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The soldiers had us completely surrounded in a mere matter of moments. Silvery swords and spears flashed in the sunlight as they were fully extended to the very edge of their lethal reach. Some poked at my skin like razor-sharp needles, but most others provided a ring of blades around Alec, two even placed crosshatch at the delicate skin under his neck, forcing his head backwards at an unnatural angle.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” One of the soldiers rode forward on his steam snorting stallion, the gravel, glass, ashes, and wood crunching like miniature explosions beneath the horse’s massive hooves with every firmly planted step. This one solder is slightly different from the others. A black satin sash knotted above his belt trails its ends in the small breeze blowing across the wrecked landscape, the sword sheathed in the sash is highly decorated, not just the plain black and grey wrapped banding as every other one is, but its gold wrapped around the black hilt and with a midnight blue sapphire set as the pommel stone. Black, blue, and gold, the colors of the royal family.
“I said, what do we have here?” The captain dismounted and with one casual flick of his wrist, removed his helmet to bare his head – he must be quite confident that nether one of us might attempt to kill him and escape. I was expecting an older veteran, but he’s surprisingly young, looking to be no more than 25 or so, his skin is the color of fresh milk, creamy and smooth without one hint of the sun ripened tan common to so many of us, covers cheek bones so high and sharp that it looks like knife blades are implanted under his skin. An inch long field of ink colored hair is all is all that remained from the extremely short shorn style that is favored by soldiers throughout the army – I’ve seen sheep with longer hair after being clipped. Underneath that fringe is two eyes of the color of the summer sky but they are as hard as granite. My skin felt like it had been scraped raw by sharp blades after the way his gaze raked over my form from toe to the top of my head, the pure disgust showing on his face by the spiteful curl of his lips into an ugly sneer. The mystery soldier strode forward with the air of someone who is used to commanded people and expected to be obeyed immediately. It’s only after seeing that arrogant swagger and smirk that it clicked into place just who this is person is. The one Milasy was chattering about in the shop and who is beloved by girls of all ages throughout the kingdom for his self-proclaimed “Coolness” and feared even more so by the commoners for his foul temperament. It’s Crown Prince Travain. Nephew and Stepson to King Nikos and the current heir to the crown of Althea.
The remaining squad had us completely encircled with the extend of their forces, all swords and spears extended and pointed at Alec who only looked on in bland disinterest despite the blade drawing a thin trail of blood that snakes down his neck every time his throat bobbed in a swallow. “Can either of you actually talk or are you both so stupid that you’re incapable of speech? The prince demanded again.
Travain paused suddenly, those flinty eyes boring straight into mine, the slight breeze sweeping over the landscaping whispering his thoughts into my ear of how that I’m nothing. No one. A piece of dust on his pristine shining boots and not even worthy of that honor. For one second, I could almost believe that the rumors are true, that the Prince can read minds with magic but that’s just silly. Magic is outlawed and if it was being practiced, it would most likely be by a street hustler and not the crown prince of Althea.
But then again, I have magic. So why couldn’t he?
“Ky-Kyri Dekote, sir. Apprentice sea-seamstress at The Femme Mystique. I was lo-looking for my mother as a survivor amidst the ru-rubble.” As hard as I tried to keep it steady, my voice shakes and cracks every few words as I babble out my name and work title. The prince nodded and glanced around, taking in the surroundings while I shuffle my feet in nervousness, trying to keep my hands hidden in the folds of my skirt to muffle any of the golden light that might appear on my palms at any moment. My shoes are so thin that it’s hurting my feet to stand on the rubble laden ground where stones, wood, and steel all protrude up at odd angles waiting to snare the next unfortunate victim. In addition to that, all the bumps and bruises from my pursuit earlier were making themselves very well known. A mishmash of pain that felt like I had simultaneously been stretched out like pulled taffy and smashed flat like a smattered bug. The clawmarks in my shoulder had thankfully stopped bleeding mostly in part due to them being not as deep as I had first thought, but now the wounds were burning, eagerly threating to tear back open at even the smallest twisting movement.
“Well, Ms. Kyri of the Femme Mystique. I think you’re lying to me.” Travain gestured across the ruined landscape with a wave of his gloved hand. “First of all, this part of Lentiqua was completely destroyed by the fire, and the army has already gathered all living survivors in Melrose, anyone truly searching for a family member would have started looking there first before coming out here where the area is most unstable. Two, exactly how did you get in here? This is the origin site of the blaze and has been guarded by what few soldiers we could spare after they pushed the aggressors back beyond the wall. It wouldn’t have been easy for a mere commoner to enter this restricted area.” The scornful way he says commoner drips from his lips like acid, making me want to spit straight into his eye. “Finally, this area was cleared of the arsonist beasts who started the blaze, as what didn’t escape back into the forest were killed on sight. Yet, you were found in the company of not one, but two werewolves. You, a mere human girl. Or I suppose you’re a human girl, we may have to do some tests to find out.”
Travain’s words registered like a sudden blow to my head. This was the origin site of the blaze? And it was started by werewolves who snuck into Lentiqua? My gaze drifted over to Alec, his expression betraying nothing but blankness as usual. A sudden thought sprang forward like lightening and my jaw parted in shock. Everything made sense now. The way he was confused by the locations inside Lentiqua, he could never go anywhere without a guide because he quickly became lost. The unfamiliarity with Althea’s rules, especially the ones concerning how commoners must act in the presence of their superiors. I just attributed it to his being a farm boy from the wilder regions of Desrique. I guess he’s from an even wilder place than I thought... and I led him in. Innocent people murdered and livelihoods destroyed. Families torn apart. All because I helped a monster.
“She has nothing to do with this.” Alec’s yellow eyes coolly gazed at the smug prince, his wolfish features betraying nothing. Not fear. Not anger. Just cool indifference being the only expression visible to describe. “You would know that if you were truly a prince worth of your-”
Travain’s armored glove smacked wetly against Alec’s jaw, cutting off any further speech as a long streak of red erupts from Alec’s now freshly cut jaw. “I should have you whipped for your impudence, mangy mutt.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Alec hacked and spat a blood smeared object at Travain’s feet. A broken fang, the sharp tip glowing in the sunlight. The rigorous army training doesn’t stop a collective gasp from rolling through the soldiers as every single one of them watches their commander’s reaction. A powerful shiver of fear for what was to come rolled through my body. Although the prince is certainly fierce, his lethal battle skills well known, and was backed with the support of his fellow soldiers. I had a troubled feeling that if Alec had really wanted to kill the prince, nothing and no one would have stopped him.
“Normally I would have your body drawn and quartered for such an act of treason to the crown. However, you’re quite lucky today as I don’t feel like contaminating my prizewinning blades with your filth.” The two meet blue eye to gold eye and puffed out chest to puffed chest – although it’s easy to tell that Travain is standing on his tiptoes to meet Alec’s wolf-powered height—Werewolf glares at prince. Prince glares at werewolf. Soldiers murmur silent bets on who will be the first to strike. The two glared at each other for what felt like forever before Travain finally shouted, “Cedric! Balstoy! Take him to the dungeon where he belongs with the rest of rebel trash.”
The two soldiers named by Travain eagerly rushed forward to heed his command, leaping off their horses with coiled ropes twined with glistening strands of silver in their hands, they quickly looped and tie Alec’s hands together, another loop going around his neck and jaw to form a haltered muzzle like one would use on somebody’s pet dog. Almost immediately, the smell of charred flesh and smoke filled the air where the strands of silver embedded in the rope make contact with his bare flesh. His skin burns and withers, turning into that black leathery crusted flesh like what surrounded his arrow wounds before. Silver. The only thing in this world besides magic that can harm a werewolf. That’s why he was so weak from those arrow wounds, there was silver mixed into the metal arrowheads.
Even with the silver rope eating into his skin and sapping his strength, Alec does not allow them to drag his body like a slaughtered animal. He stands tall and proud, meeting Prince Travain’s smug gaze eye for eye with a level one of his own before walking away with an escort of five soldiers flanking behind. Travain watched their forms till they faded from sight before he turned and stalked back towards his horse, hauling himself up with one swing to regally sit astride his restless, stomping stallion. Executing a swift kick to the poor beast’s ribs, He urged the horse to turn around and gallop away in the direction of the gleaming city of Melrose.
“Sir! What do you want us to do with the girl?” The soldier currently holding a blade to my back called out after the rapidly departing prince.
The boom of hooves against wooden rubble slows as Travain’s horse cantered to a stop. “Throw the girl in the dungeon with the beast and let him eat her for all I care. I have more pressing matters at hand than pondering where some treacherous girl languishes till her execution.”
What! He was going to have me executed? But I didn’t even do anything! I was nearly killed by a werewolf once already and he wanted to put me in with another one! If I knew it would do any good, I would gladly drop to my knees and beg Travain to listen to my side of the story, but I know it’s useless. Unlike his mother Queen Maribelle, Travain has never cared for the commoners of the kingdom, preferring to remain secluded in his glittering world of luxury like his uncle/stepfather and perfect his battle skils to lead the Huntsmen after King Nikos finally dies – which is probably not a long wait since the rumors that the king has gone completely crazy are some of the some of the most commonly told tales now. From what I’ve heard, the prince delighted in brewing trouble between the magistrates purely for his own amusement, and I’ve seen him break the unwary hands and feet of commoners foolish enough to wander into his path when he was riding through the city. So, no. I wouldn’t even give him the pleasure of seeing me beg.
“Begging your pardon sir, but I could I speak a few words?” One of the soldiers rode out of the crowd and removed his helmet. The onyx armor’s polished sheen had dulled with dust to a somber shade of black normally worn by the undertaker. Underneath that helmet was a man of similar age and stature of Travain, but where the prince had the smooth skin of the prestige that bore no scars, this man had scars aplenty. Long slashes of silver trailed down his cheeks, nose and chin like the tracks of freshly fallen rain. While Travain’s skin was paler, this soldier’s skin actually looked like what I was used to seeing around Lentiqua, a trait from constantly working and training in the sun as I would assume the others had if they removed their helmets as well. His brown hair was shorn short in the army style and was otherwise rather plain looking except for one thing. A black eye patch covered his right eye, the left eye a complementary shade of chocolate brown that’s nearly identical to what remains of his hair. There’s a hint of a challenge glimmering in that single eye, one that spoke of how he knew that he could win the prince over to his side of the argument.
“Speak Thorn,” Travain commanded with a lazy wave of his hand and a roll of his blue eyes.
“Thank you, sir.” Thorn bowed slightly and laid an arm across his chest, twisting his wrist counterclockwise at the same time in the soldier’s salute. “If I may be so bold, I believe it would be in your highness’s best interest to spare this lowly girl.”
“And just why would that be?” Dagun executed a feigned yawn.
“Sir, do you remember Mikoff Dekote and his wife Leona Dekote? The revered favorite hunter and the beloved wife of your father’s favorite hunter who just happens to be this girl’s parents.”
“And?”
“I was just thinking, sir. That since the king’s thoughts are turning towards memories of the past, it might be in your favor to introduce said girl to the king who I’m sure would be most appreciative for the heroic efforts of his son who saved a then-unknown girl from a werewolf who was about to throw her worthless life into the raging flames of a burning building. Who knows, the king might even find a position for her in the royal household as well. ”
Liar! Travain hasn’t done anything even remotely heroic except lord his cocky self around like an overstuffed rooster. One that greatly needed to be stewed in a soup pot.
Travain paused in deep thought, one hand rubbing his chin while he considered Thorn’s words. Then, a crafty smile curled the edges of those thin frog lips of his. A crafty but vile smile that causes most girls to screaming in excitement but sends more shivers down my spine than even the sight of the gore dripping werewolf or the Bloodwrath did. His granite eyes raked over my body again like chips of the bluest glass as he nudged the stallion forward till I’m eye to flaring nostrils with its muzzle and I could see the droplets of sweat trickling through its dark hair. “Well, I think that would be an excellent idea after all. Don’t you think so Miss Kara?”
Do what? Why is it so important that I lie to the king? And for what kind of reward? Trevain can get a cute little good boy reward and I get a new position? Shit. Nikos would probably just assign me to be a chamber maid or something, maybe even a laundry maid. If his friendship with my father had really carried any sentimental value, Nikos would have helped us long ago. Then again, what do I have to lose? My home and life is burnt to the ground, and I don’t think I could raise the Femme Mystique back up by myself. At least with Travain’s offer I might have a chance at getting paid for something, and he didn’t say I had to be good at it.
Travain’s expression flashed through several phases as his patience quickly thined while waiting for my answer: interest, irritation, anger, before finally settling on bored disinterest once again. “So, Kyri. Either come with us or die here in the ashes. It’s as simple as that. Just speak if your feeble brain can muster the speech!”
The blade jabbed harder into my neck almost to the point of drawing blood. “Yes sir! It does sir!” I chirpped, sounding like a perfectly trained doll. It’s so disgusting that I think I want to hurl.
“Good!” He clapped his hands like a teacher with a group of four year olds. It’s rather insulting. How do women really like this guy? Suddenly, two armor-clad arms slunk around my waist and hoisted me into the air and directly into the leather saddle of a grey horse. A very bony horse. Even with the saddle in place, the horse’s spine protrudes straight up through the leather like a mountain range, causing me to squat in the saddle with my legs bent out like a grasshopper’s just to keep my balance. I’ve never been on horseback, but this sure doesn’t seem like the way most people ride. The horse’s head swung around as I wiggled in the saddle and accidently kicked him in the neck, providing me with a glimpse of a liquidy brown eye that radiated pure hatred. Just great... Another asshole.
Travain clucked his tongue twice and his horse started trotting off to be quickly followed with the rest of the squad. One of the faceless soldiers held the reins of my horse in his hands, urging the devil beast forward. The horse snorted a combination whinny/scream, planted his hooves in the ground and reared back sharply, jerking the reins from the soldier’s hand as neatly as if they had been dipped in butter. I nearly slid off the beast’s back, screaming and clinging onto the dark mane of hair at his neck for my own dear life. I felt a renewed surge of energy pour through my dry veins, sending vibrant shocks from my palms directly into his skin. The horse’s eyes rolled wildly when I refuse to be removed and with the added effect of this new invisible stimulant and he bucked harder. I squeezed my legs tighter around his bony ribcage – nothing beats fear to add a little strength to your grasp – and his front hooves reared up to claw through the air, the sharp slicing motions keeping any soldiers at bay who may have had the bright idea to try and grab the reins dangling against his chest.
Up, down, up. He reared and bucked over and over, a rough pounding wave slamming again and again into the sandy shore of a seaside coastline, so much so that it’s making me feel ill – seasick ill. I clung on like a limpet, my arms twisted around his neck as he charged, flattening the rubble beneath his pounding hooves and more than few dropped weapons from the soldiers twisting and dodging out of the horse’s path. A few tried to dart forward and snatch the reins or his halter, but were immediately rewarded with a stout headbutt or a sharp nip to the shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other horses becoming more active as well, cheering on their fellow compatriot in his rebellion with hardy whinnies and the clapping of one hoof striking against the ground. I wish someone would stop this fool beast. His twirls, leaps, and kicks are doing a number on my already churning stomach and the soured smell of horse sweat isn’t doing my nausea any favors.
“Am I really leading such a patrol of pure idiots that they can’t even control a simple horse?” Trevain scoffed. He clicked his tongue and the black stallion underneath him immediately charged forward into a speedy canter, falling into a synchronized stepping pattern, the black stallion dodges the grey’s charging motions to feint with ones of his own. When the grey horse tried to turn right, the black stallion blocked the way with his own body. Same with the grey attempts to run off to the left, the black is there again, his inky black head lowered and shaking threateningly. The malicious gleam in the black’s equally dark eyes spooked the grey horse even more – I wouldn’t be surprised if Travain’s horse is a carnivore – and he backed up. Over a long string of squealing whinnies, Travain and the black stallion urge the grey horse backwards till we are pinned between two still standing walls joined into a corner. The grey tried to buck again, but there’s no room. The horse has no choice but to stand there and wait to be released.
Without even patting his horse in reassurance or at least praising the stallion with a “Well done!” or a “Good Job!” Travain leaned forward and snatched up the reins. “Well, are you ready to go now? Time’s awasting.” He sneered right into my fear widened eyes. If my hands weren’t frozen deep into the main of this devil-horse, I would have seriously considered unleashing an orb of sparkling golden energy right in his face and see if I could wipe that smug expression off.
With another click of a tongue and a jerk of the reins, our little ensemble trots onward towards the heart of Melrose. My body trembled in cramping pain as I unfolded myself from the scrunched clinging position in the saddle to one more natural of riding a horse. The stinging sensation of pins and needle that stabbed through my fingers heralded the arrival of fresh blood when I flexed and stretched the abused digits from their previously cramped position. My shoulder aches from the protesting movement, slowly leaking fresh blood into the fabric of my dress where the claw wounds had reopened. The stink of ashes and smoke has matted deep into the snarled nest that formed my hair and my clothes are stained with a mixture of ashy grime and blood –some being my own and others not . I’m not exactly fitting the glamorous style of ladies that normally visits the king or his castle.
The broken pavement and the burnt buildings gradually became less severe as we traveled away from the heart of the destruction. A straight trail led through most of the rubble piles decorated with the still smoldering orange sparks that flew into the air with the least amount of breeze – although the horses are nimble and able to leap across some of the smaller piles, they can’t wind through the smallest of the gaps like I did on foot. Squads of soldiers still surrounded some of the more active blaze sites, dousing the tongues of orange flames with buckets filled with murky water. Most have removed their protective armor by now due to the intense heat, revealing soot caked hair and heat-redden skin as they continued on their mission. A few sneaked glances at our little entourage with our prancing royal prince leading the way before being scolded back into action by their superiors.
The haze of smoke gradually began to clear as we traveled away from most of the ruins, only to be replaced by the equally destressing sight of masses of huddled people occupying every gleaming surface imaginable. Wails of pain and sorrow screeched out into the air. A little girl, all of maybe five years old, sat on her mother’s lap, fat tears of pain rolling down her cheeks while a red-faced physician wraps bandages around her severely scalded arm. An old man was being sedated by more physicians as they attempted to save what remained of the bloody stump of what had been a withered left leg. Most people simply wandered through the crowds in a glassy-eyed daze, yelling the names of missing family members or being tortured by the memory of those they left behind. A few soldiers too young for action patrolled the perimeter separating the wandering commoners from the smoldering remains. A stab of pity twisted in my heart, I know exactly how they feel. The familiar world they knew so well is gone. Vanished into the black smoke that clogs the sky. I know many were like us, living paycheck to paycheck and would probably be unable to raise enough funds to restore their homes and businesses.
Then there was Travain, plowing right through the center of the masses as if they were nonexistent. He could have easily invited these people back to the palace for shelter, or at least spoken a few consoling words to the grieving, but he just kept riding on like they aren’t there at all. Just phantoms of grief left over by a world that no longer recognizes their deeds.
A shout rolled through the crowd when our troop was recognized.
“Hey, look! It’s Prince Travain!”
“Oh, Prince Travain! You’ve got to help me! My wife is missing!”
“Please, your royal highness! Help me!”
Rough hands cracked open with oozing red sores clamored at our legs and clawed at our arms. One particularly strong set grabbed my elbow, trying to pull me from my horse. A man, his face wrapped in a mask of stained pink bandages with only small slits for eyes and a nose leaned up close. “Help me!” he mumbled through the protective shell while tugging insistently on my arm. My hand desperately latches onto the saddle horn to try and prevent myself from falling and being crushed beneath the crowd.
“Help me! Help me!” The man continued to scream, tugging even harder at my arm till it stretches and burns so bad that tears come to my eyes. I can’t help him. Doesn’t he understand that? I’m not a royal. I’m just a commoner like he is.
Then, he’s gone. The shocks of light from my skin had burned his hands, sending him away with a yelp of pain as he fell beneath the wave of sobbing shouting people being herded by more soldiers freshly arriving from the royal castle. Travain yelled out an order and we suddenly were moving forward again. The slamming horse hooves overrode the sounds of pain and fear as we rushed forward at top speed, the new soldiers flanking behind to keep the crowd from following forward. Gleaming golden gates emblazoned with a G loomed in the distance and then fly by in a blur. Dread and remorse welled up in a hard lump in my throat. I was just here this morning. Before everything changed.
Seven more sets of golden gates passed by as we galloped on through the city’s streets, each one proving to be more elaborate than the last. Rosebushes also grow everywhere, blooming in every color imaginable and trimmed into every shape you can think of. A fluffy pink rose climbed a shining white wall that looks like it’s made completely of glass. A yellow bush five foot tall is being trimmed into a diamond shape by a commoner gardener in a grey suit of tails and a matching grey tie. The mansions steadily grew larger as well, the later ones taking up whole streets just to host the residence and that didn’t even include the yard. Even though I’ve been to the inner city of Melrose before, I’m shocked at such a blatant display of overindulged wealth. There’s even a guy dressed in a fitted blazer and trousers riding outfit that has so many ruffles I don’t know how he stays balanced on the horse, much less actually go for a ride in the ridiculous contraption. Even the air is scented with the musty smell of wealth – or maybe that’s coming from the carriage up ahead with the mummified man directing the pair of horses drawing the carriage.
I looked up at the sky, the orange light of the sun is fading into the dusky sky, producing a shimmering golden light that transforms the fluffy white clouds into generous scoops of peach ice cream. Far from the smoke and ash, the evening sky is perfectly picturesque. As long as we had been riding, we still haven’t reached the palace yet but the road grows more heavily guarded as we have to stop time and time again at gates stationed by squat, squarish buildings while Travain spoke with whoever was inside. I suppose that they are confirming his identity but really, who could mistaking him for anyone else? My jaws stretched wide in a silent yawn. It feels like it’s been forever since this morning. The feel of a soft, plushy pillow and warm blankets would feel like heaven right now. Even the grey devil horse seemed to be getting a little sleepy, no longer traveling at quite as quick a pace as he once did. I knew the castle was far away, but I didn’t think it was this far.
The fat guard who had been speaking to Travain waddled back to the little building he came from, leaving us to enter into the wonderland of green just beyond. Lush green trees filled to the capacity of their branches with thick glossy leaves, a field of green grass that wavers slowly in the breeze like a rolling wave, but the most spectacular of all is the castle. A rambling manor with tall pitched gables and turrets reaching for the sky. The flawless white stone walls are so shiny they gleam like diamonds in the fading light, all shades of peach, violet, and aqua blue sparkling in the evening air. An entire estate composed of nothing but the best for the royal family. It’s absolutely breathtaking.
“Not used to seeing this level of pure beauty, are you?” Travain’s voice sneered as he looked over his shoulder in my direction. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Every single one of you commoners has the audacity to gawk at the palace like a total savage.” He snorted dismissively. “Be grateful I’m actually taking you to see the old man instead of throwing you back in the ashes where you belong.”
We rode straight up to the front door before we dismounted. All of the soldiers, except for Travain and the one with the eyepatch he called Thorn, led the horses away to what I assume would be the army’s stables. The prince and the soldier whispered between themselves, their hands shading their mouths while a repeated scrutinizing gaze flashes from each one. I crossed my arms over my chest and lowered my gaze to the floor. I wonder what they’re saying. It’s not like I’m guilty of anything besides being a fool. I’m not going to assassinate the king or anything. I’m beginning to wonder if Travain’s talk of meeting the king was nothing more than a pile of manure. Sharing another strange glance between themselves, the men broke apart.
“Now girl, listen and listen well because I am only going to say this once.” I raised my head up as Travain growled low under his breath, the words almost glowing with an aura of danger. Blue eyes bored into my skull under a scowl fierce and steady. “What you are about to see tonight, you cannot breathe to another living soul. Whatever King Nikos asks you to do, you do. Understand?”
“Yes-sir.” My head lowered in the practiced gesture of obedience again.
Travain grabbed my shoulders and squeezed hard, His fingers digging painfully into the wounds created by the claws of the werewolf from earlier that my eyes watered and I had to fist my hands in my skirt to keep from letting loose some sort of magical retaliation. “I don’t think you quite understand. I know this is a lot for your tiny commoner brain to handle, but if you breathe a word of what you’re about to see and hear to anyone. A friend. A classmate. A bird. Even a single piece of dust, I will kill you. You understand? No second chances. No promises of redemption. Just one single arrow straight through the heart. Now, nod!”
My head bounced up and down so fast that my vision started swirling.
“Good.” He smiled and claps my shoulder, an almost friendly gesture that left me wincing in pain.
With a nod to Thorn, Travain stepped up to the door and pulled on the ornate golden lever that served as the handle. The door unlocked with a soft click and slowly swung open, revealing a darkened interior lit merely by the flickering gas lamps installed in the walls. Travain muttered something under his breath and turned up the flame on several of the lamps, his gloved fingers casting monstrous shadows on the walls from the increase of the flickering light. When he was finished, the entire interior was bathed in a warm glow of amber light and the mansion foyer doesn’t look quite so empty and haunted as before. There’s a sound like the scurrying of quick feet and a woman about my age appeared in the long grey dress similar to my own – except it lacked most of the patches that mine had – and the frilly apron of a maid, her long chocolate curls bouncing off her shoulders with a smile as bright as the sun itself. “Welcome home, your highness.” She drops into a curtsey, swinging her ankle length skirt wide. “I wasn’t quite prepared for your arrival yet and I hadn’t turn up all the-“
“Shut up, Sandora!” Travain thundered, pulling off his armored gloves and boots with one tugging motion, he tossed them onto a small table against the wall. The scowl on his face deepening into an expression even more fierce than before. “Where is Nikos?”
“In the garden, Sir. As normal.” Sandora stood with her head lowered and hands clasped together in front of her.
Travain sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes together with two fingers. It looks like he is getting a migraine. A very painful one. I hope it kills him. “Take this ash laden excuse for a woman out to the garden. I will be there shortly after I find someone to cut myself out of this blasted armor.” Without further ado, he strolled off deeper into the mansion, the squealing clink and clank of the armor announcing his every step. Thorn looked at us and shrugs, his one eye gleaming with merry amusement as he wordlessly shuffled off after the prince.
Once we were alone, Sandora giggled and turned towards to me with her smile even brighter than before. “So, you’re going to meet the mighty king of all Althea. I hope you’re ready.”
I took a deep breath of the clean but slightly musty air.“So am I.”