“It was said that King Charles IV was never insane at youth. He was benevolent, never hurt a fly and was a supposed vegan. The reason for being insane is unknown, and even then, it came so sudden, he suddenly started murdering, whipping nobles. No reason for such a thing.”

--Istor Graios during an interview of the new castle found in Moscow, Russia.

The carriage was rained upon with a heavy downpour of rain, millions of droplets of water fell onto the carriage, striking and beating it as it rattled down the road.

Joan stared out to the darkness of the moonlit night, seeing the shaded figures of houses and buildings covered in rain with spread puddles of mud. Joan stared at the nothingness outside the carriage, seeing nothing outside but just the pouring of rain and the shaded figures of trees and what-not.

“Heavy rain,” Laia said, her voice sounded as if she were in a daze. “What are you looking at, Joan?”

Joan turned, her armour shuffling as she did. “Nothing.”

“I wonder why now out of all a sudden,” Laia murmured.

Joan melted into her seat. “That’s true, why did the majesty just ask us now?”

“Don’t know.” Laia said, lying in her seat. “From all we know, the last time we met him—”

“He’s mad, yes.” Joan said.

“That’s the problem, it might be a trap.”

Joan nodded, “Yes but we are here already so we can’t turn back.”

Laia gave a low sigh.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped dead in its tracks.

What? Joan looked out of the window, only to be answered by the pitch-black darkness of night.

Joan saw a coated figure walk towards the door wielding an umbrella, grabbing at the door, slamming it open. Joan’s hand went for her blade but stopped as she recognized him.

The door let out a cry of the thunderous rain that beat at the door, shutting out any other audible sound in an instant.“Ah…coach, why so sudden?”

“Sorry madame,” The coach chuckled, his voice faint in the rain. “The rain’s loud as you hear.”

“I see,” Laia shouted, yet still dimly within ear-reach.

The duo went out, shielded by the umbrella yet the rain droplets would still drop on them and they still couldn’t get rid of the horrid drums of rain.

Joan walked down the road, greeted by a high wall, the colour bleached by the night.

Thousands of towers loomed over Joan, like fingers scraping across the sky. The colours a bleak black, Joan saw all great towers, the great palace and the great wall that stood before them. Even now, this palace has been astonishing until now, even for years.

Another lantern suddenly went alit, colouring a little bit of the wall. Illuminating everything near it. Joan turned, seeing a company of knights, their spears pointed to them.

“Who comes to the palace?” A horse-mounted knight asked, trotting around them.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The coach slipped out a letter from his coat. “This is the letter with the stamp, we have preserved it for your reading.”

The leader of the knights ripped the letter off the coach’s hand, sliding it into a pouch within the horse. “Do not give a parchment when there is rain!”

“I apologize,” Joan stepped in. “But may we now enter?”

“Joan of Arc.” The knight blurted out. “W-why of course, madame.”

He’s nervous. Joan noted. Walking into the palace as the gates screeched open, Laia following behind.

A knight rushed to Joan, shielding Laia and her from the rain with an umbrella. “Right this way madame.”

Joan followed the tour-guide, silent, though not much would be heard in the heavy rain.

Instantly, Joan met a door and it pulled open. Joan entered. “Finally, no rain.”

“This feels better,” Laia stretched herself. “Not loud and not cramped.”

That’s because you’re a head taller than me. Joan thought, though she kept herself silent.

The knight then said again, “I will guide you to the throneroom, please do keep best to follow me.”

Joan nodded.

They then entered the maze, heading around the corridors and the long hallways. In an instant, Joan felt like she was in a maze when earlier she had just entered the palace, all of a sudden she was in a hall full of paintings of thousands of events and people. Many, I wonder who they are.

In an instant, Joan stood in front of a great hall, with lined marble pillars shaded by darkness. The room stood afront a great door, a giant compared to even an elephant, the doors were somehow pulled open, a roar coming from the winches of the door.

“In here,” The knight said, before whispering only loud enough for the two. “Though beware, the king has went more mad than the last time you’ve both met.”

More mad. Joan held a shiver back.

Joan entered the room, a great hall of warriors stood before her. Lined like metal pillars. They all held an arsenal of weapons. From the front with spears and the crossbows behind them, with halberds for the nearest to the doors and crossbows to those positioned near the back, and shielded knights and crossbows at the end of the hall, all surrounding the mad king.

They’re all exhausted! Joan thought. Seeing how the halberd knights were hunched and the spears were raised in all different angles, some even dropped. Has this king really went this mad?

Joan’s foot stopped, seeing the king, his eyes wild, darting wildly at the night, his hands trembled like an earthquake, spilling the wine within his flagon like a raging ocean of purple. What made him mad? That’s the question.

My breath stopped. Joan noticed, almost panicking until she calmed herself. There is little chance of him executing me here and now. The knights are tired and I am a declared saint, even if they hate me for my birth, they are rather too tired and I know most of them would try and control me instead.

Stepping forward, her movement slow like a turtle. Joan strided across the hall slowly, Laia behind her. “Y-your—” Calm yourself “Majesty?”

The king swung his head back, beating the throne’s head. “Yes?”

The wine churned, spinning and crashing onto the king’s expensive clothings and staining the sheath of his house’s sword. He is truly mad! He stained them and has no notice, like some wild beast!

“Joan!” He cried. “You’ve came back?”

“Yes…” Can he even see?! Joan took a deep breath. Why am I scared?

“What caused you to be this…” Joan said, hushed. “For this much at night?”

“Nightmares!” He cried once more. “The demons that crawl in my skull, saint may you save me?”

Nightmares. Joan thought. “What nightmares?”

“Death for all!” The king tossed the cup into the air, the golden goblet flew in the air, striking the floor with a dent. “Death goes rampant, an apocalypse of revelation!”

“I…but they are mere nightmares, the war stresses us all, Charles,” Joan said, slowly stepping up the dais, the knights separating to a path for her in a groggy move.

“Nightmares that are by the demons!” He howled.

“Still, nightmares.”

“You’re wrong! They are prophesy!”

“Prophesy, how certain?”

“I know! In my bones and in my skull!”

Joan took a sharp breath. “M’lord, as a saint, my life ensures that as false.”

“But demons killed Saint Margarets and Christophers!”

A good riposte, even for an insane man, a counter and the riposte is execution. Think well Joan! Calmly, you’ve been through this in wars countless times.

“Yes but I have not died and as a chosen of God, you will not die from it either.”

“I will!”

“No,” Joan said. “M’lord—”

“I’ll die! The nightmares fate it!” He screamed, thrashing his body.

“Then you have to accep—”

“I will not!” King Charles cried. “Saint you will change fate!”

Joan stepped back, “My king, I cannot commit to such an act—”

“You must! Saint Joan you must, as a saint you have to!” Charles cried.

“M’lord you must accept death—”

“I will never accept such a heresy!” He cried, before he suddenly slumped, hitting his head on the throne before passing out on the floor.