The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Golden-orange light

*This chapter contains mentions of rape.*

King~ Ch 16

Amice sprang from the small row boat as it neared the docks, slinging her satchel over her shoulder as she made her way into busking market.

Stalls upon stalls where flooded with colourful and aromatic foods, delicate clothings items were splayed across lines and wine merchants beckoned members of the crowd over to taste their goods.

Several cries were directed at Amice, the vendors clearly noticing her castle forged weapons. Yet she did not even look their way in reply.

Had it been under different circumstances, Amice would have loved to bask in the culture of the market, to adore the local life and to learn more about a country rich with prosperity. But she was entranced in her quest: carrying a grave message before two crowns clashed.

Amice wandered further into the depths of the seaside town, craning her head over the crowds, clutching her belongings so as to avoid thieves.

Finally, she spotted a barn on the outskirts, and she changed course towards it, in search of her next mode of transport.

~

The steady rhythm of hooves echoed in Amice's ears as she sped down the dirt path, following the most obvious route that one would march an army.

Her hair whipped wildly around her, and her sword smacked her thigh with every beat. She was wild, desperately urging the steed forward as though she could fly through the fields and find Henry. He had been marching for weeks. Who knows where he was now.

She leant forward in the saddle as a soft rainfall began to cloud her vision, the blanket of night not aiding her navigation. Still, she rode on, as she had been for two days straight now. She felt the knot of hunger as it stabbed at her stomach, and the familiar sting of exhaustion as it clawed at her shoulders and back. She knew she had to stop soon, if not for her sake then for her horse's.

As though a guardian had heard her pleas, a flicker appeared in her eye-line, a glimmer of hope in the distance. She directed the horse towards it, soon to see that it was an inn.

Amice dismounted heavily, stumbling as she landed as her feet rushed with blood and she grew accustomed to verticality. Grasping at the guide rope for support, she lead the horse to a small shed, a trough readily available for the beast to eat.

Finally standing freely now, Amice turned and entered the small inn.

As soon as she swung the door open, a warm air engulfed her, hugging her, blanketing her in comfort and contentment. The smell of bread and beer was rich, and the voices and laughter of several companies danced in her ears. A fireplace raged in the corner, making the low ceiling of the room bring in an even cosier essence.

A small woman approached Amice, a pale yet plump lady with white hair and kind eyes. The innkeep.

"Une, um, room? " Amice said, her English accent making the words difficult to decipher and her lack of knowledge of the language nor helping. Yet the woman nodded in understanding, grasping Amice's hand as she guided her to a lonesome table, rushing off to grab some food for the clearly starving girl.

"That's an awful nice sword you got there little lady." Spoke a sleazy voice from behind Amice. She had no need to turn for its origin wandered around to sit across from her; a young man with untamed hair and a cruel face. He wore torn clothes and his breath was corrupt with the smell of alcohol.

Amice ignored the man, focusing instead on her fingers and she traced them along the woodwork of the table

"Come now dear, I know you speak English." He had no accent, and Amice deduced he was likely a merchant or trader.