The trip took a day and a half. We stopped only a few times to relieve ourselves, and even those moments were brief, barely enough to stretch our legs. Breakfast consisted of cold bread, wrapped tightly in layers of cloth to keep it soft, though it offered little comfort. By the final hours, our water had run out, leaving my throat dry and scratchy.
That was when I learned what motion sickness truly was. The relentless bobbing and swaying of the carriage, coupled with the occasional jolt as the horses startled or stumbled, made my stomach churn. I found myself closing my eyes and focusing on slow, deep breaths, willing the unease to subside. It worked, but only just.
Egon didn’t open the curtain for most of the trip, preferring to keep it drawn. I wasn’t sure why—perhaps he didn’t like being seen, or maybe he simply disliked the light—but he remained quiet, content in his silence, and surprisingly well behaved. He didn’t complain about the journey, nor did he eat or drink much. The woolen blanket he had wrapped snugly around himself was a luxury I deeply envied.
I could tell when we entered the woods. The air changed, carrying the sharp, earthy scent of pine, and the carriage slowed as the wheels struggled through mud and climbed steeper terrain. The creaks of the wooden frame and the occasional groans of the horses broke the monotony of the trip, but for the most part, we moved in an unspoken stillness.
Arriving at Kingskeep felt sudden. The carriage jolted to a stop after what seemed like an endless hour of constant movement. Outside, the rhythmic tapping of soldiers’ boots against the ground broke the silence.
I shifted in my seat, reaching toward the curtain to catch a glimpse of where we’d arrived. Before I could, Egon’s hand clamped around my wrist, firm but not harsh. He shook his head. “Wait for them.”
Reluctantly, I sank back into my seat, my hand falling to my lap. From the faint specks of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the roof, I could tell it was daytime, though how late, I couldn’t guess.
Outside, voices murmured in hushed tones, interrupted occasionally by commands. Horses shuffled, their hooves scraping against the ground, and the creak of metal armor punctuated the stillness. My fingers curled tightly around the edge of my seat, resisting the urge to peek past the curtain.
Egon remained composed, leaning back as if this moment were routine for him. His calm demeanor only made the knot in my stomach tighten.
Moments later, the carriage door opened with a groaning creak, and a rush of cold air swept inside. A man in full plate armor stood just beyond, his face obscured by a steel helm adorned with the intricate insignia of Kingskeep—a strange bird encircled by a wreath. The soldier didn’t speak but held the door open.
Egon gestured for me to follow as he fluidly rose. I hesitated, clutching the leather-bound journal he had given me earlier. My fingers trembled slightly, but I forced myself to move, stepping out onto the packed dirt road. The light was blinding at first, the sun high in a cloudless sky.
The keep towered overhead, a massive stone fortress that seemed to merge seamlessly with the mountainside. Its walls were a blend of gray and white stone. Towers spiraled skyward, their banners—deep red with gold trim—fluttering in the brisk wind. At the center, a great iron gate loomed, its bars wide enough to allow a small army to pass through and nearby, a line of carriages waited, each bearing the crest of various noble families. Servants scurried about, unloading goods and directing horses.
“Welcome to Kingskeep,” Egon said, and stepped down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” I nodded wordlessly, my gaze sweeping over the scene, but for all its beauty, the place almost felt cold.
“This way,” Egon said, steering me toward the main gate. The soldier who had opened the carriage door fell into step behind us. As we approached, the gates began to groan open, revealing a sprawling courtyard within. The ground was paved with smooth stone, and fountains dotted the space. To one side, a stable housed sleek horses, their coats groomed to a high sheen, and he explained to me that I’d learn the art of animal keeping.
Egon turned to face me. “From this moment on, you are no longer a boy of Widowskeep. You are Roderich of Chaluk, a ward of Kingskeep. Remember that.”
I nodded slowly, though my eyes flickered to the side as a stable boy brushed past me. His hair was dirty blonde, his face and clothes smeared with dirt.
“That’s Archie,” Egon said, noticing my gaze. “And you need pay no attention to him.” He clasped his hands together and smiled faintly. “This is all very exciting… hm?” I forced a weak smile, which seemed to satisfy him. He placed a flat hand on my back and gave me a light push forward. “I think you’ll enjoy it here." The duke added.
I wasn’t so sure. The place had an... uneasy quality about it. Beneath the perfectly trimmed grass, the seamless movements of the servants, and the grand architecture that was impossibly intricate, there was something I couldn’t quite place. It felt like it was overcompensating, as though trying too hard to project perfection.
But then again, what did I know?
With a hand, the duke pointed to a tall, western tower. “They’ve prepared a room for you there, where the servants sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll join me for the Winter Fest.”
“Winter Fest, sir?”
“An annual event. Many key figures will be attending, and I want you to meet some of them.”
I frowned, glancing down. “I’m a bastard, sir. Why would they—”
“A bastard?” Egon interrupted with a sharp laugh. “Roderich, you are no bastard. Thinking of yourself as one serves no purpose, now, does it?” His voice softened slightly when he noticed my sunken expression.
With a light push on my back, he nudged me forward as we began walking again. “Don’t be silly, boy. I’ll introduce you as my steward, and they’ll respect you.”
I gave a faint nod, offering no further argument. The duke seemed content with that, and we continued our path toward the grand main doors, which stood wide open. The wood was dark and polished, and carved deep into its surface was a symbol that caught my attention—a bird encircled by thorn-like patterns. It was the same design encrusted into the flags above, but as I stared, I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to the dragon rune from Widowskeep.
Inside, the air was no warmer, but the sheer grandeur of the space ahead caught my attention. What I had expected to be a grand staircase was not. Instead, a domed ceiling rose high above, curving in a way that felt both massive and strangely harmonious. Stained glass adorned the dome, depicting old kings and heroes—some clearly mythological, others perhaps rooted in reality.
The floor was a polished white marble, so smooth and reflective it seemed almost like water. Pathways were marked by strips of red velvet carpet, their edges trimmed in deep purple and gold, guiding the eye toward the room’s focal points.
At the center of it all, a chandelier hung from a wide stone circle. It was not a simple light fixture but a spectacle in itself. Crystals dangled from faux-golden chains, catching the sunlight that poured through the stained glass. The light fractured into water-like patterns that danced across the floor.
Between the colored panes of glass, thick stone pillars descended. It was overwhelming, a place designed to inspire awe—or perhaps to remind those who entered just how small they truly were.
The air carried the faint scent of old fragrance, and on the far wall stood a fireplace surrounded by wooden chairs. The room felt overwhelmingly empty, though a handful of people busied themselves with preparations for the upcoming ball. Blue and red lanterns, their flames tinted by powders, were being hung with care. Wreaths adorned the walls, and heavy tables were being pushed into place, draped in fine tablecloths and set with expensive silverware.
Lost in thought, I had forgotten Egon was still beside me until a tap on my shoulder made me jump. “Incredible, isn’t it?” he asked. “How much power and wealth can build. But I can tell by your eyes that you think as I do—it’s all useless. Grand for the sake of being grand, without real purpose.” He sighed, gesturing for me to follow.
We moved through an arched doorway and down a long corridor before turning sharply into a narrower passage. At the end stood a wooden staircase, older and less refined. The steps creaked under my weight as we ascended, eventually reaching the top, where a narrow hallway stretched ahead. Four doors lined either side, and Egon led me to the last one on the right.
Inside, the room surprised me. Two beds flanked a large window, their mattresses plump and cloudlike. Each side of the room was outfitted with its own dresser, and though simple, the space carried an air of understated elegance.
“Like it?” Egon asked.
I nodded, and he smiled—a rare, almost genuine expression. Yet something about him felt twisted, as though there was always another layer to his words and actions. Did he truly care for my comfort? Most of the time, it felt like the answer was no. But in moments like this, I couldn’t help but wonder.
The awkward silence between us lingered until Egon’s smile faded, replaced with his usual stern demeanor. “Good,” he said briskly. “But don’t get overly comfortable. Tomorrow is a big day for both of us. After the ball, I’ll have you start training immediately. By the end of next week, you’ll accompany me on a trip.”
“What kind of trip?”
Egon paused. “So full of questions,” he murmured with a faint chuckle. “I suppose anyone in your position would be.” He let out a thoughtful hum before continuing, “Supper tonight will be light. Don’t overindulge yourself, or you won’t stomach tomorrow’s food.”
His words trailed off as his eyes caught my distracted gaze, which had shifted toward the second bed in the room. Following it, Egon tilted his head slightly. “Ah. That belongs to another child, around your age,” he said casually. “He’ll be back in a few days.”
The way he spoke of it—so matter of fact, so detached—made any follow up question feel unwelcome.
“You told me my father was…” I hesitated, “A hunter of beasts.”
Egon’s sharp hand movement startled me as he raised it, curling it into a tight fist. “We must not speak of that in these halls, only in private. There are ears in these walls—some that do not agree with, or even know of, the hunting of beasts. If you’re to gain the king’s favor and approval for your training, you must tread carefully. Do you understand?”
I nodded, though my chest tightened at his tone.
“A single misstep, a word out of place. Even a glance—anything—will be punished. And it won’t be by me.” Egon hushed to a whisper. “Once we secure the resources, once the king grants permission, you’ll have answers,” he said, his tone softer but no less commanding. “I’ll tell you everything. Who you are. What you’re meant for. But until that day…” Egon leaned in, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath, hot and faintly sour, “Settle in. Talk to the servants, if you must, but no one of importance.”
Egon’s hand brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, a gesture that felt uncomfortably intimate. “I’ll meet you before the ball tomorrow, Roderich. And…” His eyes flicked to my clothing, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Find Mariam, the seamstress. She’s in the lower quarters of the southeast wing. Tell her to make you a suit for tomorrow.”
With a heavy sigh, Egon turned, leaving the room and closing the door behind him softly.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the door as unease settled over me. Finally, I let out a shaky breath and shrank back into the shadows, pressing my back against the cold wall.
This was all too much. It was overwhelming, almost surreal. But defying Egon—or anyone in Kingskeep—wasn’t an option. I had to bide my time, wait for the right moment to understand where I truly stood in all of this.
Lily had been wrong about Kingskeep. It felt enormous, as vast as the world itself, and infinitely more unsafe than Widowskeep ever had. I hoped it was just the fears of my young mind, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure.
I spent the rest of the day wandering the halls, trying to familiarize myself with the vastness of Kingskeep. To my surprise, the layout wasn’t as confusing as I had imagined. Markers hung at the corners, clearly pointing the way and labeling rooms. As I explored, I came across a grand library with towering shelves, the smaller, humbler servants’ kitchens, and eventually found my way to Mariam’s quarters.
I told her of the duke’s instructions to make me a suit. She nodded curtly and took my measurements. Mariam was an older woman, her graying hair tied neatly back against a thin frame. Her accent stood out—it was distinctly Saaornian, not Chalukian, a detail that piqued my curiosity but felt inappropriate to ask about. Once she finished, she told me to return in the morning to collect the suit.
Dinner that evening, as Egon had warned, was light. I chose to eat in the servants’ mess hall, steering clear of the larger, more intimidating dining rooms. A few servants glanced my way, their eyes briefly curious, but no one lingered or questioned my presence. It was as if a boy wandering into their space was routine. Supper consisted of iced salmon paired with an assortment of fruits. I ate just enough to satisfy my hunger, remembering Egon’s warning not to overindulge, and washed it down with watered-down ale. The bitter drink settled like a stone in my stomach.
That night, sleep didn’t come easily. My thoughts churned and the heavy feeling in my stomach didn’t help either. Yet, sometime in the middle of that restless night, exhaustion finally took over, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
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