By about five o'clock in the evening, their journey brought them close by the high and towering walls of the Kaldris Kingdom-a mountain of stone almost 15.24 meters high with long shadows across the way.
Approaching the entrance gate, Isabelle's guards strode forward, their fists falling against wood with a firm rhythm. "Open the gate," they called out; "the young lady has come." The voices echoed through the fast-thickening dusk.
A guard appeared overhead, looking down over the edge of the wall, his armor winking in the rapid fall of darkness, a spear clutched in his rigid fist. "Identify yourself," he called out, his voice keen as any blade he might have hefted. Isabelle stepped forward again, head thrown back, and held up her I.D. tag in the line of his sight, glinting like a splinter of silver between her fingers. "Is this enough verification?.
The guard's eyes rounded into a circle of recognition; his mask of sternness shattered as he struggled backward with a shout: "Quick! Open the gate!" He is almost flying down the length of the wall, calling orders to other guards. With its slow creaks, the giant gate groaned open, an inch at a time, until it let them into the kingdom.
First, Isabelle strode through, commanding the air with her presence, her entourage close at her heels. The porter and his men went low, as if pulled by taut strings. "Welcome back, Your Highness. How was your journey?"
Isabelle nodded at the captain of the guard. "You may rise," she said with ease, as if she had done it all her life. The guards straightened with murmured thanks, but she cast a curious glance at the captain, her brow furrowing. "Captain, may I ask why the gate is closed so early? It's not yet time for curfew."
The captain of the guard bent close, his voice a cautious whisper by her ear. "The kingdom prepares for war, Your Highness. His Majesty has ordered the gates shut early."
Isabelle's face clouded, and in that moment, her features were as hard as heated iron from the forge, though she masked it quickly. From a distance away, Drake felt a shiver run up his spine as he watched her reaction. She turned again toward the captain, her voice level. "Please arrange a sleigh to take us across to the palace," she instructed.
"At once, Your Highness," the captain replied, bowing before hurrying off to carry out her command.
In five minutes a sleigh appeared, a handsome white vehicle, made of polished wood, and harnessed to two stout brown reindeer. The driver was an old man, slender but tough as whipcord, with eyes bright as the stars.
The captain of the guard came forward and bowed his head. "Your Highness, I've brought the sleigh as requested." He noticed her slight hesitation at taking in the driver's age and cleared his throat, pride delicately laced upon his voice.
"Don't underestimate him, Your Highness, this man is one of the three top sleigh dashers in our kingdom."
A fleeting smile touched her lips as she laid a hand on the captain's shoulder. "Thank, Captain. I appreciate it." She turned to Drake and his guards. "Let's go." Drake strode forward, expecting to share the sleigh with her, but Isabelle's guards stepped in, crossing their arms over their chest in a definitive block.
"And who might you be, to ride in the sleigh with Her Highness?" they asked, their tone as cold as forged steel.
Drakes' bristled, gaze narrowing. "Is this how you treat your savior?"
Isabelle's face appeared in the sleigh window. Her tone carried quiet authority. "Let him in." With a flick of his hand, Drake brushed the guards aside and climbed in. As he settled, Isabelle leaned forward to nod to the driver. "Swift and steady," she commanded.
The sleigh moved forward, runners hissing against the snow. It was another thirty minutes before they pulled up to the palace gate: a great edifice flanked by two soaring statues of bygone rulers that almost seemed to stare at them with stone-cold eyes. Three figures stood waiting before the gate: an elderly lady draped in rich silken black and two young attendants dressed uniformly in black-and-white; each bowed from the waist as Isabella stepped out.
"Welcome back, my lady," they said as one. A reverent murmur, they dipped into a graceful bow, touching their hands to the ground.
Isabella moved toward them, her steps quiet and assured. "You needn't wait for me at the gate," she said. "How is Father?"
The old woman finally lifted her head. Her face was a topography of kindness etched by the years. "His Majesty awaits your anxious return to his chambers," she replied, stepping aside with a respectful gesture.
Isabella nodded to her words, and together they glided through the shining doors of the palace. They strolled for the most part in silence; Drake's eyes wandered over magnificent halls with crystal chandeliers like stars suspended in the sky and polished marble sparkling like captured moonlight.
The walls, made from gleaming white stones, shone in the light, or so it seemed, as if somehow holding an otherworldly light within them.
Isabella turned to her old caretaker. "Nanny, please arrange a room for him," she said, her eyes darting to Drake. "I'll go on to my father."
With a nod, the elderly woman inclined her head. "Of course, my lady." She turned to Drake, gesturing with gracious politeness to her right. "This way, sir."
Drake gave a slight nod and followed, his footsteps echoing through the grand hallways as he took in the splendor around him. It was as if he had entered into another world; with every inch of this palace whispering power, history, and secrets kept within stone wa
lls that stood witness to centuries.