Page 2 of A Kingdom's Heart
For a moment, no one moved. The fight had left the air heavy. One torch sputtered, its flame bending low in the draft. The men staggered back, muttering under their breath.
I looked back, expecting to see the girl standing there so I could ask if she was alright.
But she wasn’t.
The space where she had been was empty. The corridor was thinning with people drifting out into the night. The archway gaped open, dark and wet with rain. I took a step toward it, half hoping to catch a glimpse of her cloak in the lamplight, but there was nothing. Only the sound of water running in the gutters and the faint, steady tapping of rain against the stone.
A hollow feeling settled in my chest.
“You’ll pay for that,” one of the men spat, clutching his stomach. The other glared, still rubbing his wrist. They stumbled away, muttering curses under their breath.
I watched them go, the sound of their boots fading against the stone. The torchlight flickered across the wet floor, turning the puddles to shifting gold. For a long moment I stood there, listening to the rain and the echo of my own heartbeat. Then I breathed out, long and slow, and turned toward the stables.
My horse waited near the post, restless but patient. A massive black stallion with a white streak down his nose. The castle had gifted him to me earlier this week, a token of the title I would receive tomorrow. I had named him Corven.
He was one of the largest in the royal stables, bred for strength and endurance. I needed that. At six foot four and weighing around two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle, I wasn’t easy to carry. Corven didn’t seem to mind. His muscles shifted beneath his sleek coat as I approached, and his breath came out in small clouds of mist.
“Easy,” I murmured, running my hand along his neck. The tension in my chest eased just a little.
I mounted and turned him toward the road. The rain had begun again, soft and steady, tapping against the saddle and my cloak.
The torches of Eldenmark dimmed behind me, fading to orange
glows in the fog.
For a while I rode in silence. The rhythm of hooves and rain filled the world, and my thoughts drifted, circling the same place.
The girl.
I could still see her standing in the torchlight, the edge of her cloak caught in someone’s hand, her eyes bright with both fear and defiance. I had seen courage before, on the training fields and in the faces of men who meant to die, but nothing like that. Hers was quieter. Truer.
The image stayed with me, even as the road darkened and the city disappeared behind the hills.
It was a long ride to my home, but I did not care. The theatre playedThe Song Of The Willow Brideonce every year, and I wouldn’t miss a chance to see it.
My home stood in a secluded stretch of land, far from the city. It took time to reach, but the ride always cleared my mind. The house rested in the middle of an open plain, the grass dark with rain. My father had built it himself, plank by plank, before the plague took him and my mother eleven years ago when I was only nine.
The wood was weathered now, silver-gray under the moonlight, but it was sturdy. He had built it to last, and it had.
I dismounted and led Corven into the small stable beside the house. The smell of wet earth filled the air. The rain whispered
against the roof, steady and low.
Inside, the hearth waited cold. I hung my cloak and set my sword beside the wall. Tomorrow I would kneel before the king. Tomorrow I would rise a knight of Elarion.
Yet as I stood in the quiet, all I could think of was her. The mysterious girl who vanished before I could ask her name.
CHAPTER TWO
IRIS
Father would be furious.
He always was when he found out I had slipped beyond the castle walls. His punishments were never light. Last time, I spent a week helping Raven clean the healers wing, scrubbing blood from the floors until my hands ached. Yet I did it again.
My best friend Raven had told me that the theatre in Eldenmark would be performingThe Song of the Willow Bride.I had begged her for details until she finally sighed and told me the truth. That was all it took. I needed to see it.
It was the story I had loved most as a child. A farmer’s son named Mike who fell in love with a queen. She walked among her people in disguise, and he never knew her name. Their love was quiet, pure, but the king found out. The boy was exiled, and the queen was forced to watch him leave. I used to read it over and over, pretending I was the queen. Pretending love could be stronger than duty.
