Page 26 of A Kingdom's Heart
Eric clapped me on the arm, jolting me back to the barracks. “You ready?”
I nodded.
We went to the armory. The air smelled of oil and iron. Men were already strapping on armor, buckles snapping, blades sliding into scabbards.
I took my breastplate from the rack and set it against my chest. The weight settled familiar, a kind of reassurance I could understand. Eric fastened his straps beside me, humming something off-key.
When I finished buckling the belts, we crossed the courtyard toward the stables. The mist was lifting, thin threads of it curling above the walls. The sky was pale and washed in light.
Corven waited by the fence. His black coat shone faintly with dew, his breath coming out in small clouds. I reached for his bridle, running a hand down his neck. He was warm and solid beneath my palm.
“Morning, boy,” I said quietly.
He tossed his head once, impatient as always. I slid the saddle into place and tightened the girth.
Eric mounted first, his blond hair catching the light. “Let’s see if these farms are really as restless as the captain says.”
I climbed into my saddle and settled the reins. “If not, at least it’s a ride.”
He laughed, turning his horse toward the gate.
The drawbridge creaked as it lowered, the sound of chains cutting through the morning mist. Guards moved aside, their armor glinting faintly in the pale light.
Eric rode first, his horse tossing its head as it stepped onto the road. I followed, guiding Corven forward. His hooves struck against the stone, then fell into a steady rhythm as we reached the dirt path beyond the walls.
Behind us, the towers faded into fog until only their shapes were left in the distance. The fields ahead stretched wide and quiet beneath a pale sky. The road curved north through the open land like a faint scar.
Neither of us spoke for a long while. The sound of hooves and wind filled the space between us. The rhythm of it steadied me more than I expected.
The northern farms waited ahead, and I tried to keep my thoughts on the task. Still, my mind wandered. I remembered the healer’s wing and the firelight moving across the stone walls. I could almost hear her voice again, calm and careful as she worked.
When I returned, I told myself I might walk that corridor again. Only to see if she was there. Only to be sure she was real.
I told myself it would only be curiosity. Nothing more.
Still, as the wind shifted, I knew I was already lying to myself.
CHAPTER TEN
IRIS
The tailors came before sunrise. Their voices filled the room before I had even spoken a word.
They carried rolls of fabric, silk and lace in shades of white and pink. The scent of lavender clung to their hands. One of them circled me with a measuring tape while the others whispered and wrote.
“Height, five foot two,” one said.
“Waist, small. Legs slender. The gown must be grand, something to remember.”
They spoke of beauty as if it were a duty. I stood still, listening, unsure what any of it meant.
My father had mentioned no celebration. No feast. No guests. Yet the tailors spoke as though everything had already been decided. I wanted to ask, but the words never came. Questions never pleased him.
When they finished, they bowed and promised to return soon. I nodded and smiled politely until they were gone.
Silence filled the room once more.
I turned toward the wardrobe. My healer’s robe lay folded neatly on the chair where I had left it. I let my hand rest on the fabric for a moment before turning away.
