CHAPTER 141: A PLAN

A soft groan escaped into the morning air, followed by the gentle rustling of fabric as someone stirred uncomfortably. The sound carried a note of confusion, as if its owner was caught between sleep and waking, struggling against something that shouldn’t be there. Another murmur, this one more insistent, accompanied by the subtle clink of metal against metal.

"Mmm... what on earth?" The voice belonged to a young woman, melodious despite its current state of bewilderment. Helen’s eyes fluttered open, revealing the warm amber glow of morning light filtering through canvas walls. She blinked several times, trying to dispel the lingering fog of sleep, but something felt decidedly wrong.

Her wrists... they wouldn’t move properly. A frown creased her delicate features as she tested her limbs, only to discover that rope bound her arms to the wooden chair she occupied. The realization struck her like ice water.

"Ednar?" she called out, her voice carrying across the tent with practiced authority. "Ednar, where are you?" The silence that answered her was far more unsettling than any response could have been. She pulled against her restraints, feeling the rough hemp bite into her skin, but whoever had tied these knots clearly knew their craft.

The tent around her was achingly familiar – the same canvas walls that had sheltered her the night before, the same traveling furniture arranged with military precision. Sunlight streamed through the entrance flap, suggesting the morning was already well advanced. Her head felt peculiarly light, as if cotton had been stuffed between her ears, and the last clear memory she could grasp was Riley’s face in the lamplight before drowsiness had claimed her.

Riley.

Surely he wouldn’t have... no, that was impossible. He had no reason to resort to such measures when she was already, quite literally, under his command. The logic was sound, even if the situation was not.

Which left the rather pressing question of who had done this to her.

Perhaps they’d been discovered during the night? It seemed the most reasonable explanation, though it raised troubling questions about how deeply she’d slept through what must have been a considerable disturbance. And if enemies had indeed found them, why leave her here in the tent rather than spiriting her away entirely?

The soft whisper of fabric announced someone’s approach, followed by footsteps that seemed deliberately measured. Helen’s heart quickened as she strained to turn her head, but the bindings held her facing forward.

"Who’s there?" she demanded, injecting as much authority into her voice as she could muster. The footsteps paused, then continued their unhurried approach. When no answer came, she tried again. "I asked who’s there!"

"My darling girl." The voice was warm, familiar, and utterly unexpected in its casual tone.

"Ednar!" Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by confusion. "Thank goodness you’re here. Someone’s tied me up ." She waited for the sound of him moving to assist her, for the feel of his hands working at the ropes, but neither came.

Instead, she heard him moving around to face her, his footsteps deliberately slow. When he finally came into view, her breath caught. There was something different about his expression – a sort of pleased satisfaction that seemed entirely inappropriate to their circumstances.

"Ed?" she ventured, her voice smaller now, touched by the first whisper of real fear. "Why aren’t you helping me?"

He smiled then, and it was a smile she’d never seen before. Not the warm, slightly shy expression he usually wore, but something altogether more confident and considerably less pleasant. "Oh, my dear Helen," he said, reaching out to lift her chin with gentle fingers. "You really don’t understand, do you?"

The bottom dropped out of her world. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, his voice taking on an almost conversational tone, "that everything you’ve experienced these past days has been carefully orchestrated. My father’s plan, executed to perfection. Well," he amended with a slight shrug, "nearly to perfection."

Helen stared at him, her mind refusing to process what he was saying. "That’s... that’s not possible. You’re not making sense."

"Aren’t I?" He moved to perch on the edge of the small table, looking entirely at ease. "Think about it, darling. Those bandits who so conveniently attacked your caravan? The way I appeared at just the right moment to whisk you away to safety? The fact that we’ve been traveling through territories where my father’s influence runs particularly deep?"

Each word hit her like a physical blow. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, you’re lying. You have to be lying."

"I wish I were," he said, and there was something that might have been genuine regret in his voice. "But I’m afraid not. You see, the original plan was quite simple – stage an attack, rescue the princess, gain her trust, and then..." He gestured vaguely at her current situation. "Well, here we are."

"You’re saying you were working with those bandits?" The question came out as barely more than a breath.

"Working with them? My dear girl, I was commanding them." His smile turned almost apologetic. "Though I must admit, the whole charade became rather more complicated than anticipated when that insufferable Riley fellow inserted himself into the proceedings. Quite ruined the elegant simplicity of the thing."

The pieces were falling into place now, forming a picture so hideous that Helen’s mind recoiled from it. "So when you said you believed my story about Riley saving me..."

"Complete nonsense, naturally. We knew perfectly well there were no other prisoners because we were the ones doing the imprisoning." He leaned forward slightly, his expression growing more serious. "I will say this, though – your performance was absolutely convincing. Had I not known better, I would have believed every word."

Helen felt tears prick at her eyes, though whether from rage or heartbreak, she couldn’t say. "How could you do this to me? I trusted you completely."

"And that trust was genuine, wasn’t it?" He stood and began to pace, running his hands through his hair. "That’s what makes this so bloody difficult. You see, the plan was to remain completely detached, to play the role without becoming invested in it. But you..." He paused, looking at her with something that might have been real affection. "You made that rather impossible."

"So what happens now?" she asked, though she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to know the answer.

"Now? Now we wait for the final act to begin." As if summoned by his words, the tent flap rustled again, admitting a weathered man in traveling clothes.

"Everything’s prepared, my lord," the newcomer reported with a respectful bow.

"Excellent work, Wilson." Ednar’s demeanor shifted, becoming more businesslike. "And our others?"

"In position and awaiting your signal."

Helen watched this exchange with growing dread. Whatever was about to happen, it was clearly the culmination of something much larger than she’d imagined. "What are you planning?" she demanded.

Ednar turned back to her, his expression almost gentle. "All in good time, my dear. All in good time." He nodded to Wilson, who withdrew as silently as he’d come.