I've lived my entire life on an isolated island. When I decide to explore the world, I enlist as an entertainer at a military camp without any idea of what the job entails. In my confusion, I make a fool of myself and catch the eye of The Captain. H...
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🗡️ CAPTAIN ZAIRO 🗡️
My steps fall heavily on the palace's polished floors. Quick and purposeful.
I turn left and right down the halls I walked as a child. Not much has changed in the palae. The ceilings are still high, settled in the heavens. The walls are lined with giant murals of the royals painted by the best artists on Zolan.
Statues of great men and women are scattered everywhere, made of stone and bejeweled with gems. In childhood, I always found them creepy. The way they seemed to leer in the darkness. Now, twenty years later, they irritate me. I want to shatter them into a million pieces.
I'd rather be on a battlefield than here.
"Captain Zairo," Lord Pierre greets me. He has always been the queen's favorite ass-kisser.
His painted lips are pursed as he scans me from head to toe, his gaze lingering on my muddy boots. I don't wear silk like another noble man would. I wear fur from beasts that I've killed. Beasts that would inspire piss to trail down the leg of the high and mighty.
I wear a black pelt and brown-hide pants. Matted, muddy, and murderous. There is some green blood splattered on my forearm, contrasting against my crimson red skin. Another person would have been denied entry, but Pierre knows better. Either because of my high status or my taste for violence, it doesn't matter. He won't stop me.
I will not change into a costume for the queen. I'm a Captain, not a clown in this circus. While war tears through Zolan, the royals are only fazed by gossip and fruitless politics. They wear the finest silk, walking down the halls that are just as decorated as them.
"How blessed we are to see you. Perhaps you would like to rest and freshen up before seeing the queen?"
I've traveled hard and fast for two nights to reach the palace, and I will not waste any more time in this haunted place. I miss the wilderness. It calls for me.
I hook a thumb under my utility belt. "Get on with it, Pierre."
"Are you sure, Captain? A—"
My growl tears through the rest of his sentence, promising to haul him into the nearest statue.
"Right this way, Captain," Pierre relents.
He straightens his poet shirt that's meticulously tucked into his leather riding pants. Then he turns, his long black braid swinging.
I walk past him, refusing to follow him. A Captain follows no one.
"I know the way," I say. After all, I spent many years in this soulless hell.
I enter the Queen's leisure room, not knocking because she's expecting me. I find her by an open window, stroking a brush across a canvas.
She smiles at me, the lines on her face deeper than the last time I saw her two years ago.
