The estate.

His words ring in my head on loop.

"We'll leave in the morning." He'd said when I returned from the stables where he left me with no room for argument. He didn't leave any room for argument, I realized I was a prisoner.

Now, I lay in the room I woke up in. I think of sneaking away but decided against it. The forest outside, the gaping wilderness with its open jaws and unimaginable horrors around every corner under this duvet seems like the sensible option. Even if it's in an estate of the enemy kingdoms magical creature.

Moonlight spills and pools in from the barred window, illuminating the delicate room. I tuck my body closer together, sleeping feels impossible. I laugh softly, the simplest things are always hardest.

It's quiet here, impossibly quiet.

It isn't like an army camp, damp and noisy. There aren't any footsteps around my tent here, no shouting or fighting, or someone sneaking an extra meal from the mess hall tent.

Just quiet.

I don't know where we're headed. The uncertainty of it all has me biting at my nails. I push my body from under the cover and opt to take a walk around the estate. Restless energy resides in my body, I'm conditioned to daily drills and extensive missions where my life is on the line.

In this cushy environment, I feel like a piece of sap stuck to the wrong branch.

My thoughts circle one another; thoughts of the open letter, and of my commander— the kingdom. Nothing resolves in the dusty cobwebs of my mind, everything stays just out of reach.

This abandoned estate seems frozen in time, everything coated in a fine layer of dust and dander. Though, it's very regal and comfortable.

Sort of what I imagine a rich grandma's house to be like, not that I would know what that's like.

I open the door to the room I'm residing in and wander down the hall. My steps echo clearly throughout the hall, the marble flooring being uncomfortably cold.

I force my mind to a different place, boot camp. Something reliable and predictable. The marble turns to packed mud in memory, misty air, and the taste of blood.

"Cadet, advance." My commander yells, and I run with my arming sword into my opponent, I am deflected swiftly, and land on my ass. "Mediocre is what I would call that! I'd use more force on my momma. Ave Lennings." He says, disappointment dripping from his projected voice. I huff and reassume the starting strike position.. He nods, and I repeat the drill. "Come on! Don't you want to live and die by your own rules? Fight like it!" He exclaims, the force I'm able to muster isn't what he's looking for and a frustrated groan sneaks its way out of me.

"Sir! I've been at this for hours Sir!" I call out, inadvertently asking for relief. My commander laughs, "You think that the Valrian soldiers are going to give you a break?"

"Sir! No sir!" Is my response, and I continue as instructed. My opponent shouts in surprise as I charge.

I blink, and my thoughts become fleeting. A voice bounces across the scarcely decorated hall.

"What're you thinking about?" The stranger calls from the couch by the fireplace. I look up at him from my feet with haste, silently scolding myself for being enthralled with my own thoughts. I hadn't realized I walked all the way to the shared space of the foyer. If I knew the man was in the space, I would've turned the opposite way. He's sitting cross legged in a way that feels deliberate.

I think of a lie to respond with, but go for silence instead. He giggles softly to himself. Muttering something I can't make out as I pass him with my nose turned up.

I never said I was going to be a nice prisoner.

"Oh come on don't be that way, I'm not all bad." He says, I give him a bewildered look as I whip my whole body around and storm in the direction of my room. I then think of my mare, I want to check on her again.

Slowing my steps, I ponder it.

If I check on her, I have to pass him, or even talk to him. But on the other hand, the wind raging outside makes me want to spend the night in her stall.

I slow even more, she hates storms. I've never met a more anxious war horse. With a furious decision, I whip back around and nearly run past the man sitting by the open fire. My only focus is the connecting stable door. He laughs a belly laugh and it only makes me walk quicker.

It's a set of double doors, sealed to the estate by a hallway. It's an odd place for a horse's stable, and I assume it's for quick escapes for people of high status. I scoff at that thought.

The thought that someone can be so important to need a quick escape. That we put certain people on pedestals and thrones, high above the rest. My mind just can't wrap around the fact.

Logically, I understand it, a kingdom can't run without— well, a king to run it. Morally, it doesn't make sense.

Wild wind rattles wooden planks of the rickety stable. Petalfall, my mare whose name I refuse to share with the stranger man, whinnies softly. She is my prized possession, and my only truly owned item. She was a boot camp graduation gift from my commanding officer. He had said a hard working soldier deserved the first pick of that year's horses.

Of course, I picked the worst of the herd. I figured if I could improve with care and time, then so could a horse. She presses her nose against me and lets a shuttered breath out.

The wind rocks the stable harder and I shush my mare softly, opening the stall door and settling in the slightly dirty hay. She slowly lays beside me, resting her enormous head across my stretched out lap.

I sit in the quiet storm, petalfall snores softly in my lap. She's extremely heavy, but I don't mind being her pillow. I take the time to groom her mane, it matted from the days of our travel with little rest.

Meticulously, I section her cream colored hair. Combing through it with my fingers, I slowly braid it.

My eye lids are becoming heavy, but I fight the terrifying feeling of braving the morning. I think to before the war, with warm springs and spiraling bramble bushes that my caretaker told the children of the orphanage to steer clear of.

I think of the blood that pooled from the splinter I had.

I let that splinter become infected,, I was too stubborn to admit the woman of the orphanage was right. I let the infection festered.

I feel the hate and pain in me boil like that infection, angry heat rising throughout me.

I am reminded no one is coming to help, no reinforcements, no saviors.

I am reminded I'm a prisoner of war, and I have no choice.

I am reminded I'm alive, and how angry I am.

The thought settles over me heavier than the storm.

Petalfall shifts beneath my hand, her ears twitching toward the stable doors. I pause, listening.

I hear nothing but rain and sigh, I don't know how long I sit there.

Eventually, the storm begins to quiet. The wind loses its fury, leaving only the occasional creak of the stable walls and the soft patter of rain against the roof. Petalfall's breathing has evened out beneath me.

Mine hasn't. I stare at the stable doors like they'll catch fire if I look away.

I carefully lift Petalfall's head from my lap and stand. My legs protest after sitting for so long, pins and needles crawling beneath my skin.

"Sorry," I whisper, rubbing her neck. "I can't sleep." She gives me a quiet huff as if she disagrees with my lack of rest.

I smile despite myself. "You're right, I'll go try to sleep."

I exit the stall and carefully walk toward the connecting doors. They groan when I push them open, the foyer is dark— almost pitch black beside glowing coals in the distance from a dying fireplace.

I trot to the shared space, expecting it to be empty. It isn't, of course it isn't.

This time I lay eyes on him, he's staring at the dying fire. His chest rises and falls steadily, he's very focused.

Suddenly, as if sensing me, his head twitches and his eyes snap to where I'm standing. I jump slightly in fright. I hope he didn't notice.

"You were in there a long time." My body stiffens, and I clear my throat. "I didn't know I had to ask."

He looks different in this lighting, less amused. He looks almost human. Just almost. I swallow thickly. "You don't." He replies, turning his gaze back to the dim coals and few embers.

"What're you doing?" I have the courage to ask. I stay where I'm standing, my feet glued. "Waiting for the fire to burn out."

My eyebrows scrunch together, it wasn't the answer I was looking for. He's good at surface level answers and avoiding the truth. "You're standing in a living room past midnight."

"Maybe I like standing."

I turn to leave, this conversation isn't going anywhere important.

"Goodnight, princess." He calls, and I grunt loudly, walking with purposeful strides.

"I'm not a princess." I huff. I hate being mocked; that nickname is degrading for an orphan.

Everyone dreamed of being a 'lost' princess, everyone dreamed of something more, something special. I was not one of those kids, I was bitter long before being stuck in with the others.

Reaching the bedroom, I quickly tuck myself back under the duvet, frustrated by the stranger again. He angers me so easily.

I lie beneath the cover and stare at the ceiling until the first pale light of morning creeps through the barred window.

When I hear footsteps outside my door, I already know who they belong to. Three knocks, then his uncanny voice.

"Get dressed." I sit upright so fast that the blanket falls away.

The words from yesterday return to me. "We'll leave in the morning."

I look toward the window. Morning has come. My stomach freefalls downward.

And for the first time since the war began, I have no idea what I'm walking toward.