The Red King [Book II]

XXXV

King Julian was paraded in full, glorious armour. His rich hair was hidden beneath his golden helmet, and Alex was stuck looking at the details of the lion embossed on the helmet's side, mid-roar, as though to blame for the convoy's splitting rumble.

ㅤStudded boots and hooves clashed over stone as the soldiers' drums pulsed in Alex's aching head. Sliding armours, groaning wheels, splitting shouts, the sun beating the oven he was encased in—only his bare legs were spared. Even that mercy was thin, with his horse's sweat slicking against his calves, each step felt dragged through mud. It was unbearable. Alex couldn't breathe.

ㅤHe wasn't used to this position. Usually, he was the one protecting others, dressed light and nimble and not suffocating under the weight of his cloak. Every citizen who approached made him twitch in reflex, hand lingering on his thigh. Yet, instead, he had to clamp down on his panting lip, forced to rely on the judgement of the soldiers protecting them.

ㅤHe eyed James riding beside him, wondering if he, too, was struggling, but the visor slit was too narrow. He could've been a doll, if not for his smug, jutted chin.

ㅤDespite James' confidence, he couldn't have been used to this from his childhood. So much time had passed, and his paranoid lifetime would've surely overridden what preceded it. Alex should've been the more tolerant one to these displays. So why was it always him struggling?

ㅤ"Wine and bread!" a soldier repeated ahead of them. "Wine and bread!"

ㅤCitizens flocked in wary excitement. Men always approached first, with soldiers pouring booze from one of their moving wagons, bread passed around like flyers. Town by town, this sequence repeated. Even though they'd left so early it'd still been dark, waking citizens with their drums and calls, sour mouths eventually grinned with wine-pinkened teeth.

ㅤThey were interested in Alex and James—of course they were. Riding in the centre of their parade and not hidden behind carriage walls. The whispers sizzled louder than the heat for Alex.

ㅤ"How far are we?" Alex asked the footsoldier beside him.

ㅤIt was too loud, and the words died in the echo of his helmet. He shouted it again, piercing his own ears. The soldier's response—he couldn't hear.

ㅤ"Fuck this."

ㅤAs much as Alex hated the heat of other people's stares, he hated the heat of the sun more. Tearing off his helmet, he embraced the small breeze on his sweat-drenched face. Hair stuck to his forehead, wet, and the metallic noise dulled in the open air. Even though light assaulted his eyes, he'd regained his peripheral vision, and his neck could track the objects of his caution.

ㅤHe passed the helmet to the startled soldier, not caring what happened to it.

ㅤ"Y- Your Grace!" a cavalryman complained. "Your head must be protected!"

ㅤ"Be quiet, and that's an order."

ㅤ"But, Your Gra—"

ㅤHe held up a hand. The cavalryman stopped. Regardless of the sudden scrutiny townsfolk trained towards him, he could only suffer so much.