Chapter 6: Meeting Him
Fortundra was a fever dream of color, a kaleidoscopic assault on the senses that felt more like a painting than a province. As I stood beside Karlos while he guided Max through the winding, cobblestone streets, I felt like a ghost haunting a celebration. The village buildings were draped in vibrant wisteria and climbing roses that smelled of honey and rain, and the people moved like parading peacocks in silks of every imaginable hue—burnt oranges, deep teals, and magentas that shouldn't have existed in nature. Even the opulence Ultarion and Katherina flaunted in Silvermere felt dull and clinical compared to this living, breathing jewelry box of a city.
"How close are we?" I asked, my voice tight, the words catching in a throat gone dry from the dust and the nerves.
"Five minutes, maybe less," Karlos said, glancing back at me with a frown that tugged at his rugged features. "Why the rush? You’re shaking, Diana. I can feel it vibrating through the saddle."
"I just need to finish this," I whispered, my eyes darting toward the looming silhouette of the citadel. I need to go home. The word felt heavy, a distant dream of cold stone and silence that I longed for amidst this neon chaos.
"Is this the quest talking, or the girl who wants to see the cave again?"
"Both," I answered shortly, cutting off the conversation before he could dig any deeper into the bruises of my memory.
As the castle spires loomed closer, piercing the sky like obsidian needles, my mind swirled with questions about the man who sat upon the throne. Was he a tyrant who ruled through fear? A scholar who hid behind parchment? My curiosity was a dangerous itch I couldn't stop scratching, a pull toward the center of a storm I knew would eventually swallow me whole.
"So," Karlos said, his voice regaining its playful, reckless edge. "Once we reach those gates, how exactly does a girl from the cave plan on spying on a King without losing her head? You’re many things, but you’re not exactly subtle."
"I'll find a servant's entrance. A maid’s uniform and a downcast gaze go a long way," I replied, smoothing my tunic as if I could already feel the rough linen of a servant's dress. "Invisible people see the most, Karlos."
Karlos pulled Max to a halt in the deep, violet shadow of a stone perimeter wall. I slid off the horse’s back, my boots hitting the ground with a soft thud that sounded like a heartbeat. Bran fluttered down toward my shoulder, his wings beating against the humid air, but I held up a hand, stopping him mid-air. The raven tilted his head, his black eye reflecting my own anxiety back at me.
"No, Bran. You can't come inside. You're too recognizable, and your temper is worse than mine." I whistled softly, signaling him to my index finger before looking at Karlos.
"I’ll watch over him," Karlos offered, his expression softening for a rare, fleeting second. He reached out, and with a reluctant, guttural croak, Bran hopped onto Karlos’s shoulder, digging his talons into the leather of his jacket.
I gave them both a fleeting, nervous smile—one that felt fragile enough to shatter—and turned toward the massive arched doors of the fortress. Knights stood like iron statues at every corner, their armor polished to a mirror finish. I took a deep, jagged breath, squared my shoulders, and forced my legs to move.
"Stop!" The bark of a guard shattered my focus. A broadsword leveled at my chest, the steel cold even from a foot away, smelling of oil and ancient blood.
I blinked in silence, my mind momentarily blank.
"State your purpose!" the knight bellowed, his voice muffled by the slit in his helmet.
"I—I'm a new maid," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I was summoned for the transition. To help with the... the banquet prep."
The knight narrowed his eyes behind his visor, his suspicion palpable. "King Zion mentioned no new staff. Especially not today."
Zion. So that was his name. It sounded ancient, heavy with the weight of history. Simple. Common. Unfitting for a fortress this grand, I thought to myself, trying to ground my panic in judgment.
"It was a last-minute addition," I pressed, trying to keep my voice from trembling as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I was told there was a shortage in the kitchens—"
"What is the meaning of this shouting?"
The voice was like low thunder, vibrating in the stone beneath my feet and rattling my very bones. A tall figure stepped through the heavy oak doors, and the air seemed to leave the courtyard. The sun, which had been so bright moments ago, seemed to dim in his presence.
He was striking in a way that defied the songs of handsome princes. His face was long and architectural, defined by a heavy, prominent jawline and a nose that curved like the beak of a hawk. His eyes were deep-set pools of ink, shadowed by thick, brooding brows that seemed permanently furrowed in thought. Light brown hair cascaded past his shoulders in wild waves, framing a face that was as rugged as it was regal.
My heart began to beat fast at the sight of him. My pulse spiked. He was nothing like the soft, pampered ruler I had imagined. He wasn't classically "pretty," but he was... magnetic. Overpowering. Attractive in a way that made you want to look away and stare at the same time.
"Your Highness," the knight said, his armor clattering as he dropped into a deep, subservient bow. "This girl claims she was summoned."
Zion’s gaze shifted to me. It felt like a physical weight, pinning me to the spot, stripping away my lies layer by layer. I held my breath, trying to look small, trying to look like a girl who belonged in a kitchen scrub-pit and not a spy from a rival land with a dagger hidden in her boot.
"Is it true?" the knight asked the King, his voice wavering. "Did you summon her?"
"No," Zion said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but his eyes locked onto mine with terrifying, predatory clarity. He didn't just see a maid; he saw a ghost. He knew.
I didn't wait for the shackles. I didn't wait for the questions. I spun on my heel and bolted, my boots skidding on the smooth cobblestones.
"Stop her!" Zion’s voice echoed off the stone walls, a command that shook the air, followed immediately by the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots and the clanking of steel.
Just run and hide! I told myself, the wind whistling past my ears as I tore back toward the maze of the city. I didn't look back. I couldn't. I ran as if the very shadows of Fortundra were reaching out to pull me into the earth, the image of Zion’s dark, knowing eyes burned into the back of my mind.