The Winter Sun

Chapter 7

Lach's steps jolted with a spring the morning of the ceremony, his movements rhythmed by a made-up tune he hummed softly as he led horses inside stalls. A sandy blonde brow raised so high it touched the wooden ceiling. If someone had told Rid, he would witness with his own two eyes Lach-I-have-to-be-serious-all-the-time-because-of-my-family-duties singing and -Sun God forgive him- dancing, he would bet all his meager fortune on the Favor being back rather than this.

Rid stood, a long-forgotten saddle hanging at his hand as he observed Lach bobbing his head. He wondered if his eyes had started to fail him. After all, his father and grandfather had defective eyesight and lost it in their old age. Bless their hearts. But no, his eyes were perfectly intact thanks to his wonderful mother's genetics, to whom he owed his generous face that charmed so many ladies.

« Hey. » Lach looked up and found Rid's bemused eyes fixed on him.

Lach frowned. "What?"

"You are smiling." Rid drawled out.

Lach rolled his eyes, closing a stall, the metal clinking. "Is that bad thing? » He turned around, grabbing a pitchfork.

A snarky smirk stretched on Rid's lips that Lach knew too well. "I am just saying I never see you smile."

Lach sank the pitchfork into the hay. "I wasn't smiling." But Rid wouldn't let go. He was known for his perseverance in stretching people's patience until it generally snapped back on his face in a not-so-pleasant way.

He put the saddle down and crossed his arms and spread his legs slightly in a I won-t-stop-until-I-get-my-answers stance "I know that smile. Who is the girl?"

Lach shifted on his other foot, still accumulating hay on a corner. "There is no girl." It wasn't that he didn't trust Rid but he had just met the young lady and he wasn't even sure he would see her again. Still, his mind was filled penetrating dark eyes and melodious chuckles. She had awoken a part of him in his chest that had been cold for far too long with her warmth. Despite being suspicious of him she had slowly lowered down her barriers a bit, letting Lach see a glimpse of warmth that he hooked up to.

Rid's lips pursed. "Do you believe myself a fool?"

Lach looked at him straight in the eyes. "You took the words out of my mouth." Shock spread on Rid's face and Lach smirked playfully.

Rid's eyes narrowed as he snatched a fork. "Well, don't come crying to me when you will find yourself old and alone with your horses." He threw before planting his pitchfork in the dry plant. Lach barked a laugh so loud it rumbled his chest.

Rid ruminated to himself in a corner while Lach begged for his pardon, a laugh dancing on each of his sentences, making Rid send daggers at him with a glare. A truce had to be made between the two stablemen when the stablemaster called them to head for the gates, the Princess' guests arriving for the ceremony.

The iron gates were wide open, letting in carriages after carriages filled with Lords as haughty as the next one.

A brown stallion entered, and they all stood straight. "Prince Nichola of Perspera has arrived!" a soldier screamed as a lanky blond entered, with a disdainful stare that watched people from the clouds so high it was. Lach's jaw tightened, keeping his nose from scrunching. Many of these people thought that superiority was a birthright, for they were raised inside flowing golden wells. That was why they all acted like condescending pricks. It was inherent in their nature and heritage.

"Look at him," Rid murmured as another Lord passed the gates. His cheeks were filled like a squirrel, and his belly threatened to rip his elegant velvet jacket. "Must be nice to eat that much." The Lord dismounted his horse with difficulty, for his legs were as short as a chicken's. He stumbled, almost falling on his face before he recovered quickly, chin still held high. A trademark. The stablemen stifled a chuckle. The man's eyes fell on them, and Rid offered him to take his horse which agreed by a fleeting hand.