The sun was setting in the distance, casting an eerie orange glow across the inn room. A haze existed, the kind that came about as tension dissipated into something more. The Princess rested, with little concern, nude and draped across Balt’s chest. His head supported by the pillows, the man lay otherwise rigid, breathing softly as he gazed up at the ceiling.

Reality was hard to grapple with.

Resting there with Balt, Toren felt a momentary peace, but its brevity was recognized. One of her arms was snaked slightly beneath his chest, allowing the woman to hug him closer, when need be. In the short twenty minutes or so that they rested there, she found the need to be frequent.

It felt like forever ago that they’d fled the castle.

Only a few days though, Toren recalled, peeking an eye open to gaze up at the man. His were waiting somehow, his head tilted suddenly down leaving his deep red irises to gaze into her own. As they stared at one another, one of his hands slide up from where it rested on the small of her back, stroking softly at the curve of her spine. Fingers tickling the back of her neck, she could tell the man was prepping to tell her they must soon depart. That they had to go to dinner. With the others. Rejoin the world.

Or just leave.

He might wanna leave. No dinner. Get in the carriage and take off.

Part of her felt much the same.

It’s how they’d left Galos.

Though the night itself was only two prior, she first realized they’d be making a grand exit a few weeks preceding. Toren had been having vivid nightmares, multiple nights in a row, for nearly a month and under the direction of both the Royal doctor and her mother, took to visiting the Man in the Mount.

The Man in the Mount was not a truly a man.

Or at least Toren didn’t think so.

Rather, the Man in the Mount was an ancient being that resided deep in a cavernous expanse buried underneath Mount Ail.

It was the first test of a future Galian ruler or, noki.

Atop being born into the royal bloodline, it was necessary for a young heir to prove their connection to the being. This was done by sending a prince or princess, alone, into the more sparsely visited sections of the caves. A true born noki could find their way easily, through obscure chasms and over the lake of stagnant, foul smelling water, until they found themselves in the specific chamber the Man in the Mount resided.

Toren had taken the path many times in her nineteen years. From an early age she’d exhibited the signs of being the future heiress. At all of five she was dumped in the caves, easily finding her way through the winding tunnels to a chamber with a slow flowing stream. The rock ceiling missing a few stones which allowed a bit of light to stream in usually.

It was night though, when she went down there only a few weeks ago, following yet another nightmare. She’d left the castle in the middle of the night, dodging guards or curious noblemen who might challenge her on this, fleeing to the back entrance of the castle. It butted up to the side of Mount Ail. There was a specific opening she’d found, not to far off castle grounds, that provided the swiftest path to the chamber.

More than anything else, the Man in the Mount was a feeling. Toren thought that perhaps it had once been a physical entity, though now it just felt like a heavy fog that would over take her for days until she finally ventured below, to see the Man. Only once she was bowed before the water would the fog shift, draining from her body and up towards the ceiling.

It wasn’t something she liked to do, honestly, and avoided it at all cost.

Visits were never pleasant.

The Man in the Mount communicated through harsh lightning strikes, the force materializing above the holes in the ceiling before striking down to where she usually sat, knees folded beneath herself, bent over as she prayed. Not spoke. Not aloud. Not usually. Her prayers were enough. The internal tone behind them, whether controlled or frantic, had little bearing on his response.

It was merely an indicator of her presence.

That night as she fell before the flowing river, Toren begged and pleaded for the dreams to stop.

She was mid thought when the first bolt of lightning struck.

A loud clap of thunder echoed throughout the caves, into the night.

Invigorated, Toren didn’t scream at the first strike, not even as another came, and then another, zapping into the woman through her back as she continued to sit bent at the waist, in equal reverence as fear. The lightning strikes hurt. A searing pain unlike any other. But she was raised on them and only grit her teeth as they continued to come.

Each lightening strike was a message. A vision. A continual transfer of energy. The bolts she took relayed images straight into her mind, through the pain. Toren typically felt revitalized by the efforts.

Renewed.

She only saw him when she was troubled. When only his guidance could lead her.

That night though, every bolt thrown only presented her with thoughts she was already possessing.

Had already seen.

In her dreams, same as the visions now, Toren saw the castle with fire surrounding it and her father, in his throne room, watching as all of his guards were torn apart by an unseen force. They were ripped to shreds, armor and chest, as if gripped by a powerful force with both hands yanking in opposite directions. Every sword, every magical spell cast, merely met with air.

They were fighting ghosts and losing horribly.

Her father stood behind the semi-circle of guards before him, watching with wide, deep set brown eyes in otherwise rapt silence. He clutched a sword on his hands, but tossed it away as his final guard, his noj Talik, was eviscerated by the unseen force.

Torcan yelled at it, loudly, as he brought a palm up and shot a bolt of lightning towards the empty space above where the two parts of Talik’s carcass lay. Rather than striking anything, the white tinted lightning struck the castle wall, scorching it. Raising his other hand, he shot another bolt, randomly, but as it too made the sickening crackle of lightning striking the wall.

As he turned, dazed, he was suddenly tackled to the ground.

The king died the same as his men.

Torn apart.

She had the dream every night, for weeks.

She never fully told the entirety of it to anyone.

Was too fearful the ramifications.

There was a two step method for an Aither to prove they deserved the throne over another. Rather than being based purely on birthright, it was weighted against not only having the blood, but then also speaking with the Man in the Mount.

Only one child born in a half-century was meant to possess the gift.

During a down period, when a conduit for the Man in the Mount was not currently present following the death of a king or queen, someone from the bloodline was meant to act in place of the proper noki. Torcan’s father was not a noki, but his father before him was. It was typical to skip a generation.

Toren’s birth and ability to hear the Man in the Mount while a current noki still reigned was equally exciting as it was frighting. Galians saw it as a good sign, from the Man in the Mount, to have two mediums. Unprecedented, but welcome.

Torcan didn’t feel the same.

King Torcan and his oldest daughter had always been...tense around one another. The rightful reign of a noki should never be interrupted by the display of a new one. She imagined he felt her gift was a sign of an early grave. Toren was meant to take his place and, though that should’ve been something he took pride in, his daughter only ever noted contempt.

So she couldn’t tell the man about her dreams.

Especially not combined with what else the Man in the Mount had shown to her.

With little options given the late hour, Toren merely crept back into the castle same as she’d went, but didn’t return to her own chambers. Rather, she navigated the maze of halls with her head down and purpose in her steps, hoping no one would attempt to question her movements.

Radic and Balt lived on site, but no longer in the former’s father’s quarters. Instead, in the back of the castle, where space was rented out to dignitaries and other soldiers, they owned a little apartment together. Just two rooms, a large open one and then a bedroom.

Toren had only been to it a handful of times, usually when Radic forgot something while he was on duty with her. Even that area of the castle was a bit foreign to the woman, oddly, and she found that she had to pay careful attention to the markers at the end of the halls, to make sure she found the right room.

The hour was so late, she didn’t want to knock too loudly and awaken anyone other than the men inside. When her soft rapping against the door did little though, she was forced to knock louder until a shirtless Balt greeted her at the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked, breathless, as he’d sprang up from bed just to run to the door. Eyes clouded with confusion, he frowned some as he added, “Princess?”

But she didn’t want to be a princess then.

Especially not his.

She’d seen no other in the halls for a good five minutes and felt secure in being the only two about as she launched herself into the man’s arms. Her own wrapped tightly around his neck, she buried her face there, breathing him in.

“Can I come in?” she asked, but he was taking steps backwards anyways, her following, in order to shut the door and keep out any peering eyes.

Their place wasn’t much. The door opened into the front room where the men had a couch, tiny table, and a comically large chest, seated beneath a window, in which she imagined they kept all their coins and other valuables. The flooring, unlike when you entered the royal wing of apartments, didn’t transition into cool wood, but rather remains cold stone, same as the walls.

A stack of books lay beside the couch, Balt’s, Toren knew. His brother would never find use for the written word. If it wasn’t directly relating to protecting the princess, he’d long decided he had no use for it. Toren’s safety was his truest concern.

And he’d just been awoken from a rather deep slumber by her voice softly speaking to his brother.

“What’s going on?” Radic was coming out of the back room them, in an equal state of undress. When he noted her in Balt’s arms though, he blushed a bit, scrambling over himself to dive back into the bedroom once more. “P-Princess, I-”

“What’s wrong, huh?” Balt had one arm wrapped around the woman while his other hand came to brush her silvery hair out of her face. “Toren-”

“I’m okay, I just-”

“Was it your dreams?” he asked, his frown still present when she raised her head and found his eyes. “Did you see something-”

“Where’s Olix? Princess?” Radic was back then, having thrown on a pair of pants over his undergarments as well as wiggled into a tee. He was busy tying his sword belt around his waist as he came back into the room once more. “He is meant to keep watch over you in the night. Has something-”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“They give him a chair outside her door and he snoozes in it, brother.” Balt shrugged the best he could with the woman draped over him. At Radic’s shocked expression, his younger brother assuaged, “She sneaks out only to meet me.”

“If I cannot even trust the night guard to keep an eye on her,” Radic growled as, flustered, he struggled to loop his belt properly. It mattered little to him where she went, just that she’d gone. “Then-”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Toren dropped her arms from around Balt’s neck as, taking a step back from him, she glanced over at her personal guard. “Honest, Radic. It’s… I needed to see Balt. A-And you. I’m…”

“What did you see, Tor?” Balt’s gaze returned to her, eyes roaming the woman’s face as he questioned, “What?”

Shaking her head slightly, she didn’t elaborate on the dreams themselves, but rather stated, “I went to see the Man in the Mount.”

“When?” Radic frowned. He’d been with the women the entire week; they’d never made that venture. “Princess?”

“Tonight.” Toren swallowed. “Just now.”

“Alone?” Radic had to turn away from her as he let a long breath of air out. Over his shoulder, he said simply, “That’s extremely dangerous, Princess.”

“The entrance is close to-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Do not cut me off, Radic.” Just like that, the slight tears that welled in the corner of the woman’s eyes dried as she glanced over to gripe at him. “I made the decision to speak with the Man in the Mount. Your input is not needed.”

He grimaced, bowing his head as he found it difficult to turn back and face the woman. Slowly doing so, he added, “I apologize, Princess, I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interrupted and, though the moment was rather tense, Balt still felt a grin tug at his lips. “I went and spoke with him.”

“I thought you’d decided not to though,” Balt pointed out. “You told me that your mother and physician recommended it, but-”

“The calling was too loud,” was the best Toren could explain it and Balt nodded, accepting this easily.

She was rare to do what she was told; she had to come to the conclusion first, herself.

“Are you in imminent danger, princess?” Radic asked and, when she shook her head in the negative, he replied, “Then we should have this conversation in the morning. It’s...unseemly, for you to be here. I will accompany you back to your chambers, and even keep a true watch, if you’d like, but-”

“No.” Toren even shook her head before looking to Balt, hoping he’d affirm this. “I’m staying.”

“She’s afraid, brother,” Balt reasoned, reaching for the woman.

“I never said I was afraid,” the princess complained though she fell back into Balt easily. Given her Aither blood, Toren easily matched him in height and, depending on how pinpoint he stood, might have even eclipsed him slightly. “Ever.”

“She’s already here,” the man continued. “To make her leave-”

“He can hardly make me do anything,” Toren asserted and it was a good reminder as Radic’s shoulders drooped and he seemed resound.

“C’mere.” Balt decided to walk then, taking the woman’s hand as he led her to the bedroom. “Let’s just relax.”

Their shared bedroom was little more than that. Just two cots, pushed against opposite walls, with a night stand at the head of each bed frame. Atop what she assumed to be Radic’s, a dagger lay beside a forgotten mug of ale as well as a lit lamp. Balt’s had three books piled atop one another and a little glass bottle, suspended just an inch over a tiny, curved metal tray. Inside the bottle were tiny, green fragrant leaves.

Balt dropped her hand as they entered, but it was only to go over to the bottle and, snatching the box of matches that lay beside it, he struck one. Fitting the burning end just between the tray and bottle, he lit something beneath it. Nearly immediately the room was filled with a floral scent.

“Got this one fresh down at the shop the other day,” Balt explained softly. “The woman said the leaves are from the Hydua tree. It’s supposed to relax you.”

“Those don’t work on me,” she sighed. Though the bottles were a common sight for her, the magical elixirs applied were never for an Aither. “I’m not Galian.”

“Give it a shot,” he insisted some before going to take a seat on the end of his bed. His blanket and sheets were kicked down, no doubt happening when he’d rushed to the door before. Patting the empty space beside him, the man added, “Wanna sit with me?”

More.

Toren wanted to more than sit.

She wanted to hide.

Falling into Balt’s arms once more, she held tighter when he fell back, shifting them until they could lay together in his bed. Toren was pulling the sheets and blankets up around them as the man only let out a slow breath, still feeling like he was stuck in some sort of dream. Balt was only in his boxers, but Toren felt no shame over this. The two had become quite close, overly so in some ways, in the past two years or so. Being in varying states of undress with the man was of no concern.

It did leave the man’s chest open for roaming hands, chiseled from days spent training with his brother and other guards. Though Balt had no interest in the profession, he’d spent much of his young life tagging along with his older brother. It was work for Radic, weight lifting and sword training, but was all fun for Balt. There was no necessary bar he had to hit; all of his goals were self set. Even now, as he spent more time on academics, Toren knew a lot of his free hours were still spent in the arena.

These years of training helped to give him a muscular build. Balt wasn’t as sturdy, naturally, as his brother or other Galians. He didn’t know his real father, but Toren teased him before that he wouldn’t be hard to find. Balt just had to look for the only other Galian with a body so slender.

But his form fit him well, the muscles her hands traced over defined, yet not overly so. When they were younger, he talked a lot about growing up to work in the mines, something most Galian children viewed with wonder rather than repulsion. That would come with time. But he never had the right shape, coughed too much on his journeys down. He wasn’t built like those born from Galos.

Talik frequently sneered at him that his mother must’ve holed up with some loser out in the forest, not bred like true Galians, to support their Kingdom in the capital. One of the nomadic, living not in towns, but just scattered about the forest. He’d run away one day, Talik frequently insisted, to live like all the degenerate Galians, too cowardly or unable to toil in the cities.

Toren liked his size though. His stature. Galian men, much Radic, were shaped like large, immovable boulders. It helped them in the mines. Or in battle. But Balt’s shoulders weren’t as wide and his waist was much tinier. She could curl herself around him better and, when they pretended to tussle when they were alone, it was nice to know she wasn’t so easily overpowered by the man.

“Hey,” he whispered softly after a few moments had passed. The stroking her hands did over his torso and arms had lessened. One of her hands came up, even, to grasp one of the coiled, tangled curls that tumbled over the man’s forehead as he asked, “Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”

Not without explaining her dream.

She’d never felt comfortable expressing it to him before. Merely mentioned it in passing. A few days ago when she’d made mention of first talking with her mother and a physician, Balt feared it was something more serious. For the princess to be turned away though, with little directive other than to visit a mythic being and hoped it helped, the man couldn’t imagine anyone else was too concerned.

“Why did you go see the Man in the Mount?” he whispered when she didn’t answer. “Tor? I thought you said you didn’t want to.”

“The dream,” she whispered back, tugging gently at the corkscrew curl between her thumb and forefinger, releasing it to bounce between them, “was worse this time.”

Balt swallowed, thinking for a moment before venturing, “What is the dream?”

His bed wasn’t very big and, between him and a wall, Toren didn’t have many places to go. Leaning into him instead, she cuddled into his chest. Softly, into it, she whispered, “If I tell you, Balt, you can’t tell anyone else. Ever. This is between me and you.”

Bowing his own head, Balt kissed the top of hers before whispering into her silvery hair, affirming “Always.”

She took a few more deep breaths before she began.

With the scene of her father and his guards, his step-father, all trying to stop the unseen force, yet finding themselves unable.

Balt listened silently, the hand that had been stroking at her back stilling. Tears were pricking the woman’s eyes as, towards the end of her retelling, she felt her breath quicken and it all felt too real. When she titled her head back though, the man’s face filled her vision, calming her some.

“Sounds like,” he agreed, “a bad dream.”

“It’s more than just a bad dream, Balt,” she retorted. “It’s something else. When I went to see the Man in the Mount, he didn’t explain anything to me.”

“He didn’t talk to you?” he asked, but she shook her head.

“I just saw my dream, again, but it felt more real.” Toren looked away. “That’s all.”

“Did you think that we should tell your father? If the King is in danger-”

“No, Balt.” She glared at him. “You don’t understand. If he hears me talk about something like that, he might think… Well, I don’t know, but-”

“He’s safe, anyways,” the man decided for them. One of his hands came up to cup her cheek as he insisted, “Talik is more fearsome than you know, Toren. And your father? King Torcan?” Balt even laughed, small and humorless. Still, he tried to grin as he told the woman, “Whatever you’re seeing in your dream or that the Man in the Mount is trying to tell you about- It’ll be okay. Plus...if the Man in the Mount is showing you this, imagine what he’s showing your father? It’s probably why he’s been in such a shit mood recently.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she took in a deep breath, his natural musk blending with the fragrance that burned. Her eyes slipped shut as she asked, “Can I stay here? For the night?”

“You’re the Princess,” he pointed out as he released a held breath. “You can do as you please.”

To an extent.

She awoke still in his bed some hours later, tangled in the blankets and alone. The light in the room was out and the leaves in the bottle had been changed, as she was met with a different, more sweet scent. A glance out the window revealed the sky was still only transitioning from deep purple to vibrant pink.

It was early.

She could hear Balt and Radic speaking in the other room and, after a slight blush over her theatrics the night before, Toren did the best she could to the right the clothes disturbed by sleep and her hair, disturbed by the man she’d done so with.

In the main room, she found the brothers seated on the couch, eating a meal from the castle’s kitchen. She imagined they put in a standard order for breakfast delivery each morning. It meant though that not only was there not a tray for her, but in an hour or so, when the delivery reached the royal wing at a more feasible, daylight hour, her absence would begin to be noted.

The only reason she believed this to not be the case currently was the fact both men seemed at relative ease. Radic was quick to stand however at her entrance, tray still in his hand as he nodded his head at the woman.

“Princess,” he greeted. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

Shrugging some, she finished her saunter over to the couch, taking a seat close to Balt. It was his brother though that she remarked, “I’ve slept better. But where did you sleep, Radic? On this couch?”

Bowing his head, he replied, “I sought to give you privacy.”

Toren sighed some, glancing down at Balt’s tray for anything good to eat. He had eggs hashed with some sort of meat and potatoes, but the idea was nauseating to her and she settled for stealing the apple off the corner of the tray.

“You should head back to your room soon, Tor,” Balt remarked, watching her examine the dull green fruit, but not taking a bite of it. “Or at least out of here. Radic, why don’t you go change now? Into your armor? And you can just pretend she came to fetch you, yes? Were anyone to question why she was here?”

Radic nodded at this, having already come up with something in a similar vein. After placing his plate on the table, the guard rushed to don his armor while Balt merely shifted closer to Toren.

“You okay?”

His voice got her eyes to raise from the fruit, blinking in the intensity of his gaze. Nodding, Toren said, “I’m fine. I just...needed you last night.”

“Did you wanna go back to the Mount today?” he questioned softly. “Or-”

“No.” Leaning closer, she pressed her forehead into the man’s. “And I meant what I said. About the dream. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Toren, never.” He kissed her, but it was chaste as when he pulled back, he asked, “Did you tell anyone else?”

“No.” Then she frowned. “W-Well, my mother. In the doctor’s lab. He’d left the room, after telling me to visit the Mount and...she told me if I told her, maybe it would ease the dream’s intensity, at least, if not stop it’s recurrence. Just talking about it openly. But it didn’t.”

“We just gotta figure out what the Man in the Mount wants,” Balt assured her and he’d smiled so brightly then, she had felt assured of their continued safety. “That’s all. Just let me think on it some more, huh?”

Radic was coming back then, his armor clanking as he did so. Toren stood before Balt even had the chance to speak with his brother, taking her apple with her as she asked the guard, “Are you going to finish your meal or are you ready?”

He smiled then too, she recalled, but hadn’t in the weeks since.

“Ready, Princess,” he assured her and none of them quite knew how pivotal that night was.

Yet.

Lying with Balt again, for the first time since, not huddle in a carriage with her younger sister, but tangled in bed sheets, making eyes at one another…

She didn’t wanna leave.

“We have to wash up,” he sighed eventually, running a hand through his hair as he blinked mostly up at the ceiling. “Eat. Figure out how to get out of here without Ava alerting anyone-”

“Fuck Ava.” Placing both palms into the center of his chest, she shoved up as she said, “Fuck everyone. I’m Princess for only a few hours longer; let me enjoy them.”

“You are the Galian Princess until you are our queen.” He merely laid there, gazing up at the woman as he added, “But yes, enjoy Kroto before you leave it for a short while.”

“For,” she retorted, “ever.”

“Toren-”

“Whether my father catches us,” she insisted to him as, at her full height, she sat back on her haunches, “or we make it out of Kroto, I can never come back. He’s sending me away, Balt. Either I go now, as I want, or-”

“Or,” he countered, “we just lay low, out of Kroto until-”

“Do not interrupt-”

“Toren-”

“Don’t-”

“You’re going to be the Queen, Toren.” He shoved up as well, and, when the woman didn’t move, he reached for her, cupping her cheeks in both hands. As his forehead fell roughly into hers, he only insisted, “Your father can’t take this from you. From us. From...all of us. They’ve told us that you’ll be our queen one day since I was very little. No one’s going to let him doing this easily.”

She wanted to argue more.

A lot more.

But from outside their window then, they could both hear the sound of Lia’s laughter. Though the blinds were drawn, the window was open slightly and the sound of her conversing with one or both of Ava’s sons wafted into the room.

“I told her,” Toren griped as they shared the bathroom, rushing through running damp cloths across their bodies awkwardly, “to stay in her room.”

Balt wasn’t so much upset with Lia as he was worried; he wanted to get out there in case the royal patrol showed up or something. She’d never be able to handle that herself.

“She’s processing a lot too, Tor,” he defended with a frown. “Probably even more. What did you even tell her? About why we had to leave?”

“What do you mean?” She was scrubbing at her face then, washing away any grime that remained from the past few days travel. “I told her what she needed to know. Father’s lost his mind and once he was rid of me, she’d surely be next.”

Balt nodded at this, tossing his rag back at the barrel tub as he said, “I’m just, you know, shocked is all.”

“Shocked? At what?”

Rubbing awkwardly at the back of his now clean neck, Balt glanced over himself in the cracked and stained mirror that hung above the sink. He didn’t feel so different from the women in the bed, but now he could see how he looked against her. The point in her ears opposite. Her height even. The way her father’s blood caused her broad shoulders and her mother the cascading silver curls that hung just below them.

He wanted her again. Badly. But when he turned to her, rather than letting onto this fact, he stated plainly, “That she’d go with you.”

Toren snorted at him, rolling her eyes as she ordered then, “Hurry up and dress; we have to fetch my sister.”

“Of course.” He came closer, brushing his lips in a gentle kiss over her cheek. Though the woman turned from him, it was with a slight grin and he felt one tug at his own lips as he added,“Princess.”