The forest parted to a hasty clearing surrounding a walled estate. The four storey building was barely visible above the outer walls, a monument of polished tiles and elaborate carvings in stark contrast with the ancient stone walls.

The Horned Palace was the Fourth Pentarch’s private palace, sheltered behind walls that were older than living memory. The palace and gardens within and without had been redone many times, fashionable hedgerows and a neatly manicured path beckoning to the guard towers. The walls, however, were never altered. They were smooth, no joins or mortar, solid, aged, dark stone that hinted to an older memory. The clearing was new.

They were a procession with a single carriage and a mix of foot and mounted escorts. The carriage was ornate, lacquered the shade of blued steel with gold accents and carved spiraling dragons, each with four horns around the circle of its head. It was pulled by six great fell bulls harnessed in two neat lines, their wide horns almost touching as they marched. Each bull was masked with a single ornate metal helmet. Two riders were mounted on the front bull of each column, acting as the carriage drivers. Both were uniformed in matching blue and gold, with ornate metal accents, decoration rather than armor.

The escort riders were more seriously equipped, each rode a smaller fell beast, lacking the horns of their male counterparts pulling the carriage. Ten mounted riders in total, positioned around the carriage procession with another twelve men on foot, carrying a mix of polearms and swords. All wore the same blue uniform, but traded gold for the more practical sheen of plate or mail as suited the wearer's preference. On their shoulders were twin sigils, a four-horned dragon head in gold and deep blue, and a second smaller, more subtle open winged bird design.

At the back of the carriage there was a single figure, standing on a footboard and steading herself against the rattle of the carriage with a single hand. She was horned like the fell bulls and stood a head taller than the tallest man. She was unarmed, a battle axe was balanced on the roof of the carriage that was impossibly large for human strength.

The carriage jolted, and Val swayed easily with the movement. It had been almost half a year since she had last come to the Horned Palace. The approach had always been densely forested, protecting the privacy of the Fourth Pentarch but also in reverence to the ground's ancient roots. No longer, they had begun thinning the trees on the approach further up the road, forcing the procession to leave their scouts back in the trees where they could still be hidden. Branches and cut wood were neatly piled at regular intervals and teams of workers were busy sawing some of the larger logs in the cool summer morning. The nearest escort rider, a wiry man with a bow across his saddle in addition to his spear, drew his stead a little closer to her position at the back of the carriage.

“Think they’ve been expecting company?” he asked light heartedly, but his eyes were wide taking in the changes.

Val’s gaze lingered on one of the huge stumps by the side of the road as they passed it, the tree had been large enough a man wouldn’t be able to stretch his arms around it.

“They were so old. It’s a shame,” she remarked wistfully.

The rider gave her a reassuring smile, then turning his gaze back on the guard house pulled his steed back into position. They were close enough now Ivory Guards began to spill from the guard house, beginning to form their welcome.

Val allowed herself one nervous sigh, then straightened and centered her stance over the carriage, grimly picking up her axe to mount it across her back one handed.

Her horns and size marked her as definitely not human, or at least not fully. Two horns emerged from the back of her jawline beneath the ear, short and curling down and forward to frame her face, the tips just proud in a way that would likely protect the face and neck from any incoming blows. A second pair emerged from her skull just behind the top of her ears, much larger and curling out then forward, they seemed positioned less for protection and more for threat.

She, unlike the rest of the guard, was both decorated and armored. Her plate shone gold, and little chains and dragon charms hung from her horns and ears. In comparison, the double-headed battle axe across her back was plain, built for purpose rather than show. As they came upon the Ivory Guard, she set her chin and gazed squarely ahead, letting the escort riders greet them and identify their occupant. With little ceremony the gates were unbarred, and the carriage ushered through, the bull riders at the front of the carriage team kicking their beast's sides with heels to urge them onwards and the rest following as they felt their harnesses grow taut in turn. The rider Val had spoken with, along with two others pulled closer, while the rest of the riders peeled off as they entered and began to wheel their mounts towards a stable and barracks, along with all of the foot soldiers.

In a few minutes of travel through the manicured gardens, passing vine covered arbours and fountains and lawns, the carriage passed below an archway and second guard house before pulling into a great circular drive at the palace's entry, a black door flanked by four-horned dragon carvings. Servants who had been working as they came into view scattered from the front, some desperately grabbing up garden tools and baskets of cuttings to scamper out of view. The entry yard was conspicuously empty when the carriage finally came to a stop, the mounted drivers calming their beasts with gentle pats.

Finally Val stepped down from her post, as the three escort riders dismounted and assembled at her side. She paused to look at one of her fellow guards and raised an eyebrow, then opened the carriage door and out stepped two men. The first was young, with a sharp face and pale hair tousled in a way that imitated the mess of sleep but was too perfect to be the result of anything but careful styling. His skin was warm gold from the sun, and he wore robes in a slate grey, intricately embroidered with gold beads and stylized images of four-horned dragons. Conspicuous amounts of jewelry accented his outfit, gold bangles at his wrists, chains around his neck and ears, several delicate rings on his fingers. While his body was slim and frail, his eyes were petulant and expressive, skimming the court and immediately turning into a scowl. At his right, a second older man emerged. His robes were made of fine materials with simple woven decorations around the cuffs. He carried a staff to steady his step and had a neatly cropped beard, mostly greyed with age, although his short dark head hair was only peppered with silver.

Val fell into position on the younger man's left, her accessories now firmly marking her in his presence as an extension of him, decorated to match his wardrobe rather than any preference of her own. Behind them the three riders who had remained assembled, the slim man now carrying his bow, and two older men, one tall and broad with two small axes at his hip, and the third the oldest, nearing too old for this work, with a short sword and dagger at his side.

The young man from the carriage sighed in exasperation. No one had emerged from the house as the Ivory Guard had done, nor ushered open the black doors. “Bastian, go in and get someone,” he snapped, kneading his forehead with long fingers.

The slim man with the bow gave a quick head nod and a quiet “My Prince,” before dutifully trotting off to the left, seeking a side entrance he was obviously familiar with. The Prince turned to his carriage, and sensing his intent, Val opened the door again for him to make his retreat.

“Really,” he grumbled, seating himself and arranging his robes in his lap. Small gold bangles jingled at his wrists as he brushed perceived dust from the fabric. His voice was just too loud to be only for his close company. “You invited me.”

After a wait, the black doors flung open, serving men spilling out all dressed in white and gold uniforms. They quickly hurried about the bulls, taking up reins from riders and lining the entry in an orchestrated rush of action, as if this had all been a terrible misunderstanding, and now they sought to put their best foot forward to rectify it. A woman, in a careful state of partial-dress emerged moments later, maids chasing after her with combs and missing accessories, their distress the most sincere piece of the whole event. Her hair was long and grey with age, but carefully braided for day wear rather than a formal occasion.

She spread her arms wide and greeted them “Dorius, you must forgive us! We just had guests visiting and the whole place was a mess. We only saw them off this morning and had barely begun the process of turning over the rooms.”

Dorius emerged from the carriage again, bristling with indignation.

“Grandmother,” he sniped in return, “Why even invite me just to leave me as a spectacle for the servants to laugh at?”

The woman laughed graciously, allowing a maid to catch her outer layers and begin to adjust them, still leaving her arms spread wide in greeting.

“Calm yourself,” she offered, “It was a mistake, no offense intended.”

Dorius visibly scowled, but still swept forward to take her hand for a short kiss to her knuckles in greeting.

“Come, your Uncle waits,” she announced, starting a turn back inside, “There are barely any rooms appropriate for you to stay, we are truly in such a state. The dining room would be best, it is still prepared for morning meal at least.”

Dorius huffed a moment, took a step to follow and watched an Ivory Guard intercept Val as she moved to match pace with him. “No weapons,” the guard announced.

Val narrowed her eyes, and the guard took a moment to regret his position. She towered over every head around her, and was easily two heads taller than Dorius, a mountain at his side.

“Oh don’t make a fuss of things, I grow tired of this farce anyway,” Dorius hissed, again just slightly too loud, and vaguely gestured to Val with a wave of his hand to obey.

Val, locking eyes with the guard, obediently drew her axe off her back, held it to her side, and with no ceremony dropped it straight to the ground where it bounced from tip to heel twice in a momentous clatter of metal against loose stone. Half the servants flinched and the rest tensed, all eyes watched for a moment.

Dorius ignored the noise, and continued after his grandmother, older companion in tow. Val pushed the guard aside with her body to follow, turning to keep eye contact with the Ivory Guard as she passed.

Behind her, Bastian had returned to his place from whatever side entrance he had scampered off to find, and was grinning with amusement as he watched two servants try and fail to lift the huge axe out of the entryway. As the three escorts were left behind they relaxed from their positions and turned to begin helping the serving men with handling the bulls still hitched to the carriage and collecting the battle axe for their companion, a two person job even for the hardened escorts.

—

“My King” simpered Dorius as he swept after his grandmother into the dining hall, now gesturing as broadly and dramatically as his grandmother had to the figure sitting at the head of the table, his mannerism shifting from irritation to flattery.

The Pentarch sat having finished breaking his fast and beginning on the work of the day, a servant at his side was filling his cup and several advisors who had been in discussion trailed silent at the sudden intrusion. Platters of pastries and exotic fruits had been pushed away to make room for scattered papers and a small map. One advisor scrambled to gather up the most sensitive of the documents before someone looked too closely. The Pentarch was dressed regally even if for casual company, in gold with accents of bright white. His hair faded to white from silver, washing his overall appearance out as pale underneath all his finery. On his head was a simple four horned crown. Dorius swept up to him, pulling out a chair close to the food without bidding, and immediately began to pick through the leftovers, mostly throwing bits back without regard for what he touched. His grandmother remained standing, her previous energy more subdued and she pursed her lips at the sight of her grandson's insubordination. Dorius glanced at her, and seeming to realize he had done something wrong, paused and selected a single glazed pastry instead.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The Pentarch visibly grimaced, “Dorius -”

Val suddenly crashed down into a seat at Dorius’ side, cutting the Pentarch short. Her gaze did not stray from straight forward and her expression did not change. It took a moment for the jangle of her chains and accessories to ring silent.

“Dorius!” the Pentarch hissed, the air in the room growing tense.

Dorius waved a hand casually to try and de-escalate, “She’s not quite…” he started.

“Do not try me Dorius!” boomed the Pentarch, the guards who had previously stood outside the doorway suddenly shifting position to face inwards at their king’s tone.

Dorius appeared lost for words, pulling back in his seat away from his uncle and slightly towards his bodyguard, his hands clenching back from his earlier casual gesture to betray his nerves. The older man at Dorius’ side spoke up then.

“Your highness,” he intoned gently, hoping to diffuse the mood, “Your nephew does not have as much practice in courtly behaviors as your other heirs. I ask your patience for his bad graces, we rode the last stretch of our journey for your summons through the night in proof of our obeisance and the lack of sleep may have left him without his better wits.”

“Elias,” the Pentarch groaned, leaning back in his seat, “Your loyalty to my late sister blinds you to her son's faults. You waste your skills staying with him.”

Elias bowed deeply, and remained facing the ground.

“I do my best,” responded Elias, his tone neutral.

Dorius sniffed, “My apologies uncle,” was all he offered, making no eye contact in seeming shame.

The Pentarch took a moment to stare at Val, who remained unblinking in her seat. “Get your Fae off my table.”

There was a pause, and Val did not move. Then the two guards came forward, hooking an arm around each of Val’s, and attempted to pull her upwards from the seat. There was a comical moment, where they both strained and she did not give way, before Dorius sighed. She turned her head to her master and threw one of the guards off her when her horn swung into his helmet and sent him crashing to the ground.

“Up,” ordered Dorius.

Val stood with order given, the second guard stumbling back off her, and centered herself standing over her prince, her facial expression unchanged.

The guard on the floor rolled about for a moment, making far too much noise for the company but unable to get his feet under himself in the ceremonial armor until two servants helped him steady himself. He bowed to his king and remained in place.

“Leave,” groaned the Pentarch, deeply annoyed at how long this interaction was dragging on.

The guards took the command to leave, both returning to each side of the dining room’s entryway. Elias had remained bowed through the whole display, facing the floor in his shame.

“Enough of this,” the Patriarch stood, waving away all but one of his advisors, “I called you here for one thing so let us get it done and then you can be gone with your brute.”

He opened his palm and, without looking, the remaining advisor passed him a single folded document which the Pentarch then laid on the table in front of Elias. Elias righted himself just enough to look at it, and as the Pentarch’s hands withdrew he picked it up and unfolded it for study.

“You will go to Kal’Fall and resolve whatever in the Spine has the locals bristly enough they have cut off diplomacy with us. You are authorized to use the local garrison at your discretion but avoid any messes - I would rather have a peaceful solution. The boundaries of the Pentarchy converge closely there and news of mishaps will reach other ears too quickly.”

Elias read the document quickly, “Your grace, we will be honored to take on this request for the family.”

The Pentarch snorted in mild amusement, “Honored yes. It is beneath any of your other cousins. If not for my love of my passed sister I would send a general instead and leave your branch of our line to rot and dissolve with you back in Southold.”

“Did it have to be somewhere cold?” asked Dorius. Elias’ jaw tensed for a moment, his patience with his charge at the end of its ropes.

“Get over it. And do not take this as an opportunity to disappoint and absolve yourself of responsibility for the rest of your days. I grow sick of supplementing your income and will cut you off unless you contribute to our Pentarchy’s success. You will run out of money to feed that Fae of yours soon enough and once she quits your shadow, I will not stop one of my other nephews or nieces simplifying their succession.”

Dorius’ grandmother looked grim, standing silently on one side of the room. Whatever her opinions of her grandson, it was obvious she did not approve of her son’s threat. Dorius rocked back on his chair and appeared unphased, whether from false confidence or ignorance it was unclear. He stood up, fidgeting with his robes to smooth them again and asked “Is that it?”

“Elias, don’t fail me,” said the Pentarch, and Elias finally rose from his bow, “You may leave.”

There were several long minutes of diplomatic goodbyes and exchanges with his grandmother as they made their way from the palace again. As they returned to the carriage Elias surreptitiously passed the documents to his prince who tucked them into a sleeve for later. Val caught his eye as she helped Dorius step up into the carriage, gone was all the impulsive petulance and instead there was a steely glint of resolve.

—

It was only after they re-entered the forest that a lone rider on a two-legged talon steed came trotting up to the escort, dressed in plain leathers.

“We’re clear,” she announced, “No one followed after you exited the guard house.”

The older man from earlier with the twin axes at his side, Hart, gave her a wave from near the front of the procession, and the scout swung her crow faced mount around and darted back into the forest. Val sagged at her station, her pent up tension finally releasing, and removed her battle axe placing it on the carriage roof within easy reach. Several of the other riders seemed to relax as well, strapping pole arms back to their saddles or removing more uncomfortable parts of armor.

There was a brief knock from inside the carriage, and Val obediently responded by sliding a small window open. Prince Dorius was sitting with his back to her in the carriage, but leaned conspiratorially around to catch her with one eye.

“What did you make of all that?” he asked, his mouth slightly quirked.

Val hummed a moment, “The fanfare aside, I find it suspicious a simple task for the family outcast required an in-person audience. I don’t think the Pentarch takes any joy in just humiliating you for that to be his only objective.” She began stripping some of the accessories off her horns absently and passed them through the window. Elias, who was sitting on the opposite bench with his staff propped against the carriage wall, leaned forward to take them and began to neatly pack them into a velvet lined box.

Dorius nodded, “I agree, it is important enough that it needs to remain within the family, which means the problem is more important politically than my uncle - or more likely yet one of my cousins - will let on.”

“Have we reached the part where they’ve found out about your merchant army and decided to kill you?” quipped Bastian as he pulled closer to join the conversation. Val twisted slightly sideways to give him a view into the carriage to his Prince.

Dorius laughed a moment grimly. Elias shook his head. “Your Prince is not important enough for any subterfuge to be necessary if that were the case. I imagine some of your cousins would take great joy in petitioning the king to cut you off if they had justification, and the Ivory Guard could just cut us down if they decided to deal with it in simpler terms,” explained the older man to Bastian.

“I’d like to see them try,” mumbled Val, checking the balance of her axe on the carriage.

“One of the men reckon’ there was talk of a horse in the stable as well.” Bastian added.

Dorius, curious suddenly, unfolded one of his arms from his lap to lean on the sill for a better look at Bastian.

“One of my cousins then. I thought the guests' excuse was part of the game,” he considered for a moment, “any chance you heard what color it was?”

Bastian shook his head.

Hart had pulled back from the front of the procession and rode closer then. “Your orders?” he called from his mount.

“We return home for now via Ashtowne, we’ll stop there for a proper sleep. Organize a spot for us to camp outside of town and meet up with the others,” called Dorius out his window to Hart, then turning in his seat to sit more comfortably facing forward again he added more quietly, “Bastian join me.”

Bastian tossed his reins to Hart, and standing in the saddle quickly hopped to the footboard to join Val. He was one of few men whose height approached her chin, but she was far broader and she shifted one foot off to make more room for him. Hart dutifully gathered Bastian’s mount’s reins, gave his prince a quick bow from his saddle and pulled away from the carriage, lifting an arm to signal one of the scouts out of the forest and begin passing along the orders.

“We are to make ourselves known to the post at Kal’Fall to the north-east, from there we will take command of some spat we're currently in with the Free Mountain State and re-establish diplomacy. Our duty is to have the position resolved by dark solstice for military reinforcement of the posting,” explained Dorius to Bastian who had missed the drama at the Palace. There had obviously been additional details on the documents they were provided to supplement the orders given at the breakfast meeting.

“To what end?” asked Bastian looking at Elias, “Is there a chance of war with the Mountain State?”

Elias shook his head, “The Mountain State’s position as a free settlement is likely not under dispute, anything too antagonistic would be seen as a breaking of the peace between the Pentarchy.”

Dorius’ eyes narrowed, but whatever opinions he had to offer he held close for the moment. Val had known him long enough to guess that he had an idea of what was at play, but not enough evidence yet to give it voice.

“Our relationship with the Mountain State has been rocky since the establishment of the Pentarchy. Their position as the center of a five spoked wheel puts them in a vulnerable position,” continued Elias, “They are protected just as much, if not more, by the equal balance of the peace. If the Spine itself were not so inhospitable and trade or even troop passage could be secured through the passes, it would have collapsed years ago. Instead, they occupy the inevitable position of hissing and spitting like a trapped cat, hoping to remind their captors that they are not yet tamed within their cage.”

“I do not think this the usual bristling of the Mountain State,” pondered Dorius, “There is something much bigger at play. The clearing of the Palace Forest strikes me as odd as well. This feels more like desperation to avoid attention from prying eyes at something important by involving someone un-important.”

Elias finished packing Val’s accessories and closed the ornate box, then began moving boxes under his bench to make room for it.

“This is proof at least then… that they think you loyal?” Val asked.

Dorius laughed shortly, “Oh I doubt it, at best it is a test. My eldest cousins, I think, may see through our impoverished, spoiled princling act. My uncle, however, is relying on Elias to solve this issue, not me,” he tilted his head in thought a moment.

Elias continued to shuffle under the carriage benches looking for something, “Be careful still,” he cautioned, “You take the act too far with the Pentarch. He would be within rights to have Valina beheaded for that show.”

“It’s taking it too far that sells it,” Dorius responded idly, his mind already rushing on to other thoughts, “someone playing a ruse would stop at the edge of common sense.”

“I trust your judgement,” added Val, “Anyway, I don't think they'd find me that easy to behead,” she concluded with a hint of nerves. Dorius gave her a small grin.

Elias sat up, having found what he was looking for, a document box, which he opened and withdrew a pen from. Dorius passed him the document from the meeting from within his sleeve, and Elias noted some additional thoughts to it in the margins, before adding it to the top of the documents contained within. He then sighed, pressing the pile down with both hands.

“I deeply loved your mother, she was the best of the fourth bloodline. Something about giving her life for a son distilled that legacy to you. An odd quirk perhaps of the line ending, “ he wondered. “I offer my counsel sincerely and out of love for you as a warning - your skill has only carried you this far because the Watcher has their eye on you. The risks will only grow as you begin to test the boundaries of your ambition. While we would give our lives for you, we are of no use to you dead.”

Elias looked Bastian and Val in the eyes as he finished speaking, his warning just as much for them as his charge.

Dorius grew grimmer for a moment, but forged on, “There is opportunity here,” he said, “And I would seize it if I can, there is just as much risk to you all should I fail, as there is in the path to success.”