Then I retreat from the spineless, pathetic man. As he inches away, there’s such a promise within his glances that tells me he’s contemplating revenge.
That would indeed be foolish.
“Go ahead,” I challenge. “Many have tried to kill me, and all have failed.”
“No one will be killing anyone today,” Maeva declares, rolling her eyes.
“She’s right,” Virgil interjects, coming up beside us. “I think it’s time for you to go, Gawain.”
The Malvorian’s jaw ticks, a deranged laugh escaping from him. “Until next time, High General,” he seethes. “I shall see you again.”
“For your sake, I sincerely hope not,” I reply.
With a huff, Gawain stalks away through the ruined city just as the first signs of the morning mist spread across the horizon. I’m contemplating sending my shadows out to end his miserable existence when I feel a dainty hand grasp my own. Maeva stands beside me, gripping my armored hand firmly as she watches him go. A warmth I haven’t felt in a long time spreads through me as I gaze at her. The morning mist rises as it attempts to mimic the light that dwells within her, but it doesn’t even come close in comparison.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
I whistle for Danté, who gallops up to my right. “If you are,” I reply.
She nods.
“Is it okay if I help you up?” I ask, searching her eyes for any potential distress or fear. However, all I see is the calmness of a deep ocean stirring within them. It appears our near death experience has quailed the tempest for the time being. Even covered in dust and dirt from the collapse, she’s lovely. Her cheeks morph into the softest shade of pink, and I have to fight the urge to reach out. Either I voiced my thoughts aloud or I was staring too intensely because she quickly looks away.
“I suppose that’s better than being thrown over your shoulder,” she smirks.
A chuckle escapes me. “Indeed, Rosey,” I reply.
My hands wrap around her waist, and her breath hitches at the contact. Her small hands wrap around my bicep, and the heat of her contact makes my skin hot—even underneath all the armor. I swiftly place heron Danté’s back, needing to escape the glorious warmth that radiates from her. I settle in behind her, reaching for the reins on either side. Her cheeks deepen into a richer shade of red.
While I’d enjoy continuing to make her blush, her safety is more important. We need to reach the palace as soon as possible, so I can exchange a few words with ourdearking.
“Onward to the palace,” I yell to others.
“Yes, High General,” they bellow in unison.
Then, we’re riding as fast as our horses will carry us toward the light gray horizon.
For a moment, I swear that Maeva’s settling against my chest, but the contact is quickly broken when she leans forward once more.
Perhaps I imagined it.
Or perhaps…
If only for a moment…
She feels safe.
Three.LONG. Days.
We haven’t stopped moving since Delerauh. The cities and towns all race by in a blur, the only sounds to be heard are the pounding of hooves on the misty terrain. The only times we rest are to eat food or drink water. The days are long, and the nights are even longer, as we venture through the mist that grows thicker in the night. The Cadre’s liquid amber eyes become fluorescent whenever the evening comes.
At first, I was baffled how the Cadre moved so swiftly through the dreary darkness without so much as a lamp or light. I originally believed that they must be riding through the night blind, staying on the path out of sheer luck. However, that was until Emyr explained to me on the second night that Galrosans have impeccable night vision due to living amongst the shadows:
“Zulgalros is a kingdom much darker than Malvoria,”he said.“It’s a land covered in ice and snow. The climate is quite harsh, and there are all manner of creatures that lurk in its shadows. However, before the Drakhul or any of this, Zulgalros was quite beautiful. A stunning display of lights used to dance across the expanse, while tiny faeries would weave stories from the swirling snow to entertain the children in our villages. The shadows that used to roam were more docile creatures—similar to Danté—but the Drakhul changed all of that.”
There was a rawness in his tone that made my heart ache for the things his kingdom lost. The Drakhul not only stole peace from Malvoria, but Zulgalros as well. It isn’t just a disease for Malvoria, but it’s also a leech to King Tiernan’s own people. I can’t comprehend why the king would plague them with the mist. Wouldn’t he desire his own kingdom to be unified—strong—instead of weak and hidden behind the shadows?
There’s so much happening beyond Malvoria that I’ve never heard before, as history and stories have been warped or twisted from fear of the Galrosans. Every story spoken of them only highlights their evil deeds. Yet, as I have journeyed with the Cadre, I’ve been shown kindness and compassion more readily than I ever was in Aurelius.