The carriage jolted, and Val swayed easily with the movement.

  It had been almost half a year since she had last come to the Horned Palace. The approach had always been densely forested, protecting the privacy of the Fourth Pentarch and in reverence to the ground's ancient roots. No longer, they had begun thinning the trees on the approach further up the road, forcing the procession to leave their scouts back in cover where they could still be hidden. Branches and cut wood were neatly piled at regular intervals and teams of workers were busy sawing some of the larger logs in the cool summer morning. The nearest escort rider, a wiry man with a bow across his saddle in addition to his spear, drew his stead a little closer to her position at the back of the carriage.

  “Think they’ve been expecting company?” he asked light heartedly, but his eyes were wide taking in the changes.

  Val’s gaze lingered on one of the huge stumps by the side of the road as they passed it, the tree had been so large even she wouldn’t have been able to stretch her arms around it.

  “They were old. It’s a shame,” she remarked wistfully.

  The rider gave her a reassuring smile, then turned his gaze back on the guard house and pulled his steed back into position. They were close enough now Ivory Guards began to spill from the entrance, beginning to form their welcome.

  They were a procession of a single carriage and a mix of foot and mounted escorts. The carriage was ornate, lacquered the shade of blued steel with gold accents and carved spiraling dragons, each with four horns around the circle of its head. It was pulled by six fell bulls harnessed in two neat lines, their wide horns almost touching as they marched. Riders were mounted on the front bull of each column, acting as the carriage drivers. Both were uniformed in matching pewter and gold, with ornate metal accents, decoration rather than armor.

  The escort riders were more seriously equipped, each rode a smaller fell beast, lacking the horns of their male counterparts pulling the carriage. Ten mounted riders in total, positioned around the carriage procession with another twelve men on foot, carrying a mix of polearms and swords. All wore the same blue uniform, but traded gold for the more practical sheen of plate or mail as suited the wearer's preference. On their shoulders were twin sigils, a four-horned dragon head in gold and ashen grey, and a second smaller, more subtle open winged bird design.

  Finally, at the back of the carriage, Val rode, standing on a footboard and steading herself against the rattle of the carriage with a single hand. She was horned like the fell bulls and stood a head taller than the tallest man. She was unarmed, a battle axe instead balanced on the roof of the carriage that was impossibly large for human strength.

  Val allowed herself one nervous sigh at the sight of the Ivory, then straightened and centered her stance over the carriage, grimly picking up her axe to secure it across her back one handed.

  Her horns and size marked her as definitely not human, or at least not fully. Two horns emerged from the back of her jawline beneath the ear, short and curling forward to frame her face, the tips just proud in a way that would likely protect the face and neck from any incoming blows. A second pair emerged from her skull just behind the top of her ears, much larger and curling out then forward in threat.

  She, unlike the rest of the guard, was highly decorated. Her plate shone gold, and little chains and dragon charms hung from her horns and ears. The double-headed battle axe across her back was plain and its leather harness in comparison simple, built for purpose and scarred with use. As they came upon the Ivory Guard, she set her chin and gazed squarely ahead, letting the escort riders greet them and identify their occupant.

  The Horned Palace was the Fourth Pentarch’s private palace, sheltered behind walls that were older than living memory. The palace and gardens within and without had been redone many times, fashionable hedgerows and a neatly manicured path beckoning past the guard towers. The walls, however, were never altered. They were smooth, no joins or mortar. Solid, aged, dark stone that hinted to an older memory.

  With little ceremony the gates were unbarred, and the carriage ushered through, the bull riders at the front of the carriage team kicking their beast's sides with heels to urge them onwards and the rest following as they felt their harnesses grow taut in turn. The rider Val had spoken with, along with two others pulled closer, while the rest of the riders peeled off as they entered and began to wheel their mounts towards a stable and barracks, along with all of the foot soldiers.

  In a few minutes of travel through the manicured gardens, passing vine covered arbours and fountains and lawns, the carriage passed below an archway and second guard house before pulling into a great circular drive at the palace's entry, a black door flanked by four-horned dragon carvings. Servants who had been working as they came into view scattered from the front, some desperately grabbing up garden tools and baskets of cuttings to scamper out of view. The entry yard was conspicuously empty when the carriage finally came to a stop, the mounted drivers calming their beasts with gentle pats.

  Val stepped down from her post first, as the three escort riders dismounted and assembled at her side. She paused to look at the slim rider from earlier, who raised an eyebrow back at her and dismounted from his cow, then opened the carriage door and gestured to the yard for the riders to take a look. The first was young, with a sharp face and short pale hair in a tousled mess. His skin was warm gold from the sun, and he wore robes in a slate grey, intricately embroidered with gold beads and stylized images of four-horned dragons. Conspicuous amounts of jewelry accented his outfit, gold bangles at his wrists, chains around his neck and ears, several delicate rings on his fingers. While his body was slim and frail, his eyes were petulant and expressive, skimming the court through the door and immediately turning into a scowl.

  Riding across the bench, was a second older man who leaned on his staff to emerge. He had a neatly cropped beard, mostly greyed with age, although his short dark head hair was only peppered with silver. Beside her, the three riders who had remained assembled, the slim man now carrying his bow, and two older men, one tall and broad with two small axes at his hip, and the third the oldest, nearing too old for this work, with a short sword and dagger at his side.

  The young man in the carriage sighed in exasperation. No one had emerged from the house as the Ivory Guard had done, nor ushered open the black doors. “Bastian, go in and get someone,” he snapped, kneading his forehead with long fingers.

  The slim man with the bow gave a quick head nod and a quiet “My Prince,” before dutifully trotting off to the left, seeking a side entrance he was obviously familiar with.

  “Really,” grumbled the Prince, hunching back into his seat and arranging his robes in his lap. Small gold bangles jingled at his wrists as he brushed perceived dust from the fabric. His voice was just too loud to be only for his close company. “You invited me.”

  After a wait, the black doors flung open, serving men spilling out all dressed in white and gold uniforms. They quickly hurried about the bulls, taking up reins from riders and lining the entry in an orchestrated rush of action, as if this had all been a terrible misunderstanding, and now they sought to put their best foot forward to rectify it. A woman, in a careful state of partial-dress emerged moments later, maids chasing after her with combs and missing accessories, their distress the most sincere piece of the whole event. Her hair was long and grey with age, but carefully braided for day wear rather than a formal occasion.

  She spread her arms wide and greeted them “Dorius, you must forgive us! We just had guests visiting and the whole place was a mess. We only saw them off this morning and had barely begun the process of turning over the rooms.”

  Dorius emerged from the carriage finally, bristling with indignation.

  “Grandmother,” he sniped in return, “Why even invite me just to leave me as a spectacle for the servants to laugh at?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The woman laughed graciously, allowing a maid to catch her outer layers and begin to adjust them, still leaving her arms spread wide in greeting.

  “Calm yourself,” she offered, “It was a mistake, no offense intended.”

  Dorius visibly scowled, but still swept forward to take her hand for a short kiss to her knuckles in greeting.

  “Come, your Uncle waits,” she announced, starting a turn back inside, “There are barely any rooms appropriate for you to stay, we are truly in such a state. The dining room would be best, it is still prepared for morning meal at least.”

  Dorius huffed and took a step to follow, not looking back as an Ivory Guard intercepted Val as she followed to match pace with him. “No weapons,” the guard announced.

  Val narrowed her eyes, the guard shuffled between his feet and cast a glance towards his royal masters. She towered over every head around her, and was easily two heads taller than Dorius, a mountain at his side.

  “Oh don’t make a fuss of things, I grow tired of this farce anyway,” Dorius hissed back at them, again just slightly too loud, and vaguely gestured to Val with a wave of his hand to obey.

  Val, locking eyes with the guard, obediently drew her axe off her back, held it to her side, and with no ceremony dropped it straight to the ground where it bounced from tip to heel twice in a momentous clatter of metal against loose stone. Half the servants flinched and the rest tensed, all eyes watching.

  Dorius ignored the noise, and continued after his grandmother, older companion hunched over his staff in tow. Val pushed the guard aside with her body to follow, turning to keep eye contact with the Ivory Guard as she passed.

  Behind her, Bastian had returned to his place from the side entrance he had scampered off to find, and was grinning with amusement as he watched two servants try and fail to lift the huge axe out of the entryway. As the three escorts were left behind they relaxed from their positions and turned to begin helping the serving men with handling the bulls still hitched to the carriage and collecting the axe for their companion, a two person job even for the hardened escorts.

  —

  “My King” simpered Dorius as he swept after his grandmother into the dining hall, now gesturing as broadly and dramatically as his grandmother had to the figure sitting at the head of the table, his mannerism shifting from irritation to flattery.

  The Pentarch sat having finished breaking his fast and beginning on the work of the day, a servant at his side was filling his cup and several advisors who had been in discussion trailed silent at the sudden intrusion.

  Platters of pastries and exotic fruits had been pushed away to make room for scattered papers and a small map. One advisor scrambled to gather up the most sensitive of the documents. The Pentarch was dressed regally, in gold with accents of bright white. On his head was a simple four horned crown. Dorius swept up to him, pulling one chair out, then changing his mind and choosing the next over closer to the food. Without bidding, he began to pick through the leftovers, mostly throwing morsels back without regard for what he touched. His grandmother remained standing, her previous energy more subdued and she pursed her lips at the sight of her grandson's insubordination. Dorius glanced at her, and seeming to realize he had done something wrong, paused and selected a single glazed pastry instead.

  “I haven’t had any breakfast!” he chirped between a mouthful.

  The Pentarch visibly grimaced, “Dorius -”

  Val suddenly crashed stiffly down into the open seat at Dorius’ side, cutting the Pentarch short. It took a moment for the jangle of her chains and accessories to ring silent.

  “Dorius!” the Pentarch hissed, the air in the room growing tense.

  Dorius waved a hand casually to try and de-escalate, “She understands little more than a…” he started.

  “Do not test me Dorius!” boomed the Pentarch, the guards who had previously stood outside the doorway suddenly shifting position to face inwards at their king’s tone.

  Dorius appeared lost for words, pulling back in his seat away from his uncle and slightly towards his bodyguard, his hands clenching back from his earlier casual gesture to betray his nerves. The older man at Dorius’ side spoke up then.

  “Your highness,” he intoned gently, hoping to diffuse the mood, “Your nephew does not have as much practice in courtly behaviors as your other heirs. I ask your patience for his bad graces, we rode the last stretch of our journey for your summons through the night in proof of our obeisance and the lack of sleep may have left him without his better wits.”

  “Elias,” the Pentarch groaned, leaning back in his seat, “Your loyalty to my late sister blinds you to her son's faults. The fourth has long been robbed of your service when you chose to remain in Southold”

  Elias bowed deeply, and remained facing the ground.

  “I swore myself to the Azure Princess, your highness,” responded Elias, his tone neutral.

  Dorius sniffed, “My apologies uncle,” was all he offered, making no eye contact in seeming shame.

  The Pentarch took a moment to stare at Val, who remained unblinking in her seat. “Get off my table, Fae-cow.”

  Val did not move. The two guards came forward, eager to serve their king, each hooking an arm around Val’s, and attempted to pull her upwards from the seat. They both strained and she did not give way, before Dorius sighed. In quick obedience, she turned her head to her master and threw one of the guards off her when her horn swung into his helmet and sent him crashing to the ground.

  “Up,” ordered Dorius.

  Val stood with order given, the second guard stumbling back off her, and centered herself standing over her prince, her facial expression unchanged. The guard on the floor rolled about, making far too much noise for the company but unable to get his feet under himself in the ceremonial armor until two servants helped him steady himself. He bowed to his king and they both scuttled back to their posts by the door.

  “Enough of this,” the Pentarch stood, waving away all but one of his advisors, “I called you here for one thing so let us get it done and then you can be gone with your brute.” Elias had remained bowed through the whole display, his hands trembling on his staff.

  The Pentarch opened his palm and, without looking, the remaining advisor passed him a single folded document which was laid on the table for Elias, who righted himself just enough to look at it. As the Pentarch’s hands withdrew he picked it up and cracked the wax seal for study.

  “You will go to Kal’fall and resolve whatever in the Spine has the Free State in an uproar. They have cut off diplomacy with us. You are authorized to use the local garrison at your discretion but avoid any messes - I would rather have a peaceful solution. The boundaries of the Pentarchy converge closely there and news of mishaps will reach other ears too quickly.”

  Elias read the document quickly, “Your highness, you honor us with this request.”

  The Pentarch snorted in mild amusement, “Honor, yes. It is beneath any of your other cousins. If not for my love of my passed sister I would send a general instead and leave your branch of our line to rot and dissolve with you back in Southold.”

  “Did it have to be somewhere cold?” asked Dorius. Elias’ jaw tensed for a moment, his patience with his charge at the end of its ropes.

  “It is my hope that some actual responsibility will finally cure your… defects, no doubt a result of your mother’s poor breeding decisions. And do not take this as an opportunity to disappoint and absolve yourself of any further work. I grow sick of supplementing the income of nothing more than a useless limb, and I will cut you off unless you find some way to contribute to our family. You will run out of money to feed that Fae of yours soon enough and once she quits your shadow, I will not stop one of my other nephews or nieces simplifying their succession.”

  Dorius’ grandmother looked grim, standing silently on one side of the room. Whatever her opinions of her grandson, it was obvious she did not approve of her son’s threat. Dorius rocked back on his chair and appeared unphased, whether from false confidence or ignorance it was unclear. He stood up, fidgeting with his robes to smooth them again and asked “Is that it?”

  “Elias, don’t fail me,” said the Pentarch, and Elias finally rose from his bow, “You may leave.”

  There were several long minutes of diplomatic goodbyes and exchanges with his grandmother as they made their way from the palace again. As they returned to the carriage Elias surreptitiously passed the documents to his prince who tucked them into a sleeve for later. Val caught his eye as she helped Dorius step up into the carriage, gone was all the impulsive petulance and instead there was a steely glint of resolve.