Under The Facade

A Royal Reunion

As she sat in her parlour, indulging in the latest literary masterpiece, a sudden knock at the door broke the silence. She let out a gentle sigh, her eyes rolling heavenward in annoyance, and called out in a tone laced with a hint of exasperation, "Who is it that disturbs my solitude at this hour?"

The door creaked open, and a deep, resonant voice replied, "Rhynon, Your Ladyship. Your personal bodyguard, at your service."

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, and bid him enter with a languid wave of her hand. Rhynon stepped into the room, his towering frame and broad shoulders a stark contrast to the delicate furnishings. His piercing blue eyes scanned the space before coming to rest upon her, his expression a mask of stoic devotion.

As he approached, the soft clinking of his armour and the subtle scent of leather and steel filled the air. He bowed low, his dark hair falling across his forehead like a curtain of night. "Forgive the intrusion, milady, but His Majesty requests your presence at the castle."

She set aside her book, her slender fingers drumming a staccato beat upon the armchair. "Ah, the King's summons, how... thrilling." A hint of sarcasm danced upon her lips.

Rhynon's countenance remained impassive, his voice unwavering. "The carriage awaits, Your Ladyship. Shall I escort you?"

With a resigned sigh, she rose from her chair, her skirts rustling like autumn leaves. "Very well, Rhynon. Let us away. I daresay, the King's business cannot wait."

As she swept past him, Rhynon offered his arm, his eyes never leaving hers. Together, they departed the cozy parlour, bound for the grandeur and intrigue of the castle, where the monarch's whims awaited.

As they prepared to depart, she declared, with a resolute air, "I shall ride my horse, Rhynon. The evening air and freedom from the confines of the carriage shall be a balm to my spirit."

The carriage man, a stout fellow with a scruffy beard and a countenance beset by the weight of his own self-importance, protested, his voice trembling with obsequiousness, "Oh, Your Highness, I beg to differ! A princess of your standing and refinement should ride in the carriage, as is befitting of your station. To do otherwise would be to diminish the prestige of the Crown!"

Rhynon's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing the carriage man like a rapier. With a swift motion, he grasped the man's throat, his hand closing around it like a vice. "You dare question Her Highness's decisions, you insolent cur?" he growled, his voice low and menacing, like thunder on a summer's day.

She shot Rhynon a stern glance, her eyes flashing with annoyance, like a spark of electricity on a stormy night. "Release him, Rhynon! He is naught but a puppet, dancing on the strings of the Queen's whims."

Rhynon's gaze lingered on the carriage man, his expression a mask of disdain, before he relinquished his grip, allowing the man to gasp for air like a landed fish. "As you wish, milady," he said, his tone even, like a still pond on a windless day.

With a fluid motion, she mounted her horse, a majestic black stallion with a spirit to match her own. The horse's coat shone like ebony in the moonlight, its eyes gleaming with a fierce intelligence. Rhynon swung onto his own horse, a powerful chestnut gelding, its muscles rippling beneath its gleaming coat like a living embodiment of strength and loyalty.

As they cantered through the castle gates, the sound of their horses' hooves echoing off the stone walls, she asked, her interest piqued, "Any news from the palace, Rhynon? Any whispers of intrigue or scandal?"
Rhynon's expression turned enigmatic, his eyes glinting like stars on a moonless night. "A fly has been introduced to the flower, milady," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, like the gentle lapping of waves on a summer's shore.