A scream reverberated through the cabin and I was instantly alert. Nothing could have entered. I was innately aware of every entryway in this building and none of them had been breached. I sprinted silently through the room I was in and down the hall to where he was supposed to be.

I drew both of my swords from my back and rolled into the room. I pounced up into a fighting position with my weapons poised ready for a fight in front of me.

"Help!" he screamed, "Kill it! Kill it!" He was standing on his bed pointing frantically to something behind me.

I spun around, swinging my swords in an arc along with me. They sliced cleanly through the air and hit...nothing. I furrowed my brow in confusion until I saw the two-inch spider on the wall. My eyes widened in fury. I slammed one sword through the spider and lodged it into the wall as I shoved the other back into its sheath on my back. My hands clenched into fists at my sides as I turned angrily towards the prince who had finally stopped screaming on the bed.

"You go screaming bloody murder because of a Headsmith spider?!" I demanded. He flinched at my language. I'm sure a spoiled prince like him rarely heard curses like Headsmith.

"I--Is that wrong?"

"You Headsmith calve biter!" I cursed.

"You can't talk to me like that!" he squeaked.

"I just did!" I spun back around and yanked my sword from the wall. Slamming it into its sheath, I stormed out of his room and back to my own. I muttered some more foul curses as I angrily grabbed my brush from the bed I had been sleeping in. I walked to the mirror to brush out my wavy copper brown hair. Still fuming, I tore the brush through the short tresses, making sure not to hit the sensitive, cat-like ears that peaked out from the top of my hair. They marked me as an Anari, the most respected class of warrior in my clan: the Astataninth people. Ninth for short. My charge--the arachnophobic calve biter in the other room--was Develurious. Also known as Devels to my clan. Our mortal enemies for the past three centuries.

Before there were the nations of Astatanine and the Develuria, there was just one prosperous group of people who called themselves the Valatorna. Admittedly looking back on the faults of that society, the men were treated poorly. They were usually more considered slaves than people. Women controlled the government and excelled in the military. The Anari was born in the Valatorna days, as well, and not a single man was ever allowed in. Men, meanwhile, tended fields, took up house chores, and picked up all of the necessary tasks that women were too busy solving the universe to deal with. About 290 years ago, the men revolted. It was the battle of the genders and the war lasted on and off for thirty years. There had to be multiple truces just so children could be born as both sides' populations dwindled. Finally, the sides came to an agreement. Kacey Astataninth and James Develurious decided to separate and end the fighting, instead living in peace. The Devels took over the Northern Scapes and the Ninths had the Southern Realm. There was no need to have any interaction between the men and women of the two nations. If anyone wanted to have a child, they went through the process of artificial insemination. If the child was male, it was sent to the Northern Scapes to live with his father. A daughter would remain in the Southern Realm with her mother. In Astatanine, we retained a fair democracy. The Devels, on the other hand, had merged into a monarchy. I thought the idea of just winning the right to rule a country because of parentage was simply ridiculous. And my charge only proved the point. He was born into the high life of royalty in the Northern Scapes and because of that, he morphed into a weak, petulant prince that I had to risk my life for. I, on the other hand, had to go through Anari training. Ten years studying fighting, strategy, sneaking around, hunting, lone survival, strength, speed, agility, and even a bit of magic. It was grueling and painful for a lot of reasons. But it was all worth it when the Master of Spells created the enhanced ears that sprouted from my head.

Now, after 290 years of pure hatred between the two genders, our president and their king had decided that it was time to join once more. Prince Tyrone Develurious in the other room was going to have the first legal marriage in nearly three centuries with a woman of his choosing. There was going to be a great ball to 'determine his bride', but whispers within the Anari had informed me that the bride was predetermined. It was going to be our president's daughter. Janet Cartina was a beautiful witch who specialized in death spells and was kicked out of my Anari training class two months in. It was actually impressive that she had lasted so long. Anari life was grueling and miserable at the best of times. I also heard that she was a manipulative little squidlet. I almost felt bad for Tyrone. Almost.

"Nala?" Tyrone called as he poked his head into the room. His curly black hair was cropped close to his head. Tyrone had warm brown skin but vibrant green eyes like a leaf in spring. He had a sharp jawline, a straight nose, and the wide shoulders of a warrior. Too bad the actual skills that come with that profession seemed to have skipped him. Members of the Develurious family were known for being warriors. But not this coward. At 6'3, he towered over my 5'4 self. But he was always the one who seemed more timid in our short, few conversations.

Speak of the devil, I thought. I threw my brush angrily onto my bed and whipped towards him. "What?" I demanded, my voice hard and cold steel.

He jumped, wincing. "I'm sorry about that. I'm just...afraid of spiders."

"Oh really? I hadn't Headsmith noticed!"

He flinched again. "Um, well, I'll be going back to my room now..."

"Try not to scream if you spot a kitten," I hissed. He inched out of my room like a kicked puppy. I rolled my eyes. Hadn't even left his wretched country and I was already sick of the guy. I still had to get him through the whole of the Wastelands. The Wastelands was the treacherous, deadly area between the Northern Scapes and the Southern Realm. It was where the majority of the battle had raged 290 years prior. I got to the Northern Scapes through a long underground tunnel. That tunnel, referred to as Huvrinth--Cover in the ancient Valatorn language--collapsed mere hours after I had made it into Develuria. The official story is that a transport carrying ore from Develuria to go down to Astatanine knocked loose a support beam, causing a weakness a week or two back. An unfelt, underground land tremor of this morning took that weakness and destroyed the passage. The story made sense, but something felt off about it to me. I just didn't know why.

Maybe it was just because of that accident that I now had to get him across the Wastelands back to my home. It was basically the difference of taking a stroll down main street versus traveling through a dark forest filled with great beasts all thirsting for your blood. There were even rumors of the Wastelands containing ghosts and monsters created by the war.

I didn't buy that.

But I did believe the rumors of nomad tribes living there, fighting all they meet. Leaving no survivors. They were people that I did NOT want to meet. Especially with having to guard the good-for-nothing prince.

Someone approached the front door. My Anari ears twitched towards the noise. Lithe as a cat, I drew my right-handed sword and padded silently towards the entryway. The visitor knocked. I opened the door, my sword low. It jolted forward to press gently against the man's stomach.

He released a strangled, gurgle-sounding scream in the back of his throat.

"Name and purpose for being here or I'll gut you like the--"

"Nala!" Tyrone exclaimed behind me. He reached out and put a hand on my sword hand, pushing it down and away from the man, who promptly took a few steps away from me, eyes wide. I felt the flames of fury begin to boil my blood. How dare he touch me that way when I'm guarding his life? "This is my head guard."

My gaze flicked over the man and my eyebrows raised. He had white skin and wispy, gray hair that curled around his ears and poked out from behind his neck. He also had a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that met around his thin, pale lips. His clothed stomach poked out heavily over his leather belt--which had a brass buckle the size of my palm connecting it. Tyrone's head guard had pale blue eyes, wrinkle marks all over his face, and a large forehead. His nose was large and hooked over his mustache, reminding me of a bird. He was a little shorter than Tyrone, maybe by one or two inches, but looked short partly due to his...wide size. I simply found it hard to believe that this man was supposed to be guarding anyone, let alone the prince of his country. Then again, he was the head guard. He probably didn't have to do much actual work.

"Yes, Anari. I'm his head guard. I have come only to speak of the plan of travel, not to cause harm to my own charge," he pleaded.

I spun the sword in my hand and slammed it into the sheath on my back, rolling my eyes. "Well, come in then," I told him impatiently. I stepped to the side and allowed the man entrance. He scurried inside, a sword sheath bouncing against his leg. Another quick scan over the man revealed the glimpse of a handle sticking out of his boot, as well. As Tyrone closed the door behind him, I held out my hands.

"Weapons," I instructed.

"Excuse me?" The man furrowed his brows.

"Give me your weapons," I explained, scowling impatiently.

"Nala, he's my head guard. I hardly think that--"

"I will not take any chances with the life of my charge," I snapped. "Weapons. Now."

With a glance at Prince Tyrone, the head guard hesitantly pulled his sword out of his sheath and handed it over. I flicked my thumb across the edge. It needed sharpening. "Knives, too." I didn't know if he had more than one, but he wouldn't try to hide it from me. I flicked my gaze up to his and he hesitated only a second before complying. He drew a knife from each boot and handed them over. These were both much sharper. I spun one in my hand, then threw them one after the other into my room. They lodged in the wall in a straight line and the guard winced. I pushed down a smirk and turned towards him.

"Let's move this into my room, shall we?" Prince Tyrone offered, ever the diplomat.

With a glance at the guard, I followed after Tyrone, into his room. I purposely made sure that I stepped between the two men. Tyrone rolled out a large map on the table in his room. It was bright white, completely pristine. He set a few granite blocks on the corners to keep the map unfurled. I let my eyes wander over the image.

"As you both probably know, we're here," the guard stated, jabbing his finger at a small dot that read 'Nine'. The city was just inside the Northern Scapes, pressed against the barrier protecting Develuria from the Wastelands.

I snorted. "Oh, no, really."

The guard drew himself up threateningly, but I only laughed. Like I'd be scared of someone like him.

"Jarell," Tyrone placated as his guard's nostrils flared furiously. He placed a calm hand on the older man's arm. "Please. Continue."

Jarell grumbled under his breath. He cleared his throat when I cocked a challenging eyebrow. "You two were supposed to go through Huvrinth to get to Astatanine, but the tunnel collapsed." He sighed. "So the only way to get through now is to go across the Wastelands themselves."

"We could travel--" I started tracing my finger across the border towards the Coratine Sea. But Jarell shook his head and interrupted me.

"He wouldn't get there in time for the Bridal Ball."

My eyes widened, completely incredulous. "You're risking your prince's life over--over a BALL?" I demanded. "What sort of head guard are you?"

Jarell's face grew red from boiling anger. He opened his mouth to likely let out a string of curses, but Tyrone put a calming hand on his chest.

"Jarell, please."

"Sir, this--this WENCH is disrespecting me and my work!"

"And this wench can kick your--"

"Okay, clearly you two don't get along," Tyrone interrupted before I could curse. "But you both are working towards a common goal. To keep me alive, at least, right?"

Jarell nor I answered, instead holding a cold staring contest.

"So can you at least work together for this?" he begged.

Jarell sighed. "Yes, my lord." He bowed his head at me. "I apologize, Anari." I merely rolled my eyes. But at least I didn't comment.

"Thank you," Tyrone smiled that bright smile at us. I barely didn't roll my eyes again.

"As I was saying," Jarell continued with forced calm, "the entire purpose of getting Tyrone to the Southern Realm is to make it in time for the ball. So if we can't get him down in time, we might not get him down at all."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and blinked slowly. Tyrone and Jarell exchanged a glance as I dropped my hand and examined the map. "We can't follow the path over Huvrinth. It's all rubble, yes?" I looked pointedly at Jarell, who nodded. He opened his mouth, but I didn't allow him to cut in. "So we'll have to travel parallel to it until we get to Red Lake. We can skirt along the edge and then continue to parallel the tunnel." I nodded to myself. "It'll take longer than Huvrinth, but it should get us there in the next three weeks."

"That's cutting it awfully close."

"If we get there any sooner, there's no guarantee that your prince will survive." I narrow my eyes. "You do realize what venturing into the Wastelands actually means don't you?"

Jarell drew himself up and opened his mouth, but glanced at Tyrone. He huffed an annoyed breath before giving me a curt nod. "Yes, Anari. I am aware of the dangers."

"Good--"

"Which is why it is a good thing that Prince Tyrone's guard will be escorting both of you."

I widen my eyes. "Excuse me?" I fume. "You expect to bring an entire team of carriages and men with you to try and weave your way through the dangers of the Wastelands??"

"More protection for the prince," Jarell replied, seemingly smug about the rise he had gotten out of me.

I spluttered. "I don't even know how you could be so...so idiotic as to suggest such a thing!"

"Oh, so you think that you should lead a one-man protection squad? That is smarter to keep his highness safe?" Jarell shot back.

"I'm not babysitting your entire caravan because you think loud, noisy numbers is better than sneaky stealth. I could get him in and get out before any trouble could be caused."

"Or you could get into enough trouble that one Anari couldn't handle herself," Jarell snapped.

"Oh, and a team of men will be VERY helpful, I'm sure," I snapped back.

"Nala!" Tyrone exclaimed, a flame alight behind his eyes. It shocked me into silence long enough for him to tell me, "We will NOT be bringing ancient, sexist prejudices into this."

I got control of myself enough to roll my eyes and huff through my nose. "Whatever. It's your head on the line."

"We'll compromise. Jarell, you can bring a small team of our top five soldiers not including you. No carriages. Happy?" Tyrone asked me.

I shrugged. Like I would give him the satisfaction of being a successful peacemaker.

"Yes, your highness. I will do that now." Jarell took a step towards the door but paused. "My weapons, Anari?"

I eyed him carefully before going to retrieve his weapons from my room, making sure he was still in my sight as he waited impatiently by the door. I yanked the weaponry out of the wall before returning to Jarell and handing them to him one at a time. I made sure that I stood between him and Tyrone as I did so. He bowed his head.

"I will return in the morning with your guard, your highness." And then he left. I stood at the door even after I locked it, contemplating how I would maneuver such a large team through such dangerous territory.