beautiful. But Darmik knew appearances could be deceiving.
After entering the cobblestone courtyard, Darmik dismounted. Before he could stretch his back or remove his helmet, a steward approached.
“Welcome home, Prince Darmik ,” the steward bowed. “Your father is in the Throne Room. Shall I announce you?”
The king wouldn’t like for his younger son to appear in the king’s court covered with road dust. However, if Darmik didn’t see his father right away, rumors would start. Besides, it was fun watching everyone’s court faces as they tried to hide their disgust at Darmik’s appearance. He had to find amusement where he could, for there was little in the castle.
The steward escorted Darmik through the pristine hallways. The sun shone through the crystal-clear windows, its light bouncing from the marble floors. Passing by a statue of King Barjon, Darmik smiled, remembering a game of hide-and-seek he had played with Lennek. Darmik had hid behind the statue. He was so bored waiting for his brother to find him that he used his dagger to carve his initials into the statue. Only when he was done did he realize that he’d desecrated his father’s backside.
At the entrance to the Throne Room, two guards stood posted outside. Upon seeing Darmik, they pulled the heavy, wood doors open.
The steward s tepped around Darmik and cleared his throat. “His Highness, Prince Darmik.” Sixty heads snapped in Darmik’s direction. The obnoxious smell of perfume hung heavy in the air.
A s Darmik walked down the center aisle, the courtiers stood, curtseyed or bowed, and stared at him. Their faces were blank and devoid of emotion. He looked down at himself, covered in dirt, his black boots almost brown. His face had a few days’ worth of stubble. He tried to suppress a smile.
The room was fifty -feet long, the dais at the end on a raised, marble platform. And there, in his proper place, sat King Barjon. He wore his royal cape, lined with silver, and his gold crown with sapphires the size of fingernails sat atop his head. To the average person, the king appeared disinterested, almost bored. But Darmik knew better—his father’s right foot tapped impatiently. King Barjon’s hair and eyes were dark like Darmik’s, but that’s where the similarities ended as the king wore a thick beard and had a large belly.
He pursed his lips when Darmik stood at his feet.
“Your Majesty. ” Darmik knelt, bowing his head.
“Welcome home,” King Barjon responded with a cold voice that echoed through the room. “I trust your journey was productive.”
“Always. When can I give you my report?” Darmik needed to discuss the rumors with his father without the possibility of being overheard.
The king asked his recorder, “How many people are waiting to speak?”
The man lifted his paper. “Three, Your Majesty.”
King Barjon waved Darmik closer. “My office,” the king snapped, “one hour. Now go get yourself cleaned up.”
Rema
Rema stood in the middle of the bedchamber seething with rage. If she had the strength of a man, she would’ve been able to fight off the two guards who had brought her to this room, locking her inside. But since that wasn’t the case, here she was—imprisoned in the governor’s castle.
Rema scanned the room. There was a sitting area by the door with two dark green settees and one chair. Centered on the far wall was an ornate, four-post wooden bed with a silky, gold canopy. A dressing area was off to the side with a privacy screen. Tapestries depicting horses running through fields, wild and free, decorated the walls, the only thing making her feel at home. The sole exit was through the door in which she had entered. There were also two large windows. Glancing outside, she determined that she was on the third level.
S urely, a guard was stationed outside the room. Rema laid down on the wood floor and peeked under the door. Two sets of boots stood on either side. Straining to listen, the
After entering the cobblestone courtyard, Darmik dismounted. Before he could stretch his back or remove his helmet, a steward approached.
“Welcome home, Prince Darmik ,” the steward bowed. “Your father is in the Throne Room. Shall I announce you?”
The king wouldn’t like for his younger son to appear in the king’s court covered with road dust. However, if Darmik didn’t see his father right away, rumors would start. Besides, it was fun watching everyone’s court faces as they tried to hide their disgust at Darmik’s appearance. He had to find amusement where he could, for there was little in the castle.
The steward escorted Darmik through the pristine hallways. The sun shone through the crystal-clear windows, its light bouncing from the marble floors. Passing by a statue of King Barjon, Darmik smiled, remembering a game of hide-and-seek he had played with Lennek. Darmik had hid behind the statue. He was so bored waiting for his brother to find him that he used his dagger to carve his initials into the statue. Only when he was done did he realize that he’d desecrated his father’s backside.
At the entrance to the Throne Room, two guards stood posted outside. Upon seeing Darmik, they pulled the heavy, wood doors open.
The steward s tepped around Darmik and cleared his throat. “His Highness, Prince Darmik.” Sixty heads snapped in Darmik’s direction. The obnoxious smell of perfume hung heavy in the air.
A s Darmik walked down the center aisle, the courtiers stood, curtseyed or bowed, and stared at him. Their faces were blank and devoid of emotion. He looked down at himself, covered in dirt, his black boots almost brown. His face had a few days’ worth of stubble. He tried to suppress a smile.
The room was fifty -feet long, the dais at the end on a raised, marble platform. And there, in his proper place, sat King Barjon. He wore his royal cape, lined with silver, and his gold crown with sapphires the size of fingernails sat atop his head. To the average person, the king appeared disinterested, almost bored. But Darmik knew better—his father’s right foot tapped impatiently. King Barjon’s hair and eyes were dark like Darmik’s, but that’s where the similarities ended as the king wore a thick beard and had a large belly.
He pursed his lips when Darmik stood at his feet.
“Your Majesty. ” Darmik knelt, bowing his head.
“Welcome home,” King Barjon responded with a cold voice that echoed through the room. “I trust your journey was productive.”
“Always. When can I give you my report?” Darmik needed to discuss the rumors with his father without the possibility of being overheard.
The king asked his recorder, “How many people are waiting to speak?”
The man lifted his paper. “Three, Your Majesty.”
King Barjon waved Darmik closer. “My office,” the king snapped, “one hour. Now go get yourself cleaned up.”
Rema
Rema stood in the middle of the bedchamber seething with rage. If she had the strength of a man, she would’ve been able to fight off the two guards who had brought her to this room, locking her inside. But since that wasn’t the case, here she was—imprisoned in the governor’s castle.
Rema scanned the room. There was a sitting area by the door with two dark green settees and one chair. Centered on the far wall was an ornate, four-post wooden bed with a silky, gold canopy. A dressing area was off to the side with a privacy screen. Tapestries depicting horses running through fields, wild and free, decorated the walls, the only thing making her feel at home. The sole exit was through the door in which she had entered. There were also two large windows. Glancing outside, she determined that she was on the third level.
S urely, a guard was stationed outside the room. Rema laid down on the wood floor and peeked under the door. Two sets of boots stood on either side. Straining to listen, the
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