*Book One of The Accursed Chronicles*
August was a man from a normal world, living a mundane life until one night everything changed, and he was sent spiraling into a world stuck forever in winter, full of magic, creatures, and a curse that has grip...
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The Red Ball had been upon us within the blink of an eye, and it had been all I had my mind set on, despite the conversation with August from the night prior that swarmed my thoughts.
As we stepped up to the castle's entry, awaiting to enter, August tugged my cloak, making me glance his way. He pointed back towards the group of menacing guards that huddled around a brazier to the left of the castle's gatehouse. Each wore chainmail hauberks, leather gloves, and rough wool cloaks that hung around their ankles. By their bronze skin, sandy colored hair, and scruffy beards, I could place them as being from Misonte as each place in Laelmos often had distinct characteristics for its people.
"Who are they? They aren't wearing the same armor as the other royal guards," August muttered as he turned his head back towards me, gaze hidden by his cloak's hood.
"Most likely from Misonte. They probably came with Cassian Miltos," I replied plainly, and he nodded in understanding, but I was certain he didn't understand how serious that was. "Don't acknowledge them. It is for your own good."
"So, they are the big bad wolves of Laelmos then?" he asked, a joking tone to his voice.
I returned his jesting with stern silence, making him shift awkwardly on his feet. Now wasn't the time to be playing games. While those from Misonte and Ustgard were human, humans were more conniving and lethal and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. They had to work harder and smarter than mages and elves combined, that was what made them dangerous.
When we stepped up to the top step of the staircase into the castle, waiting behind one final pair of nobles to show their invitation, I glanced Leuthar. He was alert and on guard but subtle about it as he casually checked around us every now and then, surveying the security and potential exits and entrances. He was on edge, yet I couldn't judge him.
This night was not a night to be taken lightly.
A gasp from August broke from my attention from Leuthar. Leuthar glowered at August for his unnecessary gasp before August drew something out of his cloak and presented it to us, palm side up.
"I forgot to give these to you," he stated in a light tone, a smile on his lips by the sound of it. "I thought we could each have one since we are a team now."
His gift wasn't appreciated as Leuthar scoffed and shoved August's hand away. "You should think again. We haven't been associated with that symbol in years."
He was right. I glanced down at the patch held in August's palm, being dotted by light snowflakes that melted upon impact. The patch was made of linen and neatly stitched into it was The Remnant's emblem of two crossed swords. I knew August had meant well by his choice to make them, yet neither Leuthar nor I wished to be associated with something that was part of our bygone years.
August withdrew one patch, stowing it on his person before he outstretched his hand to me, still one left in his palm. I shook my head and closed his fist around it. That was something that harbored too much pain and broken dreams.
