hariel had led her people to death. Hariel had had to hold comrades' intestines so they wouldn't fall out while they waited for a medic, had felt her own blood being boiled to the rhythm of her enemies' laughter, had slowly decapitated said enemies in cold revenge.
So all Hariel did was think, Some gazelle got incredibly lucky today.
Deciding to forgo any more pretenses, Hariel placed an immobilization spell – Petrificus Totalus was still as useful as it was as a Hogwarts first year - on the lion. The great feline must have felt the sudden constraint in his movements and disapproved of it, as he growled at her viciously.
"Shhhhhh," She soothed, caressing his mane and marveling at the softness. "The sooner you stop fussing, the faster I can heal you."
No longer afraid of losing a limb in case the lion reacted badly, Hariel touched the lion's leg with gentle but professional hands. The lion was losing blood rapidly. If the wound were not closed soon, he would die. If not from blood loss, then from being handicapped and no longer able to hunt for food.
The lion growled louder the moment she touched him, and even louder as her hand ventured closer to his wound. His body was so tense Hariel was sure he'd have attacked her had she not immobilized him.
"Here I am, taking my time to heal you and all I get in thanks are growls and death threats. Madam Pomfrey was right; healer really is a thankless job."
Translating spells Hariel may not know, but healing spells she did. (Admittedly, they were mostly centered on healing wounds of war and lowering fevers, but she thought it still bloody counted.)
A quick Tergeo cleaned the dried blood surrounding the wound, allowing Hariel to have a better view of it. She concluded that the wound was not yet infected, and that there were no horn shards inside the wound itself.
Closing her eyes in concentration, Hariel whispered, "Vulnera Sanentur".
It was a spell to heal deep gashes she had been quickly forced to learn during battle. As it was, Hariel watched impassively as muscle filled the hole and skin knit itself over it, soon covered by fur. There was a macabre beauty to it, she couldn't help but think, both disturbing and yet mesmerizing.
Of course, the process itself was painful, as Hariel hadn't had any anesthetic potions on her at the moment, especially not ones that would work on a massive lion, and taking the time to go back to her hut and get them might have meant healing the lion too late.
Said lion was currently glaring at her with such hatred Hariel almost took an involuntary step back, as well as slight fear, probably afraid she might choose to harm him again.
The emotion saddened her. Too often had she been hated and feared for trying to help others. It appeared even animals followed the same pattern.
But regardless, she hadn't done this for anyone's thanks. She especially didn't need an animal's recognition, majestic beast or not.
Wordlessly, she levitated the lion, ignoring his wide eyes and attempts to break the immobilization spell. She would take the lion to her hut, give him a blood-replenishing spell, then release him back into the wild where she'd never see him again.
Nodding at her own plan, Hariel walked through the forest, floating lion behind her.
.
.
.
A man knelt in a luxurious room, head bowed down so he could only see the smooth stone floor, on which not a speck of dust could be found. In the room, thick, imposing pillars of fine marble held up a ceiling painted in a rich, royal blue. Bright, priceless tapestries adorned the room's walls, depicting both scenes of great battle as well as of great prosperity. Next to the walls, on stone pedestals were numerous beautiful vases and small statues, with delicate markings no doubt lovingly etched by a sculptor of great talent.
In the center of the room stood a seat which was so opulent and so grand it could be described as nothing other than a throne, and seated upon it was a man so regal, with a presence so imposing, that he could be none other than royalty.
The royal looked down upon the kneeling man, and the latter could swear there was a physical weight to his gaze.
The kneeling man opened his mouth to speak, face still pointed to the ground, voice calm and steadfast, "My liege, there have been strange tales of late. Rumors of a goddess from beyond the lands who appeared a few moons ago," He reported. "According to rumor, there was a beam of light descending from the godly realm, shining its brilliance directly upon the sole lake in the area. From where the beam landed, a being of immeasurable beauty surged from the waters, like one of the sirens of legend, floating unnaturally until she reached the shore.
"The local villagers claim her presence brings fertility to the lands – it makes the grass greener, the crops bigger, the flowers more beautiful. Every day their farms grow more plentiful. They also insist that it is her presence that has brought more animals to their forest, and bigger game than they have ever before seen. They whisper she has even caused rain, a storm that could have been born only from Teshub, King of Heaven.
"They call her daughter of Teshub, Princess of Heaven."
There was silence, after, yet the informant's – for the kneeling man could only be an informant – last words reverberated in the luxurious room, as though carrying a power of their own.
"Hmmm… a goddess, you say?" The imposing figure spoke, breaking the silence. His voice was a smooth baritone, calm and refined yet holding strength and authority. The dismissal in his tone was a clear indication of exactly what he thought of this new 'goddess', however. "There constantly seems to be one of them roaming about the land. Always with delusions of grandeur, proclaiming themselves deities and ordering people to bow at their feet." The man took a hard tone, voice taking a steel-like quality, "Send scouts to investigate the area and report back to me. We cannot let this new cult spread too far. That is always annoying to resolve."
Imperiously raising his arm towards the still kneeling man, the regal figure dismissed him.
"Of course," The kneeling man rose with practiced grace and bowed at the waist to the noble figure.
"It shall be as you wish, Prince Kail."
A/N: To all of those who want me to hurry up and have her meet our prince, fear not! It will happen! I just have some plans before we get to the main story arc!
Please leave a review and tell me what you think! I absolutely love reading them!