The Red King [Book II]

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Alex's horse dragged its hooves through itchy dust. Its head quietly bowed as it soldiered on from Lucia's house, reins kept mercifully loose.

ㅤIn Alex's fist, the delicately rolled paper sat snug. It stuck to his palm, absorbing his clammy sweat. His touch was enough to stain the innocence.

ㅤJacob hadn't drawn faces on the bodies—he'd left that to Emily, who'd filled in the smiles herself, allocating happiness to everyone equally. Her touches humanised not just Lucia, Alex, Jacob, the newborn baby, and herself, but also the unnamed man and woman she didn't ask about.

ㅤThe gift had winded him at the time. Whilst sat on one of Lucia's chairs in distant support of her recent boy, he'd contemplated the red sleeping face of a new life as the other two children approached him with fidgeting excitement.

ㅤWith Emily's outstretched arms, they'd presented the drawing to him before scuttling away in giggles like cubs, peering from behind the wall to gauge his reaction. Their adult teeth were too large for their young, grinning mouths.

ㅤIt was numb in his hand as he recalled it. Heavy. He hadn't known what expression he wore as he stared at the crude row of smudged figures holding hands, him present. But their reactions had been victorious as his stomach sank.

ㅤAlex was present in their lives.

ㅤSo now the picture was attached to his hand as his body thrummed to break far away from it.

ㅤInto town, the sun was beating off stone, buildings baking him as if he were caught between the radiating walls of a kiln. His legs stuck to the leather of his saddle like stiff resin, his sweat persisting into oil on his skin. Eyes bore heavily into his back, stares following him from street to street, attention as laden as the air.

ㅤMost of these citizens knew who he was by now, even without his rank-denoting sash; he was the only man with his skin colour who could wear rich fabrics and ride a military horse with a soldier's straight shoulders, not the slump of a slave. Shadowing his face with a broad-brimmed hat couldn't protect his identity.

ㅤWhich was why people minded him with an observing berth as he made his way to the internal palace gates, his rein-holding hand clenching by his sword.

ㅤ"Gentlemen," Alex greeted the stationed guards, lowering from his horse. Like him, the beast swayed in almost-gratitude to be apart. Its feet were probably as heat-sore as his. A stableboy quickly led it away.

ㅤOne guard, shirtless beneath his light summer armour, cleared his throat. "Afternoon, sir."

ㅤAs Alex organised his things, sliding the kids' picture in his small bag carefully so it did not crease, he finally looked up, realising neither guard had moved. They were deliberately passive under his scrutiny.

ㅤ"The gate," Alex prompted. He was aware that they'd brought in a significant number of new soldiers who were clumsier in their inexperience, but he watched with a rising agitation when their inaction stretched further.