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As I slide it onto my head, followed shortly by the cloak, I feel the comfort of anonymity slip onto me as well. In this, I am The Horned King, a thing of nightmares, exactly who I want to be. Who I need to be.
And with that, I'm off to defend my kingdom from intruders once again.
The reports came in early this morning, and I would have flown out immediately if I had been able, but attacks on the outside of the city limits have to come after attacks within the castle.
When I awoke this morning, two of my guards had been neutralized. Drowned on dry land, water still spilling from their mouths by the time Shan found them. How the fuck the Syren Queen manages that, I'm still not quite sure. But it's her favorite way to invite me to meet with her, which can only mean she has more demands.
My mind was so scattered, so lost in a half-sleep that I didn't even feel them when they were killed. If this continues, I'm going to have to let some of the undead in my staff find eternal peace.
I can't keep this many guards and maids going much longer without taking a long, long rest. I'm constantly exhausted, the fight of keeping their corpses reanimated draining me. But who could I trust to watch the castle while I rest? If I allow my mind to fully shut off, each of them will go with me, leaving only half of my guards and even fewer castle workers.
Perhaps while the visitors are here in the coming days, I can sneak away just for a few hours. Surely, they'll all bring their own cavalry, knowing no one can really trust each other.
Which begs the question: Why doesn't little Elva have her own protection? Surely, her country must care that she's in enemy territory. Perhaps they sent someone they don't actually need to survive.
Or perhaps they knew that whoever they sent with her, if not given the same protections as her, would have their souls torn from their bodies the moment they set foot in the castle.
Would I have allowed an entire team of Rhymans to come with that kind of promise?
Absolutely fucking not.
So, of course, she had to be sent alone. Not my best moment setting her up that way, but I did not expect her to come at all anyway. I had heard her people have no sense of self-preservation, but for her to be outright suicidal is surprising even to me.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss the telling smell of smoke in the air. That horrid, acrid scent of skin that's been melted from its host. I direct Drakken to circle, looking and feeling for the corpses I know must be near.
Sure enough, within moments, I spot the first ones. The ones who managed to get out of town before they met their ends, even some who have been scraping along the ground, attempting to run from the carnage that tore their town apart.
Directing Drakken to land near them, I search their faces for one that is still conscious enough to answer my questions.
None of them are.
The last two living are only doing so by the loosest of definitions, barely clinging to life.
I can pretend I'm killing them as a mercy, that I'm putting them out of their misery, and I suppose I am. But they are, unfortunately, of more use to me dead than alive now.
Without so much as a snap of my fingers, I kill them both, watching their bodies go limp, losing all fight.
Before they are allowed to depart, I trap their souls in their mutilated bodies.
This would be the cruelest torture if I allowed them to feel any pain in this state. But even I am not that heartless.
"What happened?" I ask the one whose face is still mostly intact, though he's missing an eye and half the hair on his head. The stench of burnt hair assaults me, somehow passing the dry bone partition between us as if it isn't there at all.
"We were attacked," he wheezes. Obviously. But the rattling of his lungs and the blood that spews when he speaks catch me by surprise. How on earth could he have made it this far with that kind of injury?
"Did you see who did the attacking?" I ask.
"Black horses, masks, came riding in from the North."
From the North? "True north? Not east or westward at all?"
"No, Your Majesty. North. They came with the river, using its sound to camouflage the pounding of hooves until it was too late."
Everything points to this as another attack from Rhyma. They're the only neighbors foolish enough to attempt this, the only ones who would dare to encroach onto our land and try to take it for themselves. But in order to attack from the north, they would need to invade Fastid.
With a sigh that makes me feel far older than I am, I ask what I hope is my last question before allowing him his eternal rest. "How did you make it this far out of town? Your injuries should have killed you within moments."
"They let me run. Let me attempt to escape. Let me believe that we could. Only a few minutes ago did they make the killing blow."
