main road that Lilac had first been so careful to avoid. Winding around the denser parts of the forest, traveling that way would have cut her trip on foot considerably, by a few days at least; at the steady trot maintained on horseback, they’d be there by sunrise. They only resumed a woodland journey when they came up on a crowd of townsfolk; Sinclair directed the driver around, probably wishing to avoid drawing attention. Until then, Lilac had forgotten that a handful of prominent villagers and shopkeepers were invited to witness her ascension, too. She was thankful for the dark, and that any travelers who might’ve seen her probably either didn’t notice or care enough to inspect the miniature royal caravan further while navigating in their late-night stupor.
Lilac half hoped a random ogre would appear to smash the carriage, inadvertently setting them free. She rode sitting as far from Sinclair as was possible with two riders occupying a single saddle, only grabbing at his robe when their horse jerked unexpectedly from a rat in the road. He remained uncharacteristically silent during the ride; Lilac wasn’t sure whether she should’ve been grateful or concerned. Perhaps he hoped that she would tip off at some point and break her spine, relinquishing the throne to him once and for all. The creatures of Brocéliande remained strangely quiet as they passed through, save the occasional rustling foliage and proclamation from the owls.
A pair of front guards on horseback quickly led the haphazard caravan, one with a torch and the other with an arrow at the ready. The carriage driven by Arwen came next, followed by Renald’s steed and two more archers, Sinclair and Lilac, and then a final rearguard. They plodded along in orderly fashion, pausing only once to let the horses sip from the creek. Depending on which way the path turned, what little moonlight filtered through the trees illuminated Adelaide’s wild-eyed sneer between the bars on the rear window. As much as she loathed Sinclair, Lilac was thankful he hadn’t made her ride with the unstable witch.
Just when her head began to teeter upon her shoulders at the sway of their horse’s rump, eyelids grown unbearably heavy, a quad of familiar brick turrets pierced the treetops ahead. The fortress appeared black against the gentle violet of early dawn. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Lilac would be awake to observe the magnificent sunrise.
If only the circumstances were different.
The cart jerked to a halt in front of them so abruptly even Sinclair seemed caught off guard; yanking the reigns, he steered their horse off to the side to keep from running into the carriage. Yawning, Lilac observed they had emerged to the right of the castle, behind the queen’s rose hedges and her bedroom tower. They stopped in front of two low grated windows flanking a shallow flight of stairs leading down to an iron-wrought door. The dungeon exit.
Sinclair dismounted the horse and snapped his fingers. “Get them inside. We don’t want anyone seeing her with these vagabonds. After today, hopefully she won’t have to deal with them ever again.”
Under his watch, the guards followed suit and retrieved a glowering Adelaide, whose hands now hung cuffed in front of her. Garin’s limp form swung from the other guard’s shoulder when he emerged from the carriage. When the last guard approached Lilac, she kicked, missing his helmeted head by centimeters.
“Don’t you touch me.” She gripped the leather saddle for support and carefully swung her right leg back, catching her balance as she lowered herself onto the grass.
Lilac had been through the dungeon a few times, but only to sneak out to her mother’s rose garden between guard rounds. Now, she was a prisoner herself. Tears welled in her eyes. In a daze, she followed the guards and their prisoners into the dank, stone hallway, almost ducking beneath the low ceiling. Cells had been hewn into the rock on either side of the hall, now reminding her chillingly of the vampire mine. Several prisoners stared blearily from behind bars as the group passed by before leaving them in darkness again. One man reached through the bar as they approached, but a guard knocked his hand aside, and the man cowered away with a whimper.
With a squeaky groan, one guard opened a cell to the right and gestured Adelaide into it. “You get the only cell with a window, witch. Consider yourself fortunate.”
Ophelia spat in her guard’s face before being slapped and shoved