The night air was sharp, damp with the scent of crushed leaves and churned earth. The world was a blur of shadows and silence. Anastasia stirred, pain pulsing hot through her left arm.
She groaned, trying to sit up, but a sharp stab in her shoulder made her cry out. Her arm hung limply.
"Where are you hurt?" Ernest asked from a few feet away. He had done his best to shield her with his body as they fell down the slope.
His arms were bruised, and every joint in his body ached. There was blood everywhere, but what hurt him most was knowing she was injured. He would have preferred to bear double the pain if it meant sparing her any.
Anastasia, hearing his voice, remembered how he had shielded her during the fall. She wondered just how badly he was hurt.
"My hand hurts. It’s nothing serious. Can you hold up?" she asked. She knew it might take time before they were found and rescued. Worse still, she wasn’t sure where they were—and if Gube soldiers found them first, it would be disastrous.
Ernest frowned. Although his entire body throbbed with pain, he struggled to sit up. His face contorted with the effort, but he was glad Anastasia couldn’t see it clearly in the dim light.
"Don’t worry. His Highness has at least a hundred men ensuring your safety. The situation before we fell was favorable to us. The battle here should be over in half an hour. With that many men looking, we’ll be found within the hour," Ernest said, his voice calm and reassuring.
Anastasia suddenly found his voice familiar. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness. From the base of the slope, the moonlight barely reached them. She could only make out the outline of his face.
"Are you feeling pain anywhere else besides your arm?" Ernest asked gently. His voice was filled with concern; he feared she might be downplaying her injuries.
As he spoke, Anastasia finally remembered where she had heard that voice. It sounded just like the man who had saved her by the riverside.
Struggling to her feet, she walked toward him. The man who had saved her back then was said to be a merchant. But the person before her now was clearly a soldier, though she couldn’t guess his exact rank.
Anastasia found the situation strange, even if she could see a bit of his face more clearly she had really not seen the face of the person that saved her. Apart from the voice that sounded identical, she had no other evidence about her claims.
After all, although the Marchant account was a bit off, the prince had investigated and found nothing wrong.
"I really am fine. Just a bit cold. It might be best to light a fire, it could help the guards locate us," Anastasia said.
Ernest, who had been sitting, tried to rise and gather wood, but a sharp pain shot through his leg. Blood gushed from the reopened wound, his slight movement had aggravated the injury.
Though Anastasia couldn’t see it clearly, she noticed the scent of blood had grown stronger.
"Don’t move. I’ll gather the wood," Anastasia said.
"Your Highness, don’t... I’ll get it," Ernest replied, quickly tearing a piece of cloth to bind the wound on his leg. Most of his other injuries felt deep—likely broken bones. He really did not want to light fire as it might also attract the wrong people but hearing she was cold, he was willing to take the risk.
"Don’t argue. I’m not that fragile. I’ll just gather a few sticks. My hand is injured, so I’ll rely on you to start the fire." With that, Anastasia walked away before Ernest could stop her. Check latest chapters at noᴠelfire.net
Ernest watched her retreating figure, heart aching. He hated seeing her and felt utterly powerless. A foolish thought even crossed his mind: to knock her out and spirit her away from the royal family. Though he barely knew her, he felt deeply that she didn’t belong in the royal palace. The Crown Prince already had a woman he loved, Anastasia’s presence would only invite hardship.
Just like how the prince protected his mistress but allowed her to to be a bait.
Unaware of his thoughts, Anastasia searched for firewood. After walking a short distance from the slope, she found a few broken sticks. Fortunately, no trees blocked the moonlight here, allowing her to see a little better.
After gathering what she could, she also found a suitable stone and carried everything back in two trips. Watching her work so diligently made Ernest feel like he had failed in his duty to protect her.
"Your hand is still injured. Rest," he said, seeing that Anastasia intended to go out again. He didn’t think they needed so much. The Crown Prince’s guards should find them soon.
Anastasia’s arm throbbed, and she didn’t argue. Hearing his suggestion, she sat down.
Ernest arranged the wood and started a small fire.
"We can’t make it too big; we don’t want to attract the wrong people," he explained once the fire was lit. Anastasia nodded and moved closer.
In the fire’s glow, she finally saw his face clearly. Recognition struck. She had seen this face before; once during the celebration, and again... when she had fallen at the royal army camp.
Looking at him now and recalling his words from that night, she was almost certain. He was the man who had saved her.
But that only raised more questions.
Why would a soldier give the credit of saving a princess to a merchant?
Anastasia felt conflicted. This man had done nothing but protect her, yet a part of her feared she might be falling into the wrong hands.
Ernest noticed that Anastasia had been staring at his face for a while without looking away. He guessed she was deep in thought.
He subconsciously touched his face, "is there something on my face?" He asked feeling a bit guilty after all, he had improper thought towards her.
Anastasia came back to her senses.
"This looks like the third time we are meeting and I am still yet to know your name," Anastasia said. She did not look away with embarrassment as she wanted to carefully study his reaction.
Ernest was shocked, honestly he did not expect to recognize him giving his current condition. He was sure his face was swollen and dirty.
"My name is Ernest, we have met five time," Ernest said the other half of his statement to himself. He knew she did not know he was the one that said her from the horse or by the river side close to Lowe pass.