In Chains

by K. L. Thorne

  “When you see your uncle, make sure you tell him I said we’re square,” Riley frowned up at Sivelle.

  “Gladly,” the princess replied with a soft laugh.

  “Now get, both of you. I mean this with the best intentions, but don’t darken my doorstep again any time soon.” Riley shooed them away and hastily walked away towards his cottage.

  “Thanks for everything, we really appreciate it.” Haros nodded in thanks and held up a hand.

  “Yeah, whatever. I tell you, if I go to the gallows for this, I’m definitely coming to haunt Cirro fucking Goldwyrm!” the faerie grumbled under his breath, stomping away through the darkness.

  Haros nudged Chant on with his heels and the stallion sprang forward into an impulsive, forward walk. He was a large, muscular horse. Haros sensed the impressive muscles bunching and releasing beneath him with every step.

  The demon whistled and Nyre perked her head up. Chant’s ears flicked back towards him.

  “Get above the trees and follow us,” Haros instructed.

  When Nyre chittered and blasted off into the sky, Chant spooked, jumping to the side as the forest billowed in Nyre’s wake. Haros patted the stallion’s thick, muscular neck for reassurance and Chant jogged forwards a few paces in trot before eventually slowing back to walk.

  “You ride quite well,” Sivelle said.

  “Thanks sweetheart. It’s all starting to come back to me now,” Haros manoeuvred them up the narrow track heading back towards the road.

  “Where did you learn?”

  “I rode out with my father when I was a lad a few times, but I learnt most of what I know from the Black Bones. We used to hunt on horseback.”

  Sivelle nodded, shuffling her bottom back against him in a bid to get comfortable. She gripped the pommel with both hands at first, but as she began to relax into Chant’s rhythmical stride, she dared to take one hand off and rested it against her thigh.

  The snow continued to fall but the large flakes had slowed to fine, dusty specks. It fluttered in the breeze, dancing around them as they rode on through the forest.

  When they eventually made it back to the main road, Haros nudged Chant forward into a trot. The stallion pulled ahead, eagerly champing at his bit to go faster still. Riley hadn’t been overplaying the horse’s enthusiasm and energy. Haros had a feeling they might yet need it.

  With the horse’s gait jostling them around, neither Haros nor Sivelle spoke. The faerie curled herself as tightly against him as possible, using his body to steady hers as they trotted on along the road.

  Haros listened to Chant’s heavy footfalls in the snow. The tips of the demon’s ears began to sting against the cold air and he ducked his head down to evade it as best he could.

  He wasn’t sure where they were going, nor how long it would take them to reach Rosenhall Castle. Though Haros had already deduced it couldn’t be too long a trek, he still had no idea which roads led where. He hoped they would stumble across a road sign along the way.

  “Do you think the king’s guard will be out here looking for us?” Sivelle asked quietly.

  “Undoubtedly,” Haros replied, feeling his mouth set into a grim line. “The more ground we put between ourselves and Awrelwood, the better.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence once more. Haros zoned out, lost in his own thoughts.

  Lazuli’s cruelty was nothing new to him, but even Haros had been surprised by the malice the king had shown for his own daughters. The more he learnt about the faerie king, Awrelwood and the Goldwyrm sisters, the more he became convinced Lazuli was steadily losing his mind.

  No straight thinking, rational person would do the things he did. Haros could almost understand and rationalise Lazuli’s hatred for demons, but his own kin? That just didn’t make sense.

  He had been set on marrying Sivelle off, undoubtedly keen to get an heir. The king was no spring-chicken and with young men like Zelrus and Oriel challenging him, he supposed the king was uneasy. He had only sired daughters, there was no male heir in line for the throne of Awrelwood.

  Lazuli had no heir at all now, having cast all three of his children out. The demon wondered if the king even cared, blinded as he was in his desire to win the war.

  Haros was eager to reach Rosenhall and speak with Cirro in greater depth. The faerie had clearly been in discussions with King Zelrus. He itched to know more.

  Sivelle sighed, clouds of warm breath spiralling from her through the night air. Haros’s attention was drawn to the slender faerie sat in his lap.

  He was tired, mentally and physically, but he dared not consider how the princess was faring. He couldn’t see her, but wondered if her eyes were still staring vacantly ahead, glazed with the horrors of the evening.

  Her father had tried to have Lori and Faye killed, but that paled in comparison to what Lazuli had planned to do to her. Haros and Sivelle’s love affair had always been destined for disaster and they had been warned them of courting the king’s inevitably fury, but even Haros hadn’t dared believe the king would have gone this far.

  He felt his blood run cold just considering the consequence of Lazuli having been successful.

  Feeling on edge, he nudged Chant forwards again. The stallion broke seamlessly into a smooth canter. His breath puffed softly into the night, in time with his footfalls.

  Sivelle held on tightly to the pommel of the saddle. She bounced around a little ungainly at first, but swiftly began to relax. Before long, her body was rolling smoothly in time with Chant’s movements.

  Haros hoped they would make it to Rosenhall before they lost the cover of darkness. Neither he nor Sivelle were particularly inconspicuous and they would be easily identified in the daylight, particularly with a dragonette tailing them from above.

  He imagined these deserted roads grew much busier through daylight hours. Many trades people used the tracks to connect between the small neighbouring villages. Though many of the villages around Banesteppe were vacant, burnt-out husks, there were still a handful of civilisations operating comfortably outside Awrelwood’s walls.

  They rode on for another hour or more. Haros grew steadily more nervous as the sky began to lighten above them. Birds began to sing, signalling the impending sunrise.

  He pulled Chant up to a walk and the stallion, puffing for breath, slowed eagerly. The road ahead forked, with a dark, rotted road sign standing starkly against the snowy surroundings. Haros nudged the horse forward towards it.

  The words had long since disintegrated into the wood, but Haros could just about make out the symbol of a rose, carved into one of the planks. The other had been destroyed, burned and crossed out. He assumed that meant it had previously pointed towards Banesteppe.

  Haros manoeuvred Chant, following the sign down the left-hand fork where the rose symbol pointed.

  “Have you ever been to your uncle’s castle Sivelle?” he asked, glad to be able to make conversation with her now Chant had slowed to a walk.

  “No, not that I recall. Cirro’s daughter Briar used to visit us to play, from time to time, but I don’t ever remember our father taking us to visit.”

  “Has Cirro always lived there?”

  She shook her head. “No, Father has spoken about times when my uncle used to reside in Awrelwood castle with him. I believe they moved shortly after he met Genevieve. I certainly don’t remember a time when my uncle lived with us.”

  “He seems a nice sort,” Haros murmured, scanning the woodland for threats.

  “I don’t know any details, but I had heard he and my aunt were doing a lot of charitable work. I take it you’ve seen some of this first hand?”

  “Yes, they were quite the pairing. All manner of orphanages, schools and libraries in Banesteppe are named after them.”

  “Did you ever meet either of them?”

  “No, though I thought I saw your aunt once. I paid for some homeless children to be cared for by a local orphanage a few years back. A strange faerie woman caught my eye through one of
the doors, but it was only a fleeting glimpse.”

  “…You help the homeless?”

  “If I’m able. With King Zelrus’s politics gaining traction and being carted off here, there and everywhere to do his bidding, I haven’t done as much as I would have liked in the last few years.”

  Sivelle was quiet for a few moments.

  “Are you surprised to hear it? I might come across a bit hard-hearted and uncouth but—” Haros asked with a short laugh.

  “No, no. It’s not that. I just don’t need any more reasons to find you attractive and yet you continue to supply them.” She giggled softly.

  “Oh, well.” Haros cleared his throat. “That’s a good thing then.”

  Haros dipped his head to press a kiss against Sivelle’s cheek. The faerie sighed.

  “…Y’know if you’re still blown away by how much you fancy me, we could always hop off and—”

  Sivelle laughed and punched his leg playfully.

  “Let’s save that for when we’re not fugitives on the run, shall we?”

  “Fine. Spoil sport.” Haros grinned and turned his attention back to the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The snow had ceased, but the sky above remained gloomy and grey. The new day had dawned and with every second the dense forests around them grew brighter.

  Sivelle sat with her back leaning into Haros’s wide chest. She was worn out, both physically and emotionally. She stared off into the wilderness, her mind blank but buzzing with anxiety.

  They had been on the road for hours, yet there was still no sign of her uncle’s castle. Sivelle couldn’t shake her concern, expecting to see her father’s men charging toward them on horseback at any moment. Her head ached from straining, listening for hooves.

  So far, the road to Rosenhall had been deserted. She and Haros had not passed a single soul since leaving the main road. That was both a blessing and a curse. She glanced down at the fresh, undisturbed snow, knowing Chant was leaving a clear trail of prints in his wake. They would be easy to track.

  Sivelle swallowed. She hoped they would make it to the safety of her uncle’s home before the King’s Guard inevitably caught up with them.

  Chant rounded a corner and the road’s incline grew steeper still. Haros shifted his body weight in the saddle, pushing both himself and Sivelle forward a little to assist the horse uphill.

  Chant lowered his head and powered on, puffing with exertion. His hooves slid a little against the slippery slope, but the stallion easily corrected himself. He was an impressive creature, that was for sure. Sivelle was certain Faye would be keen to test him out, should they ever be reunited.

  Happiness glowed dimly in the pit of her stomach. Reuniting with her beloved sisters was now a tangible possibility, one she had never allowed herself to dream of.

  Whilst Haros’s escape had been far from plain sailing, for the first time in her entire life Sivelle felt hopeful for her future. She would feel even better once they were out of the cold and holed up somewhere safe.

  “It can’t be much further,” Haros muttered beneath his breath.

  Sivelle didn’t reply, just stroked Haros’s knee comfortingly.

  She and the demon had travelled in silence for most of the journey. It was out of character for Haros, which just served as evidence of his fatigue. Sivelle had her doubts in Haros’s ability to protect her in such a weakened, depleted state. It was yet another concern weighing heavily on her mind.

  They rode on. It was only as Chant rounded another bend, that Sivelle spotted something in the distance.

  “There!” She pointed ahead.

  The large castle appeared on the horizon, barely visible through the fog and dense snow clouds.

  Haros sighed “Thank fuck for that. Hold on tight.”

  The demon nudged Chant forward with a sharp kick and the stallion sprang into action. Sensing their excitement, the horse snorted and thundered forward in a canter.

  The forest began to thin out and, now the night sky was rapidly lightening, Sivelle caught sight of Nyre through the canopy. The dragonette floated high above them, coasting serenely on the howling winter winds.

  Sivelle’s body ached from head to toe but she pushed the pain to the back of her mind, focussing only on the large castle that loomed closer and closer with each passing second.

  Soon enough, Haros was pulling a breathless Chant up into a steady trot and they approached a huge, wooden portcullis.

  “Halt! Who approaches?” a voice called out from the ramparts.

  Before Haros had a chance to reply, the princess cleared her throat. “Sivelle Goldwyrm. I am here at the explicit request of my uncle, Cirro Goldwyrm.”

  Her voice echoed around them. Nyre dove down from the sky, landing gracefully beside them. This time, Chant paid her no mind. The brave horse had clearly acclimatised to the dragonette’s presence already.

  They were met with silence for a few long minutes. The stallion fidgeted impatiently and a bitterly cold wind whipped across them.

  Large roses were carved into two enormous stone blocks that formed part of the main wall on either side of the gate. Sivelle recognised them and her mind turned to the ring on her dressing table back in Awrelwood, the one she had used on the wax seal of her letter to Lori.

  She had wrongly assumed it to be a simple, attractive design. The ring must have been a present from her uncle. She had never known. Sivelle suddenly wished she had thought to retrieve it before they fled.

  “Hm, they’re taking their sweet time deciding whether to let us in,” Haros muttered, his voice tight with concern. He turned in the saddle to glance back along the road from where they had come. It was thankfully still deserted.

  “Maybe my uncle hasn’t yet passed the instruction on to the men on the gates?” Sivelle suggested hopefully, ignoring the worry prickling at the back of her neck.

  Before Haros could reply, there was a loud thud. Chant and Nyre startled as the portcullis creaked and groaned, slowly beginning to rise.

  Sivelle let out a small sigh of relief.

  As soon as the gate was high enough for them to pass beneath it safely, Haros nudged Chant on and they strode inside the castle walls. Nyre followed close behind. The stallion’s hooves echoed against the hard cobblestones as they made their way up the large drive towards the castle’s main doors.

  The gardens were vast and well maintained. Though they were covered in a dense layer of snow, Sivelle admired the clean, crisp edges of the well-pruned shrubs hidden beneath. The snow had recently been cleared from the surface of the drive, allowing them easy passage.

  Two servants rushed forward to meet them. One took hold of Chant’s reins, whilst the other hastily unstrapped their belongings from the saddle.

  Haros took his feet out of the stirrups and swung his leg over Chant’s back end, landing on his feet. He groaned and stretched his back before reaching up to grasp Sivelle’s waist.

  The princess followed suit, wincing as her cold bones creaked and her muscles seized. The demon placed her gently back on her feet, but she grasped his arm. Her legs were shaking, weak after a long ride.

  “You made it!” Cirro burst through the front doors, still wearing his sleep attire. Another servant scurried behind him, holding out what appeared to be a thick smoking jacket. Cirro paid the man’s offering no mind as he strode out into the crisp morning air to meet them.

  He reached out to shake Haros’s hand, but the demon pulled away.

  “Uh, I wouldn’t just yet. We might have had a bit of an incident on the way here involving some disgusting bog water,” he laughed.

  Cirro cocked a brow, then smirked. “Decent of you to warn me first. Come, come. You must be freezing.”

  “Will you be able to see to my dragonette?” Haros asked one of the servants. The man nodded and held his hand out politely for Nyre to sniff.

  “Go get settled Nyre. We’ll come and find you once we’ve rested.”

  The dragonette purred in agree
ment and allowed the servant to lead her away with Chant.

  Sivelle and Haros followed behind Cirro as he strode back into the castle. Rosenhall was no less impressive than Awrelwood, and yet somehow had a friendlier air about it.

  Sivelle had spent her entire life cooped up, surrounded by luxury, but something about this place seemed more welcoming. Then it hit her, there was no gold.

  Her father had always loved gold. He adorned anything and everything with it. Cirro’s castle, though still luxurious, was void of the ostentatious display of wealth she had grown accustomed to.

  A female servant hurried forwards with warm drinks on a tray. Sivelle gaped as she realised the woman was a demon. Though she fought to hide her surprise, the woman shot her a kind, knowing smile. Sivelle could barely keep her eyes from her.

  She was middle-aged and, like Haros, dark in complexion. She also had small, delicately curved horns jutting from her head.

  Sivelle glanced up at Haros, who was also observing the woman with a curious frown.

  Sivelle took the drink the servant woman offered and gulped a greedy mouthful, keen to fill her belly with warmth. Cirro ushered them into a sitting room. She and Haros perched on the edge of the pale velvet seat. If they weren’t already painfully aware of their filthy appearance, Cirro’s immaculate home certainly reminded them.

  “You have demon’s working here?” Haros asked.

  Cirro settled into the chair opposite and took his own mug from the servant. She silently slipped away, closing the door behind her.

  “Yes, and I pay them a decent wage too, before you ask. No one is a slave in my household. Your king was also surprised the first time he visited.” Cirro chuckled.

  “I bet.” Haros smoothed a palm over his mouth thoughtfully as he glanced around the room.

  “I take it your escape went to plan? No injuries or anything more sinister?” Cirro asked, taking a sip from his mug.

  “Ah, well.” Haros pressed his lips together.

  Sivelle felt her vision wavering as sudden, hot tears sprang forth. She sniffed and swiped them away.

  “Sivelle? Whatever is the matter?”