The Grand Palace at Gestalt was nothing short of an architectural marvel. It was both scary and beautiful. And, the least of my concerns.
The rest of the ride, I stuck by Joel's side. Dragon's Tears turned out to be an excellent remedy for whatever she was going through. Even though I doubted that.
Her scars had healed. At least on the surface. There weren't many things that had obstructed out journey.
The three day journey from Gaskoff to Gestalt, didn't help my recovery. I hadn't really peed for as many days. And it was getting problematic.
Duke Canton was supposed to be a half dragon, half human. I don't know how exactly his body works. Needless to say, that my appetite was close to nothing too.
There was nothing that I knew about being a dragon, or...Gestalt. Only that Gestalt looked like a pretty mediaeval civilization.
There were houses. All made of wood and silt. Most were adorned with ribbons and lanterns, that were illuminated possibly at night.
There were atleast ten villages that we had crossed from the outskirts. Two of which were great pit stops for the tired men of our troops. Sir Marshall, kept the spirits rolling with alcohol.
Something told me that things wouldn't be so easy. But then, nobody really talked to me much. I was left to my own devices.
A few drunken men kept talking about how different I had been since my return from Gaskoff.
If anything, I was worried that it was going to be hard to put up with a disguise. I'd either have to find a way to escape all this, or they were going to find out. I hoped for the former.
Joel slowly tugged on my tunic. I watched her, as she seemed to have shrunk in her stature over a period of three days.
"Yes?" I asked, and she blinked.
"I am afraid that some thing has happened..." She narrowed her eyes at me.
"And?"
Naive, little girl. Perhaps she too could sense the duress of a long journey. She didn't exactly eat much either. She only ever asked for one boiled potato with a side of stew. I, on the other hand, had avoided anything. Not sure what they'd taste like either.
"You are acting different. I know you are not Duke Canton. Who are you?" She said, and I felt my whole body ice over.
"What do you imply? Do I not look like him? Am I not strong like him? Do you think I don't have it in me?" I shot up a brow at her.
God. Just this once, please. I don't need new problems to add to this new life. And this girl already has (surely, and destined to) a venedetta against the Duke.
"Well, then, you do. But you are different, still. It's not like the Duke to be so..."
"Don't talk so lightly around me! Surely you are hurt, but you are convicted of grave crimes. You are still...subject to be brought to justice," my voice grew solemn.
Was she buying it? I hope she was. There was no 'I am going to wing this' thing for me, if she doesn't.
"My apologies, You Highness," she sighed. Then she turned to the window. Not making another comment.
It was strange. Just who was this Duke and what kind of person he was? If only I paid more attention to the book I was reading.
All I know was, he doesn't trust his council members. He is being cheated on. And he probably died.
It's not fair. How can I do justice to my life as this jerk when I know nothing about him?
I couldn't trust telling anyone what had happened. Not that they'd believe it either. It made things harder all the same.
"What must I do?" I whispered to myself.
That's when the carriage's door opened.
"Your Highness, some of the villagers are creating a ruckus! They won't stop.
Sir Marshall's been taking the charge, but they insist you must speak to them.
We don't want to lose more men to the bloodshed. They seem angry.
It will only be a few moments before we make it to the palace, but these men won't let us cross the Hian River," the man announced.
"What is it that they wanted?" My voice was loud enough to be heard over a mile.
"They won't tell us, unless Your Highness agrees to meet them," the man steps aside, as his armour shines under the morning sun.
He makes way for me, and I watch a group of some ten men, huddled up with a machete in their hands.
Sir Marshall stands, bearing his sword and I look at the practicalities of it. Fuck. Now couldn't be a good time to die by some commoner's machete.
As all good kings, or dukes would do, I walked afront. All one has to do is...fake it, till the make it.
"And what is it that you demand?" I asked, again. The crowd resorted to murmurs and gossips, and Sir Marshall scoffed.
"Your Highness!" A young man steps forward. He had dirt brown hair, and coal black eyes. He bent his knee. His clothes were dirty and his cheeks has hints of it too.
"Who are you boy?" I asked.
"Your Highness, I am Jake. I am a farmer's son. We have followed you from the last village, hoping to get an audience with you," he began.
"Your Highness, our village has suffered largely from the Late King's Death. In the last harvest season, our crops were destroyed by the notorious pixies.
Our pots remain cold, and bellies starved. We were promised a princely sum of a thousand drauchers every month to survive.
Your father, the Late King, had taken the village under his grace, but after his death our provisions have been cut.
We wrote to the Great Council. But they didn't pay heed to our words. Our children are dying, and our women...are trading their bodies to get us food," tears flowed in his eyes.
"That's just their way of extracting wealth from the nobles!" Sir Marshall intervened.
"You need a thousand drauchers? Perhaps, a thousand flogging would help you refresh your memory of other favours the King had bestowed upon your dandy village," Sir Marshall spitted.
All hints of the kind man that I thought he was had disappeared. He kicked the young man on his chest, making him fall on his back with a cry.
Just then, the village people lifted their machetes to strike.
"DON'T YOU DARE-" My voice was sharp and commanding.
"Yield, Sir Marshall!" My voice thundered.
This is possibly why the Duke hates this man in this story. He is a fucking asshole!
"No harm shall come to the good people of Gestalt," I cried.
"You, boy... Jake. Come to the King's Court, tomorrow. The Great Council has its work cut for the coming days.
If what you say is true, we might have my father's written word of decree for your aid.
I have to warn you against any bloodshed. And by that I mean, everyone."
"Sir Marshall, let the Great Council know that the first hearing begins on the first strike of dawn," I cried.
At least, I knew enough from the court scenes who I could expect to stab me in the back. Maybe, just this once I might get this thing right.
The villagers mumbled, bowed and left. Their machetes were securely tucked in their large sacs as they started their walk back home.
Sir Marshall's eyes narrowed. I knew what he was thinking about.
"If you kill them on their way back, I will snatch that sigel off of your chest and kill you," I warned. Sir Marshall flinched, putting his sword back in its sheath.
Not going to lie, I copied this from the actual novel's text. If only I could remember all the important parts.
I let out a sigh. I'd have to find someone I can trust. Or, it's going to be another short life.