“Adrian, you can’t leave right now! What about Father’s funeral?” The curly haired prince with ivory skin and green eyes stood with arms folded, furrowing brown eyebrows at his brother.

King Adrian stood in front of a lavish bed wearing a simple red tunic with puffed sleeves and brown pants that stopped right below the knee, drawing attention to white stockings. A leather bag was slung over his shoulder and a sword hung sheathed at his left hip. Blond, shoulder-length hair was covered by a men’s soft bonnet with a turned-up brim. 

The king passed as a regular Nebrasian townsperson. 

“Tony, I must learn more about Mother’s work,” he said, slipping an extra pair of stockings into his bag. “Before he passed, Father wanted us to have the Alchemist journal and the relic she found.” Antoine went rigid at that. “He did it for a reason. She was hiding a whole other life, and she found something. Something important. I need to know what it was. Aren’t you curious too?”

“Of course, I am, but don’t forget, we don’t even know if it’s safe for you to be around that relic.”

“Father said it was glowing when it was a threat, but it’s inactive now. It won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that, and we can’t just abandon the kingdom for a lengthy quest.”

“We won’t be abandoning it, because…” His words trailed off. “Tony, only I will take this journey.”

The prince gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”

He placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m going to need you to stand in for me while I am away. I’m not sure how long I will be gone, but I will return as soon as—”

“Stand in?” he exclaimed. “You’re suggesting I be a prince regent? I am not adequate for such a position. You must stay here and be our ruler.”

“You’ve shadowed me for years, Tony. I know you did not see it that way, but you’re ready for this.”

“The people will not like it. You are Nebrasia’s beloved king. No ruler is or ever has been more adored.”

“Royals travel from time to time. It is not so uncommon. Mother did it.”

“I suppose, but she was not the king of Nebrasia.”

“It makes no difference. It’ll be alright, Tony. I will return once my quest is complete.”

“Must you go alone?”

“Yes.” His hand slid off Antoine’s shoulder. “You certainly can’t leave Madi behind, and someone must take care of the kingdom in my stead.”

The prince exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. Don’t you feel a responsibility to your people?”

He let out a short laugh. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to my people. I prevented us from war and suffered through years of negotiations and politics. I’ve put my country before myself for so long, I do not even know who I am. I don’t know if I’ve ever known.” He gave a soft exhale, his blue eyes wandering over to a bundle of dried pink cyclamen flowers that lay on his dresser. “Besides…of the two of us, I have no major attachments I’d be leaving behind.”

Antoine searched his face. “Does you leaving also have something to do with Madi?” The king’s cheeks flushed in response. “I know you haven’t gotten over her yet, and normally I’d be so angry with you for that, but I find I can’t be.”

Adrian could not meet the green-eyed gaze. “I’m sorry. I never wished for you to find out. You… haven't told her, have you?”

“Of course, not. I’m still your brother and I respect your dignity. What am I supposed to say to her, ‘Oh, hello, Wife. My brother still has feelings for you?’ No. I am not so cruel.”

He glanced away. “Thank you. I really don’t deserve you as a brother.”

“You’re right, you don’t.” He hit him gently on the arm, and Adrian gave a short exhale. There was a pause. “You’re really going to leave in the middle of the night like this?”

“I must.”

“It’s only been a month since Father’s death. Adrian, the funeral—”

“I can’t. I already said my goodbyes. You know how much I despise publicly mourning.”

“Yes, I remember. You missed Mother’s funeral as well.”

“Then you understand why I can’t.”

He breathed out a sigh. “You’re bringing escorts, of course, I presume.” There was silence. Antoine placed both hands on his brother’s shoulders and fixed him with a serious look. “You’re bringing escorts, right? You’re not thinking of leaving by yourself?”

“I don’t think it wise to bring any.”

“What do you mean?” He made an exasperated sound, removing his hands. “Of course, it’s wise, Adrian. What a ludicrous statement. Just bring a few escorts and soldiers so I do not hear of your early death a month later in a letter.”

“They could compromise my disguise, Tony. It’s not safe, and I’d rather not cause a scene. With escorts, it will quickly become obvious to anyone that they are of a lower station than me. It’ll just make me the center of attention and a possible target, especially in the rougher parts of Venwick.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “Well, bring servants who are good actors. It’s not that difficult. Please, you must promise me you won’t travel alone. It’ll ease my mind knowing you are protected.”

“But I can protect myself.”

“Can you really? Venwick is a dangerous place. Not to mention, Elden Town is as northwest as you can travel. It’s a long journey and let’s face it, you’ve never even been outside Fernshire, much less Nebrasia itself.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m trained with the blade so I can protect myself, and I know not to stick my nose where it does not belong.”

The younger brother hesitated, then stood up straighter with his head held high. “As the newly appointed prince regent of Nebrasia, I forbid you from leaving unless you bring escorts.”

“You can’t forbid me.”

“Oh, yes I can.”

His face fell. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

Adrian considered him, then exhaled quickly. “Fine. I will. Are you happy?”

Regent Antoine frowned. “Not really. My only brother is leaving to visit one of the most dangerous parts of Elderian while I am left with this stewardship.” He looked down, exhaling.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll be back before you know it. As far as you being prince regent, I know you’ll manage things just fine, maybe even better than me.”

“I’ll certainly be a less moody ruler, that’s for sure.”

He snorted but did not disagree. 

 

🗲🗲🗲

 

Adrian rode atop a white stallion while two of his men followed him on their own steeds.

Antoine and Princess Madeleine stood, waiting for him at the tall, metal gate that led into Fernshire. The disguised king dismounted, embracing his brother.

“Promise me you’ll come back safe,” Antoine said, his voice slightly choked.

“I will.”

“Bring this with you,” he pulled back, slipping something into Adrian’s hand, “in case you need to prove your identity for whatever reason. You know most people outside of southern Fernshire will not know your face.”

Adrian looked down, and his eyes widened at the large emerald ring with the Nebrasian insignia carved into it. “Father’s ring? Tony, I can’t take this. It’s far too valuable. No one can know who I am.”

“Please…”

“If I need to prove my identity for whatever reason, I can always reveal my royal birthmark. I had a ring made to wear over it.” He showed off his left index finger, revealing the thick wooden band around it.

Antoine considered it, subconsciously rubbing a spot at the base of his own left index finger where the royal birthmark was tattooed. It was a delicately carved Nebrasian seal no wider than a pea. “I suppose that will suffice.”

Adrian took his hand and returned the royal ring, then hugged him again. “I will miss you.”

“And I you.” 

When they broke apart, Princess Madeleine approached the king, offering him her hands. “We’ll both miss you, Adrian.” He took them, placing his forehead to the light brown fingers; a formal Elderian greeting. “Take care.”

“I’ll miss you too, Madi.” Lifting his head, he stayed there, gazing down into her face. There were so many things he wanted to say to those bright, large eyes. 

“Yeah, okay, that’s enough touching,” Antoine said irritably, shoving his brother’s shoulder.

Turning away from them both to hide the rouge in his cheeks, Adrian mounted the horse again. He made a cluck-cluck sound, and the animal started forward. The gate lifted open, and he waved over his head at the prince regent and his wife before disappearing behind a corner along with the escorts.

Once out of sight, he pulled up on his horse and turned to the men behind him very seriously. “You two are to return to the castle at once.”

“What?” one of them asked incredulously. 

“Your Highness, we are to come with you to protect you.”

“Alban,” the other hissed, “we’re not supposed to call him ‘Your Highness’ anymore, remember?”

“Oh.” He covered his mouth in embarrassment. “You’re right.”

Adrian’s face fell. “This is exactly why you can’t come with me.”

“But, Sir, won’t Prince, er, Regent Antoine be upset?”

“Yes, he will, but it’ll be alright. Return to the stables. That’s an order.”

The two men looked at each other, then turned their horses back to the castle. Adrian watched them for a moment before starting his own horse forward again, this time into a trot and soon, a canter. 

As he raced forward, a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth when the realization dawned on him that for the first time in his life, he was free. Actually free. There were no royal obligations to be met, no appearances to keep up. He was alone and he relished it.

A weight lifted, blowing away in the wind that whipped through his hair.

 

 

The king rode for several hours until he reached the edge of Fernshire.

He spotted a nearby Inn as a long due tiredness crept over his body; the high from before was long petered out. The building was large, and spring flowers spilled out of window boxes that lined the bottom of every sill. Adrian stepped through the entryway, making his way to a long desk at the center of the spacious room. 

After paying for room and board, he found himself climbing a winding staircase to the third floor. Unlocking a carved wooden door with his number on it, he stepped into a well-lit room.

It was less spacious than the luxurious royal suite he was used to, but anything would be. This was not in any way a modest space, however. Wood carvings wrapped up the walls and corners, meeting at the center of the ceiling where a long, dangling light fixture hung. At the edge of the room was a king-sized bed with a little desk next to it, and to the side, a large door that led to a roomy private bathroom. 

Throwing his bag on the bed, Adrian began preparations for sleep, awkwardly taking the clothes off his body that would normally be removed by a maid or servant. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, silently cursing them as he struggled to undo them. 

Once undressed and changed into a long white nightshirt, he sat on the edge of his bed, grabbing his shoulder bag. Peering into it, he made sure everything was still safe and securely inside. He hesitated before pulling out a strange, diamond-shaped device made of black glass. Looking at it, he recalled his father’s explanation that the relic had activated once and caused his mother’s early end. He quickly stuffed it back inside, his stomach making a sick flip flop. 

Pale fingers found a glass vial then, and pulling it out, Adrian stared at the dried pink cyclamens inside that Madi had given him all those years ago. Giving a sigh, he put the vial back, temporarily preventing his thoughts from lingering on it.

Everything else he’d brought was safe and accounted for, which included extra clothes, food, quills, paper, and of course, a small, weather torn journal. Pulling out the old thing, he read the words carved on the cover.

The Alchemist Archives: Volume I. 

It was written in ancient Elden, but the king had his royal studies to thank for his fluency in the dead language. The journal had a few inked-out notes written in modern Elden here and there on the pages, and he let his thumb travel over them, a pain tugging at his heart as he realized the notes were the only words he had left of his mother.

This item too was put away, and Adrian stood, snuffing out all the lights, until the only one remaining was the small lamp on his bedside table. The streetlamps beyond the Inn shone in through the windows.

Curious, he walked over and looked out. Past the glass panes were brightly decorated buildings lining the street lit by glittering lamps. 

After a long while of staring, he exhaled. “What am I even doing here?”

Closing the curtain, he slowly made his way back across the room and threw himself onto the bed face first. He lay like that for a long time before moving again. 

He felt alone. Not in the way he had when first leaving Nebrasia, his newfound independence filling him with exhilaration. No, this kind of alone was decidedly different. The strangers whose walls he shared were unaware of him. There was no Antoine sleeping in the other room, and no servants waiting on him hand and foot. 

He stretched out his arm and snuffed out the last light, flooding the room with darkness save for the glow bleeding through the curtains. 

His thoughts turned to the grief he’d been pushing down and subduing for days. His father’s last words swallowed him up body and soul. 

“Promise me you will trust yourself and look forward with hope.” 

Adrian closed his eyes, lip trembling. Curling up on the bed, his stomach ached as the tears poured over his cheeks without constraint. There was not a soul around to comfort him. He was on his own now. He’d done this; made this choice. There was no going back now.

The king silently sobbed until he’d run himself to exhaustion, at last falling asleep.

Several days passed in a dazed blur like that; traveling all day only to collapse at an Inn. After Fernshire, he reached the Cappeland border, then, the town of Torttil.

That night in Torttil, his dreams were less inviting than usual.

 

 

A pale light glinted off ivory skin, and blue eyes blinked open.

A chorus of birds chirped outside Adrian’s window. He got up to look out. The sun was shining, and the streets were bustling with people. Hundreds of stands were set up with an array of goods and tools being sold. It reminded him so much of the markets in Fernshire. His heart filled with warmth, and a small grin crept over his lips while he dressed himself with improved efficiency and precision. 

Stepping out onto the busy street, he slung his bag over his shoulder and felt around in his pocket for a small pouch of coins. The rest of his money was in four sizeable sacks in his bag. He glanced to the side, seeing a flower stand selling everything from daisies to marigolds, then spotted a bundle of pink cyclamens. His face fell, his eyes darting away.

He briskly walked past to examine a stand with an array of mini figurines and dolls. He looked them over curiously before spotting a stall from across the street selling weaponry. 

A spring in his step at the sight of it, he made his way over, examining a row of ornate little daggers. Grinning, he picked up an especially intricate one with sapphires embedded in it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He jumped slightly at the shop owner’s words. An older man with gray, bobbed hair under a bright green soft bonnet laughed. “Did I scare you, Lad? My apologies.” He walked over, patting Adrian on the back. “You picked out a mighty fine one.”

“I did?”

“Indeed. I can see you’re a man of taste. This blade will put all eyes on you and let them know you’re a man of power and stature.”

His heart sank. “It will?”

“I guarantee it! This is one of our nicest blades made from pure Cappeland silver and Andveltican Sapphires.”

Adrian looked away, thinking, then blinked as he caught sight of a simple dagger with a tarnished handle near him. It looked old and used. He silently walked over to it, picking it up. 

“How much is this one?” he asked, and the shopkeeper chortled.

“Oh, that’s a trade in. Sometimes folks bring in their old stuff hoping to get a little money back. As you can see, it’s seen some use. I wouldn’t even bother charging you for something like that.”

“I’ll take it,” he said without hesitation.

The man opened his mouth then closed it. “Sir, we have a wide selection of very nice blades that would better fit your needs—”

“Do you have a wet stone?”

He blinked. “Er, yes. You’re really keen on this one, huh?”

“Yes.”

He laughed again, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, alright. Hand it here and I’ll sharpen it for you.”

“Thank you.”

Taking the old dagger, the man disappeared behind the stand, though Adrian could still hear his voice. “I’ll polish it up a bit for you too just so it lasts longer.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t you worry. It’s really nothing.” He let out another chuckle. “You’re a curious young man, you know that?” 

Adrian waited patiently, glancing around at the rest of the market. His stomach growled as he sniffed out a market selling bread and cheese. Spotting it, he grinned, eyeing the goods.

“Here you are, Young Sir.” Adrian jumped again, turning back to see the shopkeeper standing in front of him, holding out the sheathed blade. The man couldn’t help but laugh once more. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lad. I hope it serves you well.”

He took the weapon, sliding a coin into the man’s hand. “For the sharpening and the polish.” He turned, walking away quickly.

“Oi! I said you didn’t need to—” the man was cut off as he glanced down at the golden payment. His eyes widened, and he looked back up, but the blond stranger had disappeared.

 

 

Adrian stocked up on food, tucking the morsels away into his bag before returning to the Inn to tack-up his horse. 

As he took the stallion by the reins, leading it out of the stall, a young woman approached him, holding a toothed comb in one hand and an apple in the other.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said, giving a small bow of the head. “If you have a moment before you’re off, I was gonna brush him for you.”

He blinked down at her. “Oh, that’s alright—”

“Really, it’ll only take a moment. I already hosed him down and cleaned his feet. There’s just the hair that needs tending to.”

He considered her for a moment then nodded. “Alright, but only if you’ll let me assist you.”

She blushed. “I can’t allow that. You’ll put me out of the job.” She began working on the horse’s short mane with the comb as Adrian stood holding the reins. 

He watched her. “Are all Cappelanders this hospitable?”

She smiled, slipping the horse the red fruit while she worked the rest of the way down the neck. “Torttil is considered to have the most cordial people in Elderian, at least that’s the rumor. Are you not from here?”

“No.”

“Where are you coming from then?” 

He shuffled his feet, thinking. “Teasle.”

“Teasle,” she repeated, bewildered as she began on the horse’s tail. “As in Teasle, Andveltica? That is halfway across Elderian. What are you doing traveling all the way out here?”

His face paled. “Uh... Well, I have family here.”

“Why do you live so far apart? Wait, you’re not married, are you?”

“Y-yes. I’m... married.” He fiddled with the reins in his fingers.

“Well, that’s a shame.” She patted the horse on its hindquarters before walking over to him. “All the good ones are always taken, right?”

“Huh?” He looked at her blankly.

“I only jest. Enjoy your stay in Torttil, Sir.” 

“Oh, thanks.” He turned, leading his horse out of the small stable, shaking his head slightly and letting out another exasperated breath as he did. He had always been a terrible liar under pressure.

 

🗲🗲🗲

 

Adrian rode his steed for four days, stopping at little towns on the way. He found it was getting easier to sleep. The nightmares were less bone chilling and the tears less frequent.

Cappeland cuisine was similar to Nebrasian, and the wealthy country, though less affluent than Nebrasia, had roomy, comfortable Inns for him to stay in. The lack of servants and escorts following him around everywhere was surprisingly freeing, even if the silence was deafening.

The further north he traveled, the more the landscape began to change. As he neared the border between Cappeland and Venwick, the flat, green plains with the tall, thick grass and occasional tree and crisp air, changed to small shrubs, rolling hills, yellowed short grass, and a warm, dry wind. 

By the time the sun sank below the horizon, Adrian slowed his horse to a trot as he spotted the large sign above him reading: New Minoka, Venwick. 

There was something distinctly different about this town from the others he had visited in Nebrasia and Cappeland. The weather had grown significantly warmer in the last few days, the hot air leaving his lips dry. As his horse continued forward, his eyes focused on the little buildings all pressed up against each other, lining the rock-filled dirt road. The red roofs were made of clay tiles, the white outer walls standing out against them. 

Many of the Venwickin men that filled the streets, he noticed, wore long robes and small red round hats with a black tassel on top, while others had on clothing more like Adrian’s but with more voluminous, loose-fitting pants that ended below the knee. To his surprise, some of the women wore similar clothing, some walking in long skirts while others in baggy pants that stopped at the ankle with snug, but not particularly tight-fitting tops. Some had little hats pinned to their heads. 

It was at this moment that Adrian also noticed he was in fact the only person it seemed with blond hair and fair skin.

Looking around for an Inn, he realized everything was written in Venish and not Elden. He was grateful for his royal studies as he read a Venish sign marking a small Inn with a little stable in front of it. 

He walked inside, looking around to see that the occupied stalls held ponies and donkeys, but nothing close to the size of his large steed. The animal seemed to be attracting quite a bit of attention as many of those passing by eyed it on his way over. The stable hand ahead of him whispered something to the person next to him, pointing at his horse. 

Adrian approached him, speaking fluently in Venish. “I’d like to board my horse.”

“Of course, Foreigner!” the man with bronze colored skin, black hair, and brown eyes boomed. “Where is it you’re coming from?”

His eyes widened. “How can you tell I’m a foreigner?”

He chuckled. “Your horse stands out a mile away. You don’t see such a large, magnificent horse in Venwick, and also, you have a very unique accent. You Mid-Elderian?”

“Y-yes, that’s correct.” It made sense his Venish was different, considering he’d learned a very formal version from royal tutors, but he hadn’t considered how much this would make him stand out.

“Well, don’t worry too much about it. New Minoka is very welcoming of newcomers, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here. Do be careful after sundown though. I would stay off the streets during the night to be safe.” He held out his hand to take the reins.

“Oh, thank you.” Adrian handed the horse over to him.

“Come through this door to the Inn’s entrance where you can get checked in. Enjoy your stay!” He directed him to a small wooden door at the back of the stable with a warm smile.

Adrian made his way through the threshold, walking up to the small counter in the center of the low-roofed room. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he paid for one of the cheaper rooms, taking the small key he was handed and leaving to search for his space.

After walking up a small staircase, he spotted his room number at the end of a tight-fitting hall. He turned the simple brass knob after inserting the key and pushed the door open. Waiting for him was a twin-sized bed that hugged the edge of the wall with a small oil-lit lamp sitting on a carved stone table next to it. There was no private bathroom, and he recalled the front desk worker telling him there was an outhouse just outside the building. 

He crossed the little room to look out a dirty window. The sun had finally set on the town, and it was too dark to see much other than a few burning oil lamps in the distance. His own lamp dimly lit the space.

Everything about New Minoka felt unfamiliar to him. He felt out of place and silly. All the confidence he’d gained in the last several days of traveling had dissipated.

Taking in the strange smells and sights around him, he undressed and slipped into bed. The sheets were rougher than what he was used to. The thin wool blanket on top felt scratchy, and the feather pillow was lumpy under his head. After quite a bit of difficulty, he went to sleep.

He awoke several hours later, feeling pressure in his bladder. Sighing, he got up and searched his room for a second, then remembered with grave realization that the bathroom was clear outside the entire building. Hesitating, he slowly put his clothes on, feeling more homesick than ever. 

Locking the door behind him, he quietly slipped downstairs and outside. It was surprisingly chilly at night, and Adrian shivered slightly as he searched around for some time before finding the little wooden outhouse. 

Upon his walk back, he heard a slight commotion coming from the stables and crept over to investigate. The stable door was busted in, and peeking past it, he saw a group of several men and women tying a few donkeys and ponies together with rope; his white stallion was included in the group. Adrian’s heart pounded as he stood there, frozen in place.

“Let’s make this quick,” one of them hissed. “That pesky owner should have paid up months ago and this handsome stallion will fetch quite a price.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

They began herding the animals towards the broken front door and Adrian quickly darted behind the side of the building while they made their way out. He watched as they took to the streets with the animals and his heart sank. 

“What do I do now?” he whispered defeatedly.

One of the men turned back to the stable suddenly, saying, “I forgot my satchel,” and rushed over. 

Panicking, Adrian quickly concealed himself from view again, but his foot caught on the side of a large rock, and he tumbled to the ground, causing a ruckus as he landed in a patch of dry, crunchy shrubs. 

“We’ve got a lurker!” the man yelled. 

Getting up, Adrian made a run for it, sprinting behind the stables and into a back street. He heard a thundering of footsteps behind him as the group split up to chase after him. Not knowing where he was headed, his heart pounding in his chest, and he ducked behind houses and into small alleyways.

He halted abruptly when the alley he’d run down ended in a large brick wall. Turning back around, he breathed heavily as four men and one woman caught up with him. After reaching him, the group spread out, blocking the entire exit.

“Alright, you’ve given us quite the fucking runaround.” It was the woman who spoke, her biceps bulging as she drew a massive sword from her hip. “Turn out your pockets now if you don’t want your guts spilled.”

“Hey, this guy isn’t from here,” one of the men said. “I bet he owns that fancy white stallion.”

“He’s sure to have some good shit on him then,” another chimed in, inching forward.

“I said turn out your pockets, Boy,” the woman shouted again, pointing the tip of her blade at his throat.

“He’s pretty cute,” a slender looking man said, peeking over the woman’s shoulder. “Where are you from, Stranger?”

Adrian swallowed, then gave a shaky exhale. In one quick motion, he drew his sword and smacked the blade away from him. “Stay back,” he said darkly.

“Oh ho! His voice is sexy too!” the man jeered.

“You’ve made a poor choice,” the woman said, approaching him with vigor. Adrian held his sword out, hands shaking slightly. “Do you have any last words before your untimely death?”

He bit his lip. “Tony is going to kill me if he finds out about this.” 

She raised an eyebrow, then made the first move. Using his size and agility to his advantage, Adrian darted under the heavy blow she dealt, whipping his sword out, nicking her on the side. Growling, she swung her own weapon, barely missing his head. He used this moment to strike his next blow, but someone kicked him hard in the side. He fell to the ground, dropping his weapon as the flirtatious, lanky man stood over him grinning. Adrian held his side, reaching for his sword when the man placed his shoe over his wrist, pressing down on it.

“You’re a pretty good fighter too. Anne, can I keep him?”

The woman named Anne touched her side, looking down at her bloodied hand. “No one makes me bleed and fucking gets away with it.” She stepped towards him, her weapon raised again. 

That’s when a stranger from a nearby alleyway appeared, sword drawn. The mysterious man kicked her right in the wound. She stumbled back, and he fought the four men who had all drawn their weapons. Adrian watched with wide eyes as this newcomer gracefully knocked them all out with the hilt of his sword one by one, leaving only Anne left. 

“You’ll regret that,” she said, charging forward.

As the figure turned, Adrian caught sight of his face. He was a middle-aged man with scars across cedar-brown cheeks and long, black, and gray curly hair. With a few short, quick moves, he quickly knocked her out as well. The large woman dropped to the ground beside where Adrian still lay with a thunk. 

The man sheathed his weapon, promptly walking towards the disheveled blond. Adrian quickly got up, backing up as he did.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said in a gentle voice, and Adrian paused, looking him over with frightened eyes. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Who are you?”

“We will give introductions later, but first, we must hurry. These ones will wake up soon.” He lightly kicked Anne’s shoulder with his shoe. “You don’t want to be around for that, do you?” Adrian shook his head. “Alright, if you want to live, follow me then.”

Feeling he had no other choice, the king picked up his sword, sheathed it, and quickly ran after this curious savior. He realized there was a somewhat high chance he wasn’t going to live through this night, much less ever return to Nebrasia to be scolded by his younger brother for being so careless.