The Prince’s Boy: 57

(Continuing the weekly serial by Cecilia Tan! Need to start at the beginning? Click here.)

57: Kenet
I woke in darkness, with Roichal spooned around me as usual, but I spent a moment in confusion wondering what was different.

Then I shifted and heard the rustle of the straw ticking wrapped in the general’s cloak under us, followed by the whicker of a horse close by. Now I remembered. Our flight from the wildfire, Roichal not slowing until the horse needed to, dismounting and walking while I continued to ride. He only looked back when there was a river and a line of hills between us and the former mustering grounds.

The sunset had been blood red that evening with the smoke lingering in the sky at the horizon, and we had set up camp exhaustedly in what looked to be an abandoned barn.

The grain harvest here had failed from the blight, and the people and their animals had moved on. The small barn was plenty for our horse and us to shelter in, and the well still gave fresh water.

The first grey of dawn showed me the edges of the stall in which we slept. Roichal grunted and cleared his throat.

“Good morning, my prince,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Read the rest of this entry »

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.

The Prince’s Boy: 57

(Continuing the weekly serial by Cecilia Tan! Need to start at the beginning? Click here.)

57: Kenet
I woke in darkness, with Roichal spooned around me as usual, but I spent a moment in confusion wondering what was different.

Then I shifted and heard the rustle of the straw ticking wrapped in the general’s cloak under us, followed by the whicker of a horse close by. Now I remembered. Our flight from the wildfire, Roichal not slowing until the horse needed to, dismounting and walking while I continued to ride. He only looked back when there was a river and a line of hills between us and the former mustering grounds.

The sunset had been blood red that evening with the smoke lingering in the sky at the horizon, and we had set up camp exhaustedly in what looked to be an abandoned barn.

The grain harvest here had failed from the blight, and the people and their animals had moved on. The small barn was plenty for our horse and us to shelter in, and the well still gave fresh water.

The first grey of dawn showed me the edges of the stall in which we slept. Roichal grunted and cleared his throat.

“Good morning, my prince,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Read the rest of this entry »

Mirrored from Circlet Press: Welcome to Circlet 2.0.