Marcellus rides in front, putting me and Becky in the middle of the pack. I've been studying Trevus as he rides alongside us. My eyes flick between his hair, his torso and his shoulders. He's a large, intimidating man. It's amusing to imagine him as a small child, as I once was too, though I'm sure our early years bore little resemblance.
"Did you grow up in a palace?" I ask in a low voice only he can hear.
He stares for a moment, puzzling about the motivation behind my question. I simply want to know more about the man who freed me from Antiock.
"Regretfully, I did," he says. "My mother was a master artisan of the palace during my formative years. I shared her quarters."
"Regretfully?" I ask. "Having maids serve you the best food in the country sounds fantastic." I can just imagine what it would be like in a palace – any kind of fruit, berry and meat one could want, bathing in fire-heated water and crawling into fresh, soft bedsheets every night.
Trevus smirks. My eyes narrow. "I gather that you wish to dwell in a palace?" he says.
"I don't see who wouldn't – except you apparently."
"Servants serve the royalty, and artisans as my mother craft their most desirable possessions. They were not there for my benefit, though I do concede that the meals were grand."
"But you didn't enjoy palace life?" I ask.
"Being born the child of a farmer in a rural village, perhaps one like your own, would have been preferable," he says.
"Preferable to a palace?" While I longed for years to return to my Mephian home, I was a prisoner locked in a room. Simple wood and straw houses couldn't compare to the luxury of a palace.
"The said to be wise king, my father, failed to conceal that Elie's pregnancy was his doing. As a child, the stares and whispers did not pass me by. Parents forbade their children from befriending the boy born of affair for fear of King Tytius's erratic conduct. A life not so dissimilar from my peers would have been preferable," he says.
"People stare and whisper in rural villages too," I say. That part I'll never forget.
Trevus raises an eyebrow. "Would your community in Mephia not revere a sorceress?"
I think back to the tasks they'd assign me – assisting the sick to rest and calming distressed livestock. "No matter how obedient I was, people fear a child who can put them to sleep at a touch."
"And not one ever saw beyond your sorcery?" he asks.
"No." While that way of things used to appear inescapable, so did my imprisonment in Antiock four nights ago.
Trevus doesn't say any more.
* * * * * * * *
The sun sets, and we stop to set up camp. Trevus frees my wrists from the saddle horn before unpacking the bags.
I stretch my legs and circle the clearing where we'll be staying tonight. The local flora resembles our last camping spot, meaning there's plenty of vampire thistle too. I commit to memory the handful of broken stems, so I'll know if anyone new is roaming around.
Trevus fetches pots and ingredients from the bags while Marcellus and Giddius build the fire. I manage to carefully maneuver my sleeping pouch out of Becky's saddlebag and set it out beside them.
Soon Trevus has a soup brewing with a sweet pumpkin scent.
My mind wanders back to my failed escape last night. Trevus caught up to me on Gramps without reins to guide him or a saddle to sit on.
YOU ARE READING
His Captive Sorceress
Lãng mạnHelp him!? Help the prince of the kingdom that locked me up? Joining that man is the second last thing I want to do. The very last thing is to go back to the cell they've held me in for years. That's the deal the dark, intimidating prince offers me...
