The sight of an open blue sky was a welcome relief, especially with the weather so clear and sunny.
It must have been midday, judging by the sun's position. To be certain, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Sun Disk—a small, engraved metal tool that emitted a faint glow along its edges, marking the current hour.
"We're almost to the closest city now," I said to the girl beside me, who still hadn't moved farther than an inch away since we met.
"Since you're a noble, they'll know your family. They'll look after you, keep you safe," I added with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
It didn't work. She trembled and gripped my hand tighter, her small fingers nearly digging into my skin.
We walked for another hour before the looming walls of the city of Kirel came into view. The walls were massive, towering thirty feet high, their dark gray stone streaked by time and weather. Moss clung to the cracks, and ivy vines crept lazily along the base like silent guardians.
The road grew busier as we approached. Merchants, travelers, mercenaries, and adventurers passed us, their chatter a constant hum. Some glanced our way—a disheveled girl clinging to me, mostly hidden under my cloak—but they moved on without asking questions. They had their own business to worry about.
At last, we reached the Iron Arch, the city's main gate. Reinforced oak and iron stretched tall and wide, large enough for two wagons to pass side by side. Twin watchtowers flanked the gate, banners snapping in the breeze as guards looked down with sharp, hawk-like gazes.
The girl pressed closer, practically glued to my side. There was a tension here I hadn't expected. The guards were standing straighter, their eyes sharper, and the general hum of the city felt unusually strained. That's when I saw them—posters nailed near the gate, fluttering slightly in the wind.
I stopped.
The sketch was crude but unmistakable: the girl in front of me. Her mother's likeness was there, too.
She wasn't just nobility. She was royalty.
My throat went dry, and I swallowed hard. Depending on how this went, I could lose my life here. I could be accused of something heinous or rewarded.
"Stay close," I murmured, though I didn't need to tell her twice.
We passed under the gate, only to be stopped at the checkpoint. Wooden tables and crates served as makeshift inspection stations where guards in chainmail collected entry taxes, searched goods, and questioned travelers. Wagons groaned as merchants unloaded cargo for inspection, while lines of people shuffled toward the stations.
A guard stepped in front of us, his sharp gaze flicking between me and the girl. He was weathered and sturdy, probably in his mid-thirties, his chainmail well-worn but carefully maintained. A steel helmet sat snug on his head, and a spear rested easily in his grip, though his stance was more watchful than aggressive. He looked tired—like a man who'd seen too much trouble—but his eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
"Where are you coming from?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with suspicion.
"I need to speak to your superior," I said quietly, keeping my tone measured. "Somewhere private."
The guard's brows furrowed, but he didn't argue. He raised a hand, signaling for other guards. They moved quickly, surrounding us, though their weapons stayed at their sides. Precaution, not hostility—at least not yet.
They led us through the checkpoint, past the merchants and travelers, to a small stone outpost built against the inner city wall. The structure was functional, sturdy, and unadorned, the kind of building built for work, not comfort.
We were told to wait outside as one of the guards disappeared into the outpost. I shifted my weight and glanced at the girl beside me. She was quiet, her head lowered, her grip on my sleeve still firm.
The door opened a few minutes later, and we were led inside. The room was tight and practical, lit by flickering torches set in iron brackets. A large central desk dominated the space, its surface buried under piles of maps, ledgers, and loose parchment. A weapons rack lined one wall, spears standing at attention like silent sentries.
Behind the desk stood the Gate Captain. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties, with short dark hair streaked with gray and a face that looked carved from stone. His steel breastplate gleamed faintly in the light, a royal crest emblazoned on his chest. His sharp eyes flicked to us the moment we entered, weighing and assessing, the kind of look that could cut straight through lies.
"Who is she?" the Gate Captain asked, his voice steady and commanding.
I ignored him, crouching down so I could speak to the girl—the princess—on her level.
"I'm going to take off the cloak," I whispered softly. "You're safe now."
She didn't answer, but she didn't resist either. Carefully, I pulled the cloak away.
The Gate Captain's chair scraped loudly against the stone as he shot to his feet, his eyes wide in shock.
"...By the gods," he breathed.
"Your Highness."
The Gate Captain's voice was steady, but his shock showed in the slight tremor of his movements as he immediately dropped to one knee.
The girl flinched and shrank behind me, her small hands clinging to my sleeve like a lifeline.
The Gate Captain rose slowly, his gaze shifting to me. "I'm guessing you're the one who saved her."
I gave him a simple nod. He gestured to a pair of chairs in front of his desk, though the girl refused to move or sit. I sank into mine gratefully as the captain called for a maid. Moments later, a tray of bread, fruit, and water was brought in. I didn't hesitate to accept, tearing into the bread.
The Gate Captain excused himself, leaving us alone in the office. The girl stayed where she was—close to me, unmoving—her grip firm and unrelenting.
An hour later, the door opened, and the Gate Captain returned with a handful of servants—young women dressed in clean, simple dresses, their footsteps quiet.
The Gate Captain bowed deeply. "Princess, I am truly sorry for what you have been through. I know these last days must have been difficult. I have already sent word to the magistrate, and a message will be sent to your father, the King."
"You're safe now," he said softly. "These servants will help you bathe, get changed, and rest. You must be exhausted."
The servants stepped forward, their faces kind and smiles gentle, but the girl didn't move. She pressed herself closer to me, her trembling growing worse.
"Princess," one of the servants coaxed gently. "Please, come with us. We'll take care of you."
"No."
Her voice was soft—barely more than a whisper. Fragile and faint, but there was something sharp at its edge, like a thin crack in glass.
"Come now, Princess," the servant urged again. "You'll feel better after a bath and some proper rest."
"No," she repeated, louder. The air shifted, subtle at first, like a gathering storm. A strange weight pressed against my chest, growing heavier with each passing moment.
"Princess..."
"No, no, no, no!" Her voice rose with every word, sharp and clear, ringing through the room like a bell. The pressure grew—thick, heavy, choking. My heart skipped a beat as the servants hesitated, their movements faltering.
"Leave!"
The word exploded from her like a force, and the air seemed to ripple. A sudden invisible pressure surged outward, like the shockwave from an unseen blast. The servants froze mid-step, their expressions going blank. In unison, as though yanked by invisible strings, they bowed, their heads dipping low.
"Yes, Princess," they said softly, their voices hollow, mechanical.
The Gate Captain stiffened, his hand twitching toward his belt, but he didn't move further. His eyes darted between the girl and me, wide with disbelief.
The servants turned and walked out of the room without another word, their movements stiff and puppet-like.
The pressure lifted, and the silence that followed was deafening. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked down at her. She was trembling, her breathing ragged, but her hands never let go of me.
What... the hell was that?
The Gate Captain exhaled slowly, his voice cautious when he finally spoke. "She... doesn't want to be separated. That much is clear."
I didn't respond, still reeling from what I'd felt. I glanced down at her again. Her face was buried against my arm, her small frame tense, but she was no longer shaking.
The Gate Captain straightened, his sharp gaze settling on me. "It seems you'll be staying with her for now."
There wasn't much room to argue.