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Two
Elva
Two whole days I've been traveling.
Two days stuck inside this little box of a cart, my only company the horses pulling it and the man directing them. He can speak to and understand them, and while that's an incredible talent, it was startling when he got confused and whinnied at me.
I didn't try to make any more conversation after that.
So I've spent two days reviewing what we'll need to negotiate and what information we know about this king.
Early to mid-30's
Never seen without his helm. The helm I've had several nightmares of over the last few nights, made from the bones of his previous victims and their mounts.
Antlers. A helm made of skulls and antlers.
That's incredibly unsettling.
Necromancer. That's even more so.
Killed the previous king, took the crown, and instated his own team of advisors and guards, adding the old ones to his undead army.
I've stared at this same page, flipping it front to back again and again, willing something more to appear so I'm not entirely out of my element with this stranger. But, of course, nothing happens. Not even a portrait of him. Just a drawing covered in blood droplets of a massive beast of a man, riding a black winged horse and wearing the cursed helm, a tattered red hood draped over it to conceal the terrifying face. Two holes on the top of the hood let the discolored antlers poke out to rise above his head, signaling that death is near.
When I'm not making myself go blind staring at the same words over and over or staring at the terrifying visage of The Horned King, I'm drawing his likeness on the edges of the page, little doodles just to keep myself busy. I'm no artist, but sleeping for the entire two-day journey isn't an option, and I have no other hobbies to entertain myself with.
The cart rolls to a stop, and I wait for the footman to open my door. When he does and peeks his head in, he stares blankly at me for a moment, frustration filling his skin before he finally shakes it off and tells me, "We're an hour out. I had very strict instructions to stop an hour out and inform you to change into your proper clothing."
"Oh, thank you."
He nods, "I'll give you your privacy, Miss Aistin." When he closes the door behind him, and the cart proceeds its motions, I take the clothing hanging from the ceiling and change into them. I was not willing to travel in this ensemble, but it's the one I believe will make the best first impression and not be too hot in this humid climate.
Long, flowing white pants and a matching blouse. Simple, with clean lines, fine detailing, and clearly expertly made. The shoes are tan and flat, following the same rule of elegant simplicity.
I pored over my clothing for hours before leaving home, searching for the perfect thing to wear. Everything I do matters. Every moment is a part of the job, and I can never slip up.
Knowing we are much closer to the palace has me on edge. I'm uncertain if the humidity is making me sweat or if it's just my nerves— probably both.
If I were truly in danger, I would have already been attacked. We've been within Oksangui's limits since yesterday evening, and if we were unwelcome, they would have made it known much sooner.
From outside, there's a quiet whooshing sound as if it's coming from far away, and distantly, I wonder what it could be. It's soothing and constant but has an ebb and flow unlike anything I've ever heard. Every few seconds, there's a crash in the distance, a collision of something, but we continue on, so it must not be cause for alarm.
The angle of the cart changes, nearly throwing me backward. Within moments, the ground beneath me levels out and becomes so smooth it's as if we're gliding across it.
We must be getting close.
But we are not.
Twenty minutes pass. Thirty minutes. And still, we haven't stopped. My nerves have reached a level they rarely do, and the soft whoosh has transformed into a dull roar.
When the cart slows and comes to a complete standstill, I'm frozen with fear. I'm actually here at The Horned King's castle. The door slowly opens, and the footman sticks his head inside again. "We have arrived, Miss Aistin."
I swallow the lump growing in my throat and thank Han. He reaches out a hand to help me from the cart, and I take it, feeling his growing fear and how it matches mine. "Just call me Elva. There's no need to be so proper."
"Yes, Miss Elva."
Close enough.
