The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~Bumlot's Estate~

On the leafy horizon, wrought iron gates rise.

All nine of us ride fiercely, Kelan's cape billows wildly behind him.

Figures before the gate appear, growing as we advance.

"Halt!" one of them yells.

My legs squeeze the sides of the stallion. I pull on the reins until the Arabian tramples on one spot, stomping until it calms itself to a standstill.

Bumlot's estate has a concerning vulnerability, an easy point of entry that can be accessed by the same thing that lends them strategic cover from prying eyes. The woods. There are soaring trees as high as the gates that encroach the iron border. One can easily climb up one and spring right over the gate.

"Who goes there?" the same one asks. All four guards are dressed in a brassy, leather andracor sheathing with matching leather greaves and tassets.

"I am Primus Kelan of the First Legion of the Avangard," he declares with unquestionable authority. "I am escorting the purebloods of the Decuria to visit Nobleman Bumlot." He even makes Bumlot's name sound powerful. "Herem Treyton knows him well."

He looks to him. Treyton tips an invisible hat at the guard.

Kelan shifts gaze back to the guard. "Open the gates."

"Pr—Primus—Purebloods," he splutters in a mix of confusion and reverence. He turns on the others with a frantic look of excitement. "Open the gates."

The guard beside him hesitates. "But—"

"Will you disobey a direct order given by a Primus?" he asks rhetorically. He launches a punishing fist at his shoulder. "Open the gates!"

On cue, the tall gates split and swoop open.

In unison, we all lead our horses into a steady trot inside.

Bumlot is clearly overcompensating for the misfortune of his name. Because his sprawling estate is surpassing my expectations, exceedingly impressive. I believe a vast section of the forest is bound within his gates, seas of lush foliage. On either side of the duel, gravelly road is a profusion of trees, densely grown, but they obediently stay contained by the margins of the pathway that lead to the manor house.

The road yawns ahead, everything concealed by the curtains of thick green.

The frilly, gentle blue material of the dress rests high on my thighs, exposing my daggers, its long wisps drape over the saddle. The only dress that survived. The material is a silk fabric, a thin-strap dress with no under layers and ample open back, ornamented with a singular gold chain that strings down my spine.

"What exactly are you going to use to coax the Nobleman into selling his stores?" Vince asks from beside me. "Since we cannot rely on his decency to aid those helpless people."

"We do not need to rely on his lacking morality but on his patience," Treyton says. He peers at him from over his shoulder at him. "I can reimburse him any amount he desires in cordenias. As long as he will wait until the King Trials are over. And that is if I am still alive."

Silence meets his words. Suddenly the road widens extensively and opens up to a grand sand-coloured manor house with broad dimensions and cathedral-like windows. Vince whistles two short bursts. I glance at him and he steers my gaze ahead of me.

Before the manor is two large stone structures on the flanks, protected by armed guards. The security is quite interesting: four guards that mane the gates, two guards posted beside the double-door entrance of the manor. And the primary security is localised round the two stone structures. The only infrastructure that is secured by guards round its entire circumference, the only ones that are armed.