Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve
Sylvan rode through the streets of his family’s home with his helmet firmly in place. The entire city came out to celebrate his arrival and to toast his latest victory. There was nothing to celebrate, as far as he was concerned. Why would he celebrate the 150,000 men they’d lost? Or the over 350,000 men, women and children that had perished in Tridea? For what? Resources? Acclaim? Territory? Bragging rights? He was a man tasked with demolishing a civilization and he’d completed it. There should be a day of mourning, but instead the city threw confetti at his head and their daughters at his feet.
His steed, Morias, remained steady beneath him. This was nothing compared to the violence they normally encountered. He only hoped the men begging him to marry their daughters wouldn’t let them fall beneath Morias’ feet, as the beast knew no difference between a virgin maid and an enemy warrior.
“Can you believe this shit?” Nikolai asked, coming up beside him on his own horse, who shook his head with impatience at the crowd moving closer.
“Hm.”
“Thousands of husbands, fathers, sons won’t be returning and they’re out here celebrating,” Nikolai mocked, spitting at a man who stepped forward with a bouquet of flowers.
“We’ll only be here long enough to get our next marching orders. We’ll be gone by dawn tomorrow,” Sylvan vowed.
“You sure you don’t want to sleep at least one extra night in a comfy bed?” Nikolai asked.
Sylvan guffawed. “Why? So the ground I sleep on the day after feels twice as hard?”
“And what of your prize?” Nikolai asked.
Sylvan tried not to turn in his saddle to look at Isla, who rode a few horses behind him. The last thing he needed was to draw too much attention to her. He should have listened to Nikolai and forced her to walk with the servants. Then no one would be questioning why a woman was riding with his highest ranking officers. Within the gates of Aerhart, something of that nature could only mean one thing: the prince had taken a mistress. He could only hope that having her ride beside Delilah would make people think he’d found a new witch to accompany him. Then again, they still believed Delilah to be a mistress. His hands tightened on the reins and Morias nearly reared in protest. Sylvan patted the stallion’s neck in apology but the beast merely threw his head at the gesture.
Isla herself had no issue walking with the servants, or even the prisoners.
“Isn’t that what I am, Mate Killer? A prisoner of Eredhal?” she’d asked, aquamarine eyes blazing with fire behind the purple bags of exhaustion ringing them.
“No, Isla of Tridea,” he’d responded, leaning into her space. “You’re a prisoner of mine.”
He couldn’t allow her to walk at the back of the line. Not when he knew how they would be treated as they walked along the market streets. They’d be covered with food scraps, mud and stone scars by the time they reached the courtyard of Aerhart castle. Sylvan and Isla’s emotions mingled and coalesced thanks to the mixing of bloods in their veins, making him fully aware of the anxiety rolling through her entire being. If he felt a single stone hit her, his beast would come forward and he’d kill half the civilians in attendance before his father would be able to command him to stop.
Nikolai grunted beside him. “By your response and stone expression, I can assume she will be accompanying us.”
“She’s my ma…” Sylvan cleared his throat. “Prize. It would be like me leaving Morias at home.”
“Good thing we don’t have to bring all of your prizes along every time we leave on a mission,” Nikolai mused. Sylvan looked over at him with a brow cocked up. Nikolai smirked. “It would be quite the load.”
The troops of men he’d brought home with him filed into Aerhart Castle’s courtyard. Morias came to a halt, though his feet continued to pound as he waited for a stable boy to intimidate. The man who had drawn the short straw hesitantly stepped forward. Sylvan could feel his stallion becoming giddy at the boy’s trepidation. One strike of Morias’ bared teeth had the stable boy stumbling back, tripping over a cobblestone and landing with a pronounced thud in a steaming pile of horse shit.
Sylvan sighed and got down from his mount. “Call Dimitri, he’ll get my horse squared away.”
Dimitri, the oldest man in the yard, was the only one not intimidated by the black destrier. Most likely because he’d been born in the stable and raised around stallions his entire life. Morias was merely another prince with a big head and inflated ego. Dimitri was never impressed. A minute later Dimitri stepped out, his head shaking. He swatted the stable boy on the back of the head as he passed.
“I’m too old for this, Sylvan,” Dimitri said.
“Then find a stable boy who doesn’t piss his pants at the sight of a warhorse,” Sylvan snapped back.
“The day after I do,” Dimitri said, snatching the reins of the stallion who was nuzzling the old man’s hair with his lips. “I’m checking out of here for good. You hear me?”
Sylvan leaned forward and grinned. “And I will gladly drag you back from hell myself because you aren’t dying before I do, old man.”
“At the rate you been going, it won’t be long.”
Sylvan noticed Isla watching the exchange from a few paces away, her horse, Luoen, pressing his forehead into her chest as if seeking comfort.
“The grey horse belongs to me,” Sylvan said, removing his gloves. “Treat him as you would Morias, but try not to be an old coot to him. He’s actually got a decent personality and I’d hate for you to sour him like you did Morias as a colt.”
Dimitri’s right eye squinted as he assessed the grey stallion from afar. He thrust Morias’ reins into Sylvan’s chest and limped toward the horse in question. He shooed Isla back with a shake of his hand and her eyes widened but she complied. Luoen snorted.
“Ah, come off it, you fool,” Dimitri hissed.
He walked around the stallion, running his hand along his coat the entire way. Dimitri patted the horse’s croup and continued around back to his head. He grasped Luoen’s head and pressed their foreheads together. Dimitri’s eyes closed and a moment later, so did Luoen’s. The horse let out a long breath and dropped his head before licking his lips. Dimitri sat back and gave a nod.
“What’s his name, lass?” Dimitri asked, granting her a rare smile showcasing half of his missing teeth.
Isla looked to Sylvan and back. “Luoen.”
“Bah, I’ll never be able to pronounce that. I’ll call him ‘Lou’,” Dimitri said, taking the horse’s reins for himself. Then he stopped and turned back to the girl, who wasn’t sure what to do with the situation. “I’ll take good care of him. Just as much care as you’ve taken of him. Won’t let another sit on his back. Including Prince High-Horse over there. You’ve done a fine job training this one. The trust,” he patted Luoen’s forehead. “I can feel it between ‘yah.”
Isla’s entire body relaxed at the compliment and then she smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered before giving him a low curtsy that made the old man blush crimson.
Dimitri shook his head and walked over to grab Morias. He whipped the reins from Sylvan’s hands and gave him a look of warning. “She’s pretty.”
“It’s a ‘he,’ Dimitri,” Sylvan said, his eyes still on the sight of Isla with a genuine smile: a sight he’d never beheld before and that had left him stunned.
“Wasn’t talking about the horse, you idiot,” Dimitri said. He looked back at Isla, who was walking toward them now. “Then again, I reckon you knew that. Get yourself together, man, she’s nearly here.”
Dimitri shoved past him, knocking him back to reality just before Isla stopped in front of him.
“Don’t worry, he calls Morias ‘Mo,’” Sylvan told her.
“I don’t mind. I like him.”
Isla was still smiling as she watched the stableman take their horses inside. Each of the stallions pinned their ears at each other until a swift look of warning from Dimitri shot over his shoulder made them stop. Isla looked back at him and her smile vanished.
“You shouldn’t allow your horse to scare the other stable boys like that. An indignant disposition on the battlefield is one thing, but in the presence of those wishing to care for you shouldn’t be tolerated,” Isla informed him with a stern countenance.
Sylvan smirked. “I like my beasts true to their nature, Isla. I don’t believe in bending them to my will but allow them to thrive with their own,” he informed her while his eyes roamed her face, the implication clear.
Isla rolled her eyes and looked away. “Well, Mate Killer, you’ve gotten me into the prison walls. Where’s my cell?” Isla asked, crossing her arms.