The Winter Sun

Chapter 45

The wheels hissed against the icy snow, and white smoke puffed from the horse's nuzzles. The soldiers guarding the golden gates straightened their backs at the sight of the carriage.

A soldier held his hand up as it approached, and the wheels faltered to a stop. He narrowed his gaze at the driver, covering half his face with the cap of his cloak. The rest of his face was left uncovered: a softly pointy chin, proportioned lips, and the round tip of his nose, dark like night strands sliding from the cap.

"What's that?" The soldier asked, eyeing the rough blanket covering a bulging on the back of the vehicle.

"Merchandises for the King."

"Papers." He narrowed his eyes, waiting.

The driver paused before reaching for the inside of his cloak with a hesitating hand and retrieved a parchment. The soldier grabbed it mid-way, approaching the carriage. He scanned the document, his eyes going from left to right repeatedly until he reached the bottom of the page.

"Grains." The soldier's eyes lifted to the driver, that suspiciousness still as vivid as the snow. "Remove the blanket." The driver's lips thinned as he obeyed. He twisted their torso and snatched the rough blanket. A dozen satchels were so full that they threatened to explode at any touch. They piled on each other, forming a tiny mountain. "Nothing was said about grains today." The soldier said as he rounded the carriage.

The driver cleared his throat. "A late gift for Solstice." He tensed as the soldier patted the bags, passing through the one at his reach. The soldier paused as he touched the bag behind the driver's seat. The driver's breath caught.

"Very heavy," The soldier stated. "The King will be delighted." His smile was overstretched. "Open the doors!" He shouted to the other soldiers, and the golden gates creaked open.

"Thank you, Sir." The driver said before the carriage rolled in.

**

Amaya banged on the door cell until her fists throbbed from too much pounding. The door stayed locked despite her scream for help. The soldiers who had vowed to keep her safe at her birth were muted in their obligation and certainly the possible threat of Zakrus.

She whirled around into the musty and moisty cell, finally taking in her surroundings. The stale scent attacked her suddenly as if waiting for her to notice. The walls were damped and decrepit, splashed with dark, frozen liquid. Blood, vomit, sweat, or anything that had marked the solitary death of prisoners.

She didn't know, and she didn't wish to know.

The only things inside were a bucket and a chair, barely standing on its broken limbs. She made sure to avoid looking inside the bucket.

A shriek rose like agony, and Amaya's heart thundered. She kicked one of the chair's legs. It yielded easily. She pointed the broken piece of wood against the door. A boom startled her, like a boulder blowing a door, and screams and grunts followed like ripples. The blood drummed in her ears as the metallic steps got louder.

Soldiers.

A rattling sound like jittering keys, and the cell door creaked open. Amaya held her breath, hands trembling but gaze steady. The door swung open, and a man in full armor stepped into the soft strikes of light coming from the barren window.

"Don't come close!"

The soldier caught his helmet with two hands before removing it. It revealed pale skin, dark hair flattened by the helmet, and dark eyes she was sure she would never see again. They laid on her

like sunrays during the late afternoon hour of Summer.

She lowered the wood stick, her heart swelling. "Lach?"