Avalon traveled southward and felt his connection to the forest weaken, but the magic in his body remained strong. He pushed forward with untiring speed until he reached a clearing where the wild, northern forest ended and Man’s world began. The ranger station was in the distance, aflame, and humans gathered behind wagons and carts pushed together for a makeshift wall.

Morgan materialized to take up his sword and stand beside him. He was clad in a convincing approximation of human clothing, made entirely of vines, leaves, and other such pieces of nature. A stone of amber hung from a necklace around his neck and Avalon could not help but marvel at the beetle encased within. Far older than Avalon was, almost like the Evergreen, he could feel the ancient energy trapped inside.

I am loathed to leave the forest, but this is for the best. The humans are still alive, but many are injured. Morgan said and Avalon could feel his eagerness for battle, but not solely for battle’s sake.

Why do you care? They’re only humans. They lived and they died, like the passing of seasons. And like the seasons, they were almost a permanent fixture in the world. There never seemed to be an end to them, no matter how many Avalon struck down.

To you they are separate from nature, but to me? They are beasts of the earth as much as any other creature.

As much as any rat.

So are we all.

Avalon couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Morgan was one of those soft spirits who wanted to protect all life, without regard for balance, despite knowing the damage Man could bring to both their homes. Avalon kept silent however, allowing only faint displeasure to form in his mind. It leaked through the link they shared, but that was all Morgan would know of his disapproval for his weakness.

It’s not weakness. Morgan insisted. See how the humans struggle? Like nature as it struggles to bloom and grow.

I wish I had my bow, I could pick them off. Avalon thought, ignoring Morgan. It would be good sport.

Those are bandits, I have seen many such marauders while this land was still overrun with adventurers. Morgan dashed forward, ignoring Avalon, his sword sliced through the body of the nearest bandit in a diagonal arc.

The man fell to his knees, wailing as his guts spilled from his belly. His comrades redirected his attention away from the station and ran towards Morgan, their swords in their hands. There are too many for me, I am sure. I overestimated this body as you did yours. If they dispatch my physical form, it will take me some time to restore.

Avalon stepped from the tree line with his spear and touched his forehead. No antlers - the ordinary state human for most humans - they had gone with his connection to the forest. The forest’s power is too thin in Man’s world, is that the world you wish to protect? Its very existence diminishes both our strength.

Are you afraid? Morgan mused.

Avalon scowled and loped forward, impaling a bandit through the chest, raising his corpse into the air then waving him away like a leaf from a twig. “Why should I be afraid of dead men?” He yelled, spreading his arms wide in open challenge. “Come and fight me!”

The bandits were surprised by what they had seen, hesitant to be the first one to engage the newcomers, but the bandits outnumbered them several times over. Their hesitation turned to resolve as someone among them bellowed orders. Avalon dashed forward, avoiding the swords swung around him, and cleaved that leader of men into three pieces with two swift cuts. Morgan did the same with another bandit, opting for simplicity instead of showmanship and simply beheaded the man.

“What the shit!” One of the bandits yelled and began to flee, but Avalon made sure he was the next to die.

The bandits were all in one place, much easier to sweep away. Sensing his thoughts, Morgan began dispatching the bandits one by one. Dutiful as he was merciful. Avalon kicked one bandit into another and cut through both of them with a single swing, down the middle, laughing at the mess of viscera it made.

As intended, the bandits panicked at the sight and lost their cohesion. If they stayed together, one bandit could have sacrificed another to stab either Avalon or Morgan through the back, repeating the process with whoever was left. Instead, their instincts for self-preservation is what doomed them.

The bandits scattered, but Avalon and Morgan ran them down with ease. The bandits who had corralled their prey by the burning ranger station finally noticed the commotion. Seeing many of their number slain, they also began to flee. A man cried out for Sparrow, but the man would not save them. He could not even save himself.

Avalon watched as Gunnar and several other warriors pursued the other bandits as best they could, but many escaped. Like a nest of rats scurrying in all directions. He could have pursued them himself, but the battle ended well enough. Avalon and Morgan both secured worthy sacrifices for the forest and the corpses of the bandits would become nutrition for the trees. It was a win-win situation, as elves liked to say.

The humans will collect the dead for burial. We can exhume the corpses, but several organs will be missing. Morgan said.

Do humans eat the organs of their own dead? Avalon never liked the taste of human flesh, but knew of isolated human tribes, who lived among the deep wilds, that consumed their dead as part of rituals. To honor their spirits or to shame them, it differed between tribes.

It’s all part of a ritual to send off the spirits of their dead to their afterlife. Morgan sounded impressed with the humans and Avalon wondered if it was always how he’d been. Avalon himself was disappointed in such a mundane ritual, it lacked the flavor of other customs.

When Gunnar ran towards Avalon, his sword was readied to fight the mysterious interloper that stood beside him. “Aurora, come here. Now.”

Avalon sauntered over, wary of Gunnar and his blade. “The battle is won, what is the cause of your worries?”

Gunnar roared, his furious tone that of an elder centaur admonishing a troublesome youth. “Where were you? And who is this man? When you disappeared, I thought- I thought-“ The old warrior grimaced and Avalon saw the genuine fear hidden beneath his stern gaze.

“All is well, I am unharmed. This man is called Morgan and he rescued me… while I was in the forest.” A half-truth, but closer to a lie. He hoped it would convince Gunnar as he had been convinced to stay the night at the station.

Morgan placed a fist over his chest and solemnly vowed to make the lie more convincing, by being honest. “I mean you no harm, I give you my word.”

“You’ve got my lord’s sword.” Gunnar pointed at Morgan’s sword and cast a glance at Avalon’s spear, blood still glistening on its blade. “Is that his spear then? Did he give it to you to carry so he could play with your grandfather’s sword?”

Avalon clutched the spear protectively against his chest, but allowed Morgan to hold the vessel that carried his spirit. “No, they both belong to me.”

Near the ranger station, a mage pulled water from the air and the land to douse the fires that burned. It killed the grass, leaving it withered, but the fire would be worse for the forest if left unchecked. The wounded were also being healed by a different mage, who pulled magic through their bodies with no subtlety or nuance. For its part, the forest allowed some of its magic to flow into the wounded and bind their wounds.

Isabel approached, a bloodied white cloth wrapped around her hand. “We must leave. She can explain to her lord father at the castle, where it’s safe. I’ve contracted the adventurers to escort us. With our guards, we’ll have a full dozen to defend Lady Aurora, but it should be more than enough to dissuade other attacks.”

Gunnar nodded, the energy of battle leaving him. Allowing him time to think. He returned his attention to Morgan. “So, you rescued my Lord’s daughter. Will you come with us, adventurer? Lord Longfirth will want to meet with you.

“To speak and reward you for your efforts, brave warrior.” Isabel added.

Morgan looked to Avalon for guidance. If I do so, I will have to remain in physical form.

It’s your reward, so it’s your choice. Avalon returned with a shrug.

I choose only to serve, my reward is yours.

Then go to the castle and receive it. We will share in Harold’s bounty.

Very well. Morgan nodded to Gunnar. “I accept this proposal.”

“Right…” Gunnar’s face was apprehensive for some reason, but he gathered the caravan they had traveled with to leave as soon as possible.

Avalon seated himself in the carriage once more, despite an eagerness to make use of his legs. He could return to the castle much faster than the carriage, but doubted Gunnar would allow his charge to leave his sight again. Not with his permission, at least.

Morgan’s place was to walk among the adventurer’s as part of their escort, his sword hanging on his hip. The scabbard’s belt was awkward on him at first, over the tangle of vines and leaves that covered his body, but discreet magic fastened it into place. It felt fitting to Avalon for Morgan to carry his own sword, since Avalon had his spear to fight with now.

However, the spear, while short, was too long to sit comfortably in the carriage. Its blade rested against the window, peeking out into the world. The rest of its length ran through the carriage, between the seats inside. Isabel was silent for once as she studied the shaft of the spear, but her assistant trailed a finger along the length of wood.

“It’s like it grew over the sword’s handle. Very convenient.” The young woman said. If only she knew the truth of it.

“You shouldn’t touch it, who knows where it’s been.” Isabel frowned and pulled a cloth from a pouch. She wrapped it around the shaft and tied it there with a length of string. “Lady Aurora, if you must carry this thing, carry it with this cloth. Once we return to the castle, we can clean the shaft-“

“No.” Avalon said simply.

“We must examine these nooks for dirt.” Isabel said and pointed to where the twigs in the branch had pressed into its length to form the spear’s straight shaft, with their leaves embedded into the wood.

“No.” Avalon said again.

“The spear is interesting and all, but what about that man you were with? He was quite handsome. And being rescued from bandits under the moonlight? It’s all very romantic.”

“Is it?” Avalon wondered aloud. He leaned his head against the window and looked at the street outside. It was empty at night so the carriage moved faster. If they moved in the night, they would have finished far quicker than they had. Though, Avalon supposed the humans needed their sleep.

“Of course! A gallant adventurer rescuing a maiden, it’s like an old story my grandmother used to tell. With the dragon and his hoard of treasures.”

Isabel frowned. “I recall that story. Many versions end with the adventurer deflowering the maiden and running off with her into the sunset.”

The young woman coughed. “Well… I said it was like the story. I never said things had to happen the same. Maybe our version will be different?”

“It will be different.” Isabel insisted. “There will be no dragon, only a merchant with respectable standing and, hopefully, a larger hoard of treasure.”

Neither of the maids were making any sense, their words abstract to the point of meaninglessness. Like drunken elves. What did it mean to have one’s flower removed? As far as Avalon knew, humans didn’t grow flowers from their bodies. Or did they? He touched his chest, feeling the magic that had flowered there. If Morgan took that from him, the spirit would die for it.

When the carriage arrived at the castle, the porters eagerly led their wagon away as Harold stormed out of the castle with several guards. He had been about to leave for the ranger station when everyone returned, and demanded an explanation. Gunnar spoke of the attack and Harold was furious, but all his fury left him as soon as he saw Avalon climb down from the carriage.

Harold ran to his side and threw his arms around him, like a bear might wrap its arms around a tree, and lifted him off the ground. The force of the hug almost forced Avalon to drop his spear, but it was hard won and he would not relinquish it for anyone. Avalon pulled himself free from Harold’s grasp and the man pulled away, startled.

“By the black moon, child, what happened out there? Gunnar’s told me you’ve been attacked, but here you are, stronger than ever.”

So many moons. Avalon thought, but Morgan assured him that they had only one. “Gunnar did nothing wrong, he defended me well, but there must have been some trick that pulled me away. Sparrow was there, leading the attack, he must have done something.”

In truth, the trick had been his own, but he had begun to enjoy telling half-truths. If he could link Sparrow to the attack, Harold may understand the true cause of Aurora’s weakness. If it was poison and not an illness of the body, perhaps he’d allow Avalon to leave the castle on his own. As Gareth had done.

“That Sparrow bastard is the one who took you?” Gunnar spoke up, utterly shocked, but Harold ordered him to keep silent.

“But Morgan saved my life, I think I might have died if not for his intervention.” Avalon beckoned Morgan forward, who pulled his sword from the scabbard and it sang loudly through the night. A chorus of other swords joined it, but Harold raised hand to stop his guards from cutting Morgan down.

Morgan took a knee and presented the sword to the lord of the castle. “My Lord of Longfirth, allow me to present my sword into your service.”

“That’s my father’s sword.” Harold said, snatching it from Morgan, but the spirit made no move to retrieve it. “Aurora, did you give him this? It’s almost like a family heirloom.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“It’s mine, but he makes good use of it.” Avalon assured him. “He can be my blood rider.”

“A what?” Harold blinked in confusion.

“A knight.” Morgan placed a fist against his chest. “My sword is his. Hers.” It was a hasty correction, but nobody paid it any mind. “As is my life, I swear it.” Isabel’s assistant gasped and the noisy woman told her to shut her mouth before a bug flew down her gullet.

Harold pulled Avalon away and spoke to him in a hushed voice. “Do you trust this man?”

“Morgan saved my life, he would make a worthy guard. For me.” Avalon trusted the spirit that he was, not the human man that Harold saw. “More importantly, he helped me kill Sparrow.”

Harold was taken aback by the information. “You killed Sparrow yourself?”

“His blood is still on my spear.” Avalon confirmed, beaming with pride.

“I wouldn’t say killing that wretched Sparrow is more important than saving your life, but if you trust this Morgan fellow then so shall I. Go and get some sleep, we’ll continue this discussion in the morning.” Harold turned to address everyone who had gathered in the courtyard. “Night is upon us. If you adventurer’s would like, you may stay the night as guests in my castle. Gunnar, show them to the guest quarters.”

Isabel led Avalon back to his room to stuff him into his nightgown, but was disgusted by the blood that soiled his clothes. It had been his own, but Isabel insisted on purging the impurities from his body. She forced him through a hot bath with a round of harsh scrubbing, but his magic was stronger now. When the noisy woman finished, there was no sign of bruising anywhere on his body. Which pleased Avalon, a body should never be so weak that bathing should induce such injury.

When night fell, Avalon twirled his spear in arcing motions, as practice for when he had to perform the movements in battle. Can you hear me? He wondered and Morgan responded.

Avalon sensed the distance between them, but Morgan’s voice was still clear in his mind. We are still connected.

Can you help me find Gareth as you discovered Sparrow’s pursuers?

Gareth is close to your position. Avalon laid his spear on his bed and walked silently to the wardrobe, then flinging the door open. Gareth was inside and he jumped back in fright, stifling a scream as he fell into the wall behind the wardrobe.

Avalon climbed into the wardrobe to follow the boy-child and discovered that the back of the wardrobe had a latch that opened to a hole in the wall. He slid through the tunnel, which might have been cramped for large men like Harold and Gunnar, but Aurora’s body was small enough to move comfortably through the empty space behind the walls. As was Gareth’s.

The boy-child rubbed his head underneath his wolf head cloak and whispered, “What did you do that for?”

“I wanted to speak with you. What is this place, a secret hallway behind the walls?” The old stones were dustier than the old treasury had been, clearly forgotten with the passing of time.

“I dunno, but it’s a secret. So don’t tell anyone. If father knew about this, he’d have all the entrances and exits sealed.”

“Are those exits how you left the castle? I saw you in the city. If you show me how to leave, this will be my secret as well. I need to find a way out of the castle, just in case.”

The boy nodded. “I can show you, but you have to keep quiet or someone will hear us.”

Avalon followed the boy through the narrow hallway and the sound of snoring echoed through the walls. The dark path led all the way through the keep towards one of the towers along the curtain walls. Illuminated by a glowing orb that Gareth held in his hands, they exited through another false wall that rotated out of place, near the stable where Avalon first met Gareth.

“What are those glowing orbs? I’ve seen them in the halls.” Avalon reached out to touch the orb, but Gareth pulled it away from his reach.

“Magelight, and you can’t have it. It was hard digging this out of the ceiling without anybody catching me.”

“Magelight.” Avalon repeated the word, which reminded him of the elves and their illuminating trinkets, but shook his head. There were more important things to concern himself with. “How do you leave the castle? This tower leads into the courtyard.”

“While the castle is asleep, I leave through the front gate and hug the walls. The guards don’t look down there.” Gareth explained. “It’s more difficult in the day, but I can hide in the walls until it’s time for lunch. Or during a change of the guards. Whenever there’s an opening. It’s how I got out of the castle, father wouldn’t have let me otherwise.”

“It must have taken great patience to leave during the day with so many eyes watching. What did you want to speak with me about?”

“Sparrow’s men were following your carriage, I saw them from the walls so I came to warn you.”

“That was brave, thank you. It all ended well in the end.”

Footsteps echoed through the path they had just left and Gareth pulled his knife from his belt, but Avalon placed a hand on the boy-child’s shoulder. “Be calm, it’s a friend.” Morgan’s presence radiated through the secret path and he appeared from the darkness, sword hanging from his hip.

“How?” Gareth asked.

Morgan walked past him, ignoring the knife bared in his direction. “One of the guest rooms has a path into the walls. The stones speak of secret meetings in the night.”

Gareth shook his head. “I don’t care about the stones, just keep your yap shut. This is the only way out of the castle.” The boy-child returned to the tunnels, leaving Avalon and Gareth.

It may not be the only way out of the castle. With our current strength, it is possible we could survive a fall from the walls.

Perhaps, but scaling the walls would be another matter. We might be discovered in the time it takes to climb. It’s good to keep in mind, however.

Morgan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. This mortal flesh is becoming tiresome, but the humans will find it suspicious if I disappear.

Just wait a little longer, I will speak to Harold for permission to enter the city.

Avalon returned to his room and continued to practice movements with his spear until the sun rose. He entered the courtroom, which doubled as a dining hall with guests visiting, and found that the adventurers had finished eating their breakfast. They thanked Harold for the food and greeted Avalon warmly, before leaving.

“The young man leading them, he is nearly your age. Just seventeen and he’s leading his own party of adventurers. Granted, he’s some third son of southern nobility so they probably joined up with him for money, but they all seem to trust his judgment.”

Avalon seated himself at the table and Morgan soon joined them, to Harold’s discomfort, but the old lord greeted him warmly. “Morgan, welcome. I was about to speak with my daughter about your place in my castle.” He looked between the two spirits of the forest, only seeing the human flesh they wore. “Now, I spoke with Gunnar. He can’t confirm this business you mentioned with Sparrow, but he confirms that you slew several bandits during the fight. As did Morgan. Therefore, I am willing to let him be your guard.”

“That is good to hear, but concerning my health, I suspect Sparrow was poisoning me. Since my health has improved without his intervention, may I walk through the city? I can bring Morgan with me.”

“Fine, sure. I’ll give you some time to stretch your legs, but only until I make arrangements for your tutors to visit again.” Harold smiled, but Avalon didn’t believe his words. They were deceitful, but Avalon didn’t know how until he left the castle with Morgan.

We are being followed again.

Avalon scoffed and twirled his spear, there was nothing to fear. More of Sparrow’s bandits?

No, these men are in Harold’s employ. He has assigned guards to keep watch over you. And also me.

He doesn’t trust us.

I believe I am the one he doesn’t trust. But you? He may simply wish to keep you safe.

Avalon sighed. He understood why Harold was having them followed, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They had the speed to run to the forest to bask in its might and return before anybody knew what they were up to, Avalon was sure of it, but no privacy meant he and Morgan had to be careful. They needed to find some secluded part of the city to escape the humans following them.

As they walked, people made way for the two spirits. They were wary of the weapons they carried, which glinted in the sunlight, but some recognized Avalon. Or rather, Aurora, their lord’s offspring. His daughter. A woman offered her a fresh apple, which Avalon savored. It wasn’t as pure as the gift the forest had given him, but he could sense the care the apple had been grown with.

It pleased Avalon and he gave the woman a coin from a pouch that Harold had given him. Not a gold coin, as Morgan warned him of its value to humans, but a brass coin. More than enough to purchase ordinary items in the city, apparently. The woman thanked him and they continued down the street until the smell of roasting meat caught Morgan’s attention. It was spiced and the aromas were heavy in the air.

I wish to taste, may I? Morgan was close to begging, Avalon could feel it, and he relented. The spirit had never asked him for something personal and the suddenness of Morgan’s hunger was surprising. Spirit’s didn’t require such a thing as sustenance the way humans did. When they ate and drank during their festivities, it was for the pure joy of it.

Morgan sniffed his way towards a place he called a tavern with Avalon close behind. When they entered, eyes were drawn to their sword, but only briefly. Many of the guests in the tavern had weapons of their own, suiting the armor they wore or the lack thereof.

There was a man and a woman in resplendent robes of red and blue, carrying staves adorned with gemstones that matched their robes. Avalon couldn’t help but scowl at the mages and they looked back at him in surprise, but Avalon remembered himself. He’d have no quarrel with every mage he came across.

Morgan took a seat at the counter and Avalon seated himself beside the mesmerized spirit, who continued sniffing. Less like a wolf and more like a wild dog that caught the scent of food. The man behind the counter smiled at him and said, “Hello, I’m barkeep. Would you two like some food?”

Avalon dropped some coins onto the counter. “Will this be enough for whatever food is making that smell?”

“The smell is from several dishes, but I think I know which one your friend will want.” The man carefully selected a few coins from the table and whispered to Avalon, “Be careful showing that much gold around this part of the city, young lady.”

Avalon returned the coins to his pouch and caught sight of a man nearby drinking from a tankard, like the one Gunnar drank from at the ranger’s station. A few sips had made him drunk, but his body was stronger now. He could resist the drink’s intoxicating effects. “Excuse me? Do you have mead?”

The barkeep turned and raised a brow at her. “You want mead?” He looked at Morgan, who blinked back at him with no emotion, patiently waiting for his food. The barkeep shrugged. “Sure, payment up front. We don’t open tabs in this establishment.”

Avalon paid for a tankard of mead and sipped the drink, surprised by its sweetness. “It’s sweeter than the mead at the ranger station.”

“It’s easier to get supplies in the city than that dingy outpost. Have you been there recently? I hear it was attacked.”

“Bandits.” Morgan said as he stared blankly at a boiling stew on a cookfire. I hunger. These humans must bring me my food soon, surely they must.

“We were there when it happened. There were some adventurers as well, they stayed the night at the castle.” Avalon added and drank the rest of his mead, presenting the empty tankard to the barkeep who stared at him incredulous. “More mead.”

“Ask him for the wine. New shipment came in from Trinacia, another from Bordelon.” A man said into his cups, but loud enough for Avalon to hear.

“What’s wine, is it like mead?” Avalon asked and the man laughed.

“Yes, it’s like mead. How’d you not know what wine is?”

Avalon ignored the last question and asked the barkeep how many types of meads and wines his tavern possessed, who claimed that there were many kinds of alcohols that people consumed, but his tavern possessed a number of ales, beers, and other such beverages. He laughed when Avalon ordered one of each, but he had the money for it.

A line of cups were arrayed before Avalon. They were no ambrosia, but they almost made his skin tingle like they had been, and possessed unique flavors and aromas. He savored every drink, but decided he liked wine the best. Though, it was reddish-purple, having been fermented from pressed grapes, instead of a golden ichor, poured directly from the festival maiden’s crystal chalice.

Regardless, it reminded him the most of the ambrosia of his home. Avalon drank greedily, cup after cup, and he could feel a pleasant buzz vibrating through his body. Someone began singing, a man in a feathered hat, speaking of a beautiful girl. It reminded Avalon of a bawdy rhyme that Primo had devised and began singing to the tune. The man laughed and continued playing his instrument.

There was dancing then as more musicians entered the tavern to play music and Avalon found himself on the counter, drinking from a pitcher filled with wine. When the pitcher had emptied, everyone in the tavern cheered and drank from their own cups. The barkeep was voicing some complaint to Morgan, asking him to stop some girl from rousing his customers.

“You have to stop her, please. The other customers are becoming wild.”

Morgan was eating from a dark stew, spooning the soup into his mouth. His only response was to shake his head, but Avalon could hear him think, No.

Avalon drank a mug of ale, since the win had run out, and returned to his seat. The other customers in the tavern had fallen asleep in their seats or on the floors, all exhausted from their festivities. Avalon himself was feeling the ache in his body, something he hadn’t felt since he was a foal at his first Bacchanalia.

He rested his head against Morgan’s shoulder, too drunk to remain upright on his own. You’re right, I could do more for these humans. They aren’t so bad after all.

I suppose that’s the most I can expect, for now. Morgan said as he drank his fourth bowl of soup.

Avalon was dosing to sleep when he heard wood slapping against wood, followed by the clatter of metal and heavy footsteps. “Arrest these drunkards! And you, Morgan! Clap that fool in irons!”

When Avalon awoke, he found himself lying on the bed in his room, the first time since he first awoke as Aurora. His head pounded and he couldn’t help but groan. “M-My head. What’s wrong with my head?”

Isabel seated herself on the bed and helped Avalon sit upright. “That’s a hangover, dear. It happens to drunkards as punishment for their debauchery.” She shook her head. “How did you find yourself in a tavern of all places? It was barely noon when we found drunk, with that reprobate Morgan. It was good your father had him followed.”

Morgan, where are you?

I’m beneath the ground and I feel the land’s magic embracing me. My new room is cozy, very snug. If it were not made of stone and barred by iron, it would almost be like a fox’s den.

Barred by iron? Are you trapped?

I can escape easily enough, if I must. Have no fears for me, your father is angry with you also.

“Are you listening?” Isabel asked, snapping her fingers to get Avalon’s attention. “Your father is waiting for you to wake up. I will allow you some time to recover, but it would be best if you speak with him quickly. There are many things you must answer for.”

Avalon slowly lifted himself from his bed, muscles sore despite his magic. It may have strengthened his body, but only relative to what it could handle. The inner vessel that contained his magic was still as small as his outer vessel of flesh. The prolonged festivities in the tavern were evidently the limit of his strength. Using his spear as a walking stick, Avalon made his way to the chamber where Harold held his court.

Harold was seated on his throne, hands cupped over his face as he leaned forward. When he looked up, he grimaced at the sight of Avalon hobbling closer to his dais. “Look at you, you’re a mess.”

“I feel like it.” Avalon chuckled and Harold’s frown deepened.

“Do you think this is funny? How much coin do you think you spent drinking a tavern’s entire supply of wine? A girl your size, they are lying to me I know, but the tavern owners are demanding compensation for the other damages to their building. Even worse, the entire city is talking about this- this- this scandal! It only just happened, but somehow everybody knows!” Harold stood from his chair and paced across the dais. “Gods, even the Prosperos know. Or they will, once Galdino’s letter arrives at the capital. If they break your betrothal, it will undo years of planning. Years!”

Harold’s shout echoed through the chamber and Avalon remembered how precious each year was to these human mortals. Though, he was mortal as well, now that he thought about it. Perhaps he’d have to behave with the same urgency. His short human life could end at any moment.

“What’s a betrothal?” Avalon asked and Harold looked at him with realization.

“You don’t remember. I said the words, but they have no meaning to you.” Harold slumped into his chair and balled his hand into a fist, holding it against his belly as if uneasy. “A betrothal is an arrangement of marriage. You will marry Severino Prospero and it will be your duty, as his wife, to bear him children.”

“You mean for me to be his mate, to birth a litter of offspring like a sow in a farmer’s barn?” Avalon couldn’t help but raise his voice, his ears ringing and body warming with anger. Centaurs chose their own mates. Father’s did not choose them for their daughters, especially not without their consent. “For what possible reason have you chosen this for me?”

“The Prosperos are an old and proud family. Trade in the south has made them fabulously wealthy, but there is only one thing they lack: Noble blood in their veins. Marriage to them will fulfill both our ambitions. Whether noble blood or great sums of wealth, doors will be opened for our families.” Harold swayed as he struggled to think. “Foreign trade routes will be at our disposal and your children will inherit a large trading empire.”

“What the fuck is a trade route? Did you sell me for trinkets like a slave? I thought Aurora was supposed to be your daughter!” Avalon raged, blood pounding through his head, and a guard in the room cleared his throat when Avalon fell to his knees.

Harold scowled as he ordered his guards to leave. When he next spoke, his voice was calm, but dreadful, the quiet before a storm. “You are my daughter, but that is exactly why you will marry young Severino. By all accounts he is a handsome young man, close to your own age, not to mention his excellent upbringing. I had hoped you would be happy, but the only thing that truly matters is that you are dutiful. If not, I will show you what it truly means to be sold.”

The Lord of Longfirth left through a side door, leaving Avalon to seethe. When night falls, we are leaving.