The Dark Citadel

Gregory and Bryce stumbled through the darkened forest, both physically and emotionally drained from the night's events. After about an hour of aimless wandering, they came upon the crumbling remains of what appeared to be an ancient stone structure.

Gregory's heart pounded in his chest as he tore through the forest, branches whipping at his face and arms. The sound of heavy footsteps behind him spurred him on, even as his lungs burned for air.

Bryce moved quickly through the brush, heading directly west, and he set a pace fast enough that Gregory was struggling to catch up. He was panting from the exertion and wanted to ask for a break to catch his breath.

As soon as they saw the smoke, Gregory felt the prince tense up next to him. Bryce was on edge, clearly affected, though his face was calm and devoid of all emotions. They stopped walking and stood in a clearing, watching the smoke filter into the clouds.

“We need to keep moving,” Bryce said.

Bryce nodded, then stretched and motioned to the guard with his manacled hands. The man seemed annoyed but didn’t object when Bryce stood and started walking into the forest. They disappeared into the foliage, and Gregory thought again of how arrogant these men were.

When he finally fell into step beside Bryce, he stared at the forest in front of him and tried to keep his voice low.

Gregory was modestly relieved the next morning when it became clear that his new captors were actually intending for him to be treated as a guest, though one lacking total freedom. They didn’t force him to travel with them, but they also didn’t offer him a chance to leave.

He couldn’t help but blink and take a deep breath. Mahkinson turned, eyes still on Gregory, and waved a hand at the executioner. The sword was raised once more. Gregory knew that what he was likely getting himself killed but didn’t give himself time to make a rational decision.