10. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
I f I thought we rode hard before, it was nothing compared to the speed that we flew down the streets as dawn broke. The gray horse wheezed, stumbling to obey the harsh demands. Its mane whipped across my face as I pressed against its neck, moving with the rise and fall of each rapid stride. Sainte’s chest pressed against my back, his arms locking me in place as he maintained control of the reins.
Wynterborne’s changes over the years were hard to gauge, considering there wasn’t much to recall. There was little chance to absorb the sights amidst the chaos we stirred. Shouts and yells trailed us, resounding through the streets as we raced uphill toward the castle.
I dared a glance upward, coarse hair stinging my cheeks. A large common bridge and several narrower ones connected the city to the royal grounds. They resembled massive ropes, tethering the grounds to the mainland. I lowered my face and shut my eyes, trying to dredge up my memories of the terrain.
Ahead, a clamor erupted, and Sainte pressed on without hesitation.
“Clear the way!” His voice sliced through the chaos, raw and harsh.
Shouts erupted around us, punctuated by Sainte’s curses. He veered left, forcing me to hunch down as our horse lurched in response. It swerved, but Sainte spurred it onward, charging past the two men stationed at the bridge’s entrance.
The thunderous gallop reverberated across the stone, hooves striking a rhythmic beat that echoed through the snowy abyss below. Behind us, voices rose in shouts, summoning more guards to arms.
“Captain Nytestorm!” a loud baritone voice rang out.
I dared to peer up as he slowed the horse to a quick trot, nearing the bridge’s end. Once we crossed, we would be on royal ground. The man addressing us had dark hair and a clean, open face. A giant black stallion clad in a white and green blanket stood at his side.
“General Jorgeson?”
“Hail, Captain. Counselor Dyre sent me to wait for you.”
“Where is he?” Sainte called, his tone guarded.
“At the coronation. He told me you might need help getting there.” The man tipped his head, then mounted.
Sainte’s relief at his words was evident, still he wrapped around my waist, pulling me close against his chest. “Aye, aid would be welcome,” he said.
“Is it truly her?” Jorgeson asked as he turned his horse toward the castle, urging it into a quick trot.
Sainte didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled my hood back just enough to show my eyes.
The general’s expression slackened with shock, then a slow grin crept over his face. “I daresay we’re late then.”
With that, he spurred his horse into a gallop, prompting our gray to match his pace. We tore past guards engaged in conversation, yet none dared to impede us. It seemed General Jorgeson’s presence was the key to our safe passage.
The horses raced through the courtyard and gardens, scattering the light snow that settled on the trees and hedges. The gray stumbled and let out a sharp neigh as it regained its balance, struggling to match the relentless pace. Our rush disrupted the people going about their day, each absorbed in their tasks. At the stairs, the horses snorted and balked, but the general and Sainte dug their heels into the beasts’ flanks, urging them on.
Guards spilled out of every passageway, like termites from rotten wood. They brandished their weapons, but at the sight of their superior, they kept their arms lowered.
We neared two immense oak doors, guarded by four footmen who exchanged confused, horrified glances.
“Clear the way!” Jorgeson bellowed.
I ducked my head, hoping we wouldn’t collide with the doors in a heap of sweaty horseflesh.
After a series of shouts and a resounding crash, we burst into a brightly lit corridor.
Lanterns flickered from decorative sconces. Sheer fabric covered the windows, allowing in light while tempering the chill of the outside world. Tapestries adorned the walls, displaying elaborate coats of arms that hinted at the noble lineage of this place, though I struggled to recognize them.
I had no time to process as we pivoted left and cantered down the wide corridor. Shouts and screams filled the air as staff dodged our path, prompting me to pull my hood further down, shielding my face from their shocked glares .
With the black horse ahead of us, we ascended through the castle, navigating more stairs and crowded halls. The walls narrowed, and the ceiling descended, raising concerns that further progress might force us to dismount.
For some reason, that unnerved me.
Perhaps because I would not feel Sainte’s strength against my back.
As we skidded to a stop, I straightened my shoulders, trying to rally myself. Panic hummed through my veins, and Sainte tensed as the gray staggered a step.
Jorgeson shouted at the eight men who barred the door ahead. “Make way, you fools! I’ll have you flogged for this!”
“We’re not to let–”
“I am your general! By the gods, you will permit me!”
“The orders were given–”
The soldier did his best to appear confident, but his voice pitched higher as Jorgeson dismounted and stormed over. He towered above him, backing the man against the wall. The others stayed true to their purpose, blocking the door, but watched with wary expressions.
“Orders from who , whelp?!”
“The king, sir!”
“You have no king!”
With a sharp crack , Jorgeson slapped him across the face. The soldier jerked aside, taken aback by the betrayal. The general wasted no time. In one swift motion, he pulled the oak latch loose from its stay before his soldiers turned on him.
Sainte wasn’t one to waste an opportunity, and before they replaced the latch, the gray horse was upon them. It screamed as it crashed through the door, stumbling to its knees.
When I laid eyes on the scene before me, my stomach clenched as if someone landed a punch to my gut. The throne room, fit for a king—or king-to-be—was a spectacle of opulence. Hundreds adorned in fine, shimmering attire filled the space, their gold and gemstones sparkling in the cold light streaming through the grand windows behind the dais.
The horse’s shrill neigh echoed through the room as it struggled to rise. My gaze shifted upward, discovering another crowd nestled on a balcony along the back wall. Returning my focus to the throne, silhouetted against the cold white snow and pale sky, I locked eyes with my brother.
Fifteen years had passed, yet no amount of time could erase the fear that surged anew as his piercing green irises fixed on mine.
His hair was short, almost clean shaven on the sides, with the top long and hanging in his face. It gave him a roguish appearance, and the madness that twinkled in his gaze, even at this distance, turned my stomach .
There were people whose eyes betrayed a deeper complexity, as if they were not quite like everyone else. Some carried a sense of innocence, forever locked in a childlike state, unable to fully embrace adulthood. Others appeared constantly on edge, their attention and focus darting with nerves, avoiding any prolonged contact.
And then there were those like my brother, whose eyes spoke of darker intentions, a desire to inflict pain on people.
Or creatures.
I shivered as memories stirred—him hurting animals, killing pets for sport. Unbidden, those harrowing images flooded my mind, casting a darker shadow over the present moment.
Almost as if he sensed the fear swirling within, Adrastus’ smile widened, sending a chill down my spine. Beside him, a man dressed in vibrant green and white attire held a forest-colored pillow. Atop it lay a silver crown adorned with delicate emeralds.
My brother reached for it, his movements commanding the shocked crowd’s attention. Gasps and exclamations rippled through the throng.
That terrible smile, tinged with malice, turned my way. Even from across the grand hall, his peridot eyes gleamed with cruel delight, feeding off my palpable fear.
At that pivotal moment, I contemplated staying as a passive observer of my brother’s ascent to the throne. The safety of my position, nestled against Sainte’s reassuring warmth, tempted me to stay put. However, it seemed as if the gods were, perhaps, not happy with that choice.
Our horse rebelled, letting out a wild scream as it reared, its forelegs flailing. Sainte’s powerful arm encircled me, anchoring me amidst the chaos. I clung to the mane, fighting to keep my seat.
That shattered the spell.
“Hold!” Sainte roared over the crowd which broke into horrified cries.
When the horse steadied, I acted swiftly, fearing if I hesitated, I might lose my courage to follow through with this. With Sainte’s steady grip around my waist, I swung my leg over the horse’s sweaty neck, and he lowered me with the utmost care. My body slid against the gelding’s damp hide, and I stumbled when my feet hit the ground. After a tentative step, I stopped. The crowd blocked my view of the dais.
The horse bit my shoulder, and I hissed, jerking away. It snorted and thrust its nose between my shoulders, pushing me forward.
This beast was in on the whole conspiracy. I knew it.
“I am Elspeth! Second Born to Veiled King Vardis!” I called out with all the strength I could muster, my voice cracking .
The crowd pivoted, turning their backs on my brother. Shock painted the faces of some, hands flying to cover gaping mouths, while others murmured and exchanged skeptical looks, their expressions a mix of disbelief and curiosity. I strode forward, my posture rigid and determined, each step purposeful. Bystanders, sensing the importance of the moment, parted like a sea, creating a clear path down the aisle leading to the dais.
My brother’s sneer faltered, his fingers twitching just above the crown.
Taking a quick breath, I marched toward him, pasting a cocky smile on my face. “I challenge Prince Regent Adastrus to the Rites of the Gods.”
Gasps and chatter echoed through the chamber, hardly masking the crowd’s shock. Suddenly, curiosity and wonder stirred among the people, and the tense moment was lost.
Stepping up to the prince regent, I threw back my hood and met the simmering hatred in his glare.
“Hello, big brother.”