Queensmen

Chapter 13

~Not A Driver~

So, the inns in this town are also full? Oris raised her gaze to the skies while rubbing up and down the side of her arms to get rid of the chill she felt. "It's going to rain soon," she mumbled to herself and leaned against the body of the carriage.

She entertained herself by watching Faeradaigh dart in and out of buildings, his expression darkening with each rejection. This was the third town they had parked in and the unwillingness of the patrons must have been grating on his nerves.

If not for the threat of rain, Oris wouldn't have minded the wait, because if the eunuch wasn't running about he'd be hovering over her, and she wasn't ready for his attentions just yet.

She didn't particularly care where she slept as long as she did sleep, the exhaustion of nonstop travel was already catching up with her. It was clear to see that the people were not in support of Hermes and his decision to steal beauties. Maybe they were afraid for their daughters' sake or maybe they just didn't want anything to do with people bearing the crest of the New World. The reason didn't matter, the situation clear to see without one.

They were not welcome.

Despite the fact that it had left her without a roof over her head, she was glad that Hermes hadn't garnered as much supporters as the rumors said. Regardless of the fact that the wars have ended, people were still unsatisfied. That made rebelling all the more easy.

Maybe if I say I'm a queen that came back from the dead they'd accommodate me, she thought humorously, trying to distract herself from how cold she was. Maybe they'll even join the cause.

Of course, it was all wishful thinking. Rebelling was the furthest thing from her mind now, really. Without any proof from Rodholf, she doubted the skeptical masses would believe her even if her hair was as red as the sun and made of blood itself.

"I'll take a stable over sleeping in this carriage," she groaned under her breath, wishing that it was possible. She really didn't want to spent the night exposed to nature's ire but she doubted Mother Earth would stall the pour down just for her.

She had a strong feeling that she would be drenched longed before she found shelter. Fate just liked playing with her that way, it seems.

It is not right for the emperor's future bride to share a room with horses, she was sure Faeradaigh would say if she even brought up the suggestion, as though being a bride would matter if she fell sick and died on the journey to Heshera.

About to start pacing just to give herself something to do to warm herself up, Oris paused when she heard a gruff chuckle from behind her, her right foot already off the ground.

"You—" she turned around sharply, wanting to see who dared sneak up on her, "are not a driver."

She stared at the man who sat in the long seat in front of her carriage, the reigns to the horses wrapped in his hands and his figure made hazy by her veil. Those alone where clues enough to determine his business here but what made her narrow her eyes at him were the obvious thickness of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders and the sense of danger that exuded off him like a natural warning signal.

The man had an aura identical to Rodholf's, an air of someone who has taken countless lives for his state and did not mind taking a few more. All that was missing was a sword and a set of armor to complete the picture and he'd be fit to stand by the side of a ruthless king.

"You're a Knight," she concluded, phrasing her words in such a way that if they proved true she could acknowledge them and if not, say she had been asking a question.