The Nightmares We Serve

1

Outside the palace, a horse neighs. The palace doors slam open, pitch-soaked doors thudding heavily against cold stone walls. A set of light footsteps beats a taboo against the winding ashlar staircase. Heavily labored breathing announces the messenger's arrival. Not hesitating for a moment against the doors to the private apartments, the messenger hurls their body against them, barging into where the princess is surrounded by young maids-in-waiting, attending to the pre-retirement rituals.

Several gasps are raised from silken throats, alabaster and untouched by the sun, unlike the room's intruder. Head bowed even before armored knees crash against the hardened floor, arms raised well in front, holding a large bundle. A blood-red cape flutters behind, coming gracefully to a rest over the knightress' shoulders and back. A faint floral scent drifts inward, consummated among the harsher smells of blood and death that accompany it.

The princess slides off satin sheets in one supple movement, like water washing smoothly over river stones. She takes it all in, the coarse, matted fur, darkened with blood. The grotesque, misshapen head leering wildly like a mad jester, its mouth split in twain, revealing many rows of pointed, stained teeth. Once dark eyes had now glazed over, milky like the membrane of a chicken's egg. Eyes that dared not rise above the monstrous gift stayed staring intently against the floor. "The beast is slain, my princess," words breathed in a sort of fearful reverence, the owner of the voice wary yet hopeful at the same time.

The princess ventures closer in a carefree manner, limbs wired with a dancer's fluidity. Recognition flashes in her uncannily bright eyes, her lips drawing back in a feral smirk, revealing exceptionally sharp canines. "Well done, Kyrja. What would you ask in return?"

The tang of surprise hit the princess' finely tuned senses, even though the knightress herself had barely moved a muscle. The silence hung in the air, short yet ageless, pregnant, full of promise.The knightress licked her lips thickly, maintaining her position of humility. "My freedom," she managed lowly.

The princess stopped her elegant examination of her rather long yet exquisitely shaped nails. Unreadable emotion flickered in her irises, disappointment the only thing truly discernible amongst them. A moment, an eternity passed between those in the room, before she allowed the string to be cut. "Go."

The single word had not quite finished falling from full lips onto the ears of those present before the blood trophy was discarded upon the floor, the crimson cape falling down behind it. Leaning down, the princess reached out to pick up the abandoned silk banner, bringing it to her face and breathing in deeply. The floral scent covered the stone cold of her heart like freshly cut flowers set out over a moss-covered gravestone, nearly masking the abysmal emptiness that carved it out anew.

The echo of light footsteps slipping over the stones had forever imprinted itself in her memory even as her ears caught the sound of a horse's hooves beating against the courtyard flagstones. A mighty neigh could be heard from the mouth of the stallion. She didn't even have to move to the window to know that the knightress had taken off. Hadn't even waited for the daylight to come. Not that it would've made a difference.

Who would want to be in the company of monsters anyway?