We ride through the valley of kings, following the river that winds through the rolling hills. We move in silence, only the sound of thundering hooves and whistling wind to accompany us, and I watch carefully for any signs of life. But soon it becomes obvious that the valley is deserted; no people live there, only the dryads with their beautiful, misleading voices, sitting high up in their trees, dewy, nude skin glowing in the moonlight.

Tensions are high as we race in the shadows of the hills, staying hidden in case we come across townsfolk. When we pass by fields of blooming angel's trumpets, I think back to Sapphira. Already I miss her, an ache in my heart, but we trudge onward with bated breath, cloaks and hair rippling in the wind.

I try to memorize every ridge, every flower and hedge and blade of grass, trying to burn it into my brain. As we ride through a throng of cattails and foxgloves growing at the river bank, I let go of lady's reins and let my hand skim their heads, trying to remember their feel against my skin before I enter the steel and marble world of Xeoria.

Finally, we emerge from the valley of kings, now in an abandoned field of tall, unkempt grass. A couple willow trees lie off to the side, their drooping branches swaying melancholically in the breeze. Father's steed, a powerful white stallion with piercing eyes named Milktrot, comes to a stop, skidding hooves sending dirt flying.

"Why did we stop, your majesty?" Silas asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"If we ride into the village with our horses, we'll be attracting unneeded attention to ourselves. It's better that we leave them here to graze until the three of us return." Father explains, gesturing to caspian and Silas.

    I swing my feet over Lady's back and hop off with ease, my feet landing softly on the grass. Everyone else follows suit.

I stroke Lady's mane. "Be good for me, will you?"

She snorts and stamps the ground with her hoof, throwing her head side to side. When I try to follow Caspian, Father and Silas towards the village, she follows after me, trotting along slowly.

I place a hand on her flanks and guide her back towards the other horses, who are grazing in the field. Their white coats gleam in the moonlight like pearls, iridescent and smooth.

She looks at me with huge, unblinking eyes, as if she can tell that I'm leaving for good. I put my forehead to hers and hold the sides of her neck with my hand.

"I'll be back soon, I promise. Please, Lady, don't make this difficult. Go, go back to your friends."

She whinnies softly, swishing her tail back and forth with vigour. When I walk away, she doesn't follow me, but she doesn't move either, standing unmovingly in the same spot until she fades into a tiny white speck, like a fallen star from the sky.

☾ ☼ ☽

It's been a while since I was last in the village but it hasn't changed one bit, still the same white-walled huts and vendor markets cramped closely together, leaving hardly a finger's space between buildings. The streets are narrow and made of mossy cobblestone, and I'm suddenly glad that we left the horses behind. Their hooves against the rocks would be loud enough to wake the dead.

The only difference is that the streets are now quiet and barren instead of filled with the life and bustle of townsfolk and vendors, yelling advertisements and bargains. Where there were once stray dogs stealing food from unsuspecting merchants, now lie scurrying rats, nipping at the scraps of food left on the streets. Rolling carts that housed fruits and vegetables and fabrics and metals now lie empty and abandoned, waiting for the next sunrise to be heaped with goods.

As we steal through the empty streets, we come across countless men and women sleeping under overhanging roofs or curled up into balls on wooden benches. They're dressed in rags, their faces grimy and weathered, a frown permanently etched on their faces. In their sleep, they clutch their sparse belongings in weak-gripped hands, desperately trying to protect them from pick-pockets and thieves who are in equally terrible situations as them. 

"I didn't know there were so many homeless." I whisper to Caspian as we pass a skeletal looking woman with hair that used to be white, but now looks a dirty brown.

"Me too." he whispers back, staring at the slumbering woman as we walk by her. "I wonder if Father knew about this."

At the mention of Father, I take a look at him. He looks so out of place and uncomfortable, glancing down disgustedly at the sleeping forms. The past month has given me a whole new perspective on the man I call Father. Where I used to see a benevolent, kind old man, I now see a careless and selfish ruler who doesn't care for others as much as I thought he did. I might be bitter and biased, but anyone who lets his people get to this extent can't be a good person. I spent so long looking up at him in blind awe, but being blackmailed made me see him in a new light. Everytime he made a stern order, I used to think he was powerful and regal, but now, I cringe at his rudeness to the maids and servants. I can see Falkor taking after him too, in the way he sneers and taunts, in the way he yells at the maids and expects everything to go his way.

"I don't think he does." I told Caspian. I catch him eyeing Father too, but the expression on his face is unreadable.

Caspian chews his lower lip. "Something needs to be done about this." he mumbles as he kicks a stray can rolling in his direction.

"Maybe it's better at night.' i say hopefully, the end of my sentence lilting up as if asking a question.

We continue through the empty streets in silence, treading lightly to prevent the sound of our footsteps from echoing off the walls. The village is quite large: it makes up for 90% of Eoria's houses and shops, the last ten percent scattered in the more rural areas. Getting through all of it takes the better part of an hour, and once we reach the outskirts of town, my legs are aching, especially the one that was shot. The wound has healed already, but it left a large scar that hurts when I move quickly or for too long. I long for the speed and comfort of a horse, and i really don't look forward to traversing all of the Wailing Woods on foot.

We finally reach the lip of the woods. Father, Caspian and Silas hesitate for a moment before entering the brambles, but I don't stop, crossing the familiar threshold in brisk steps. The smell of the woods is comforting, but it does little to calm my beating heart. My palms start to go clammy at the thought of entering Xeoria. In a few moments, I'll be going to the place I've been dreaming about for years in order to murder the prince. I try to push the thought out of my head, try not to think about it too much. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, the only bridge I have to cross is the one between Eoria and Xeoria.

I lift a hand to my face as we pass through low hanging branches. We move quickly, me in the front and everyone else behind me. I startle everytime a branch snaps or an owl hoots; my nerves are shot, making me jumpy and easily startled. My heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

We reach Midddlefell faster than I would have hoped. The water rushes quickly and fiercely, murky waters staring unwelcomingly at me. The wooden bridge that lies over it is creaky and missing planks in more than one place. The air smells like mold, most likely coming from the rotting planks of the bridge, and it looks like it should be condemned. Years of unuse is probably to blame for its terrible condition.

Father peers onto the Xeorian side. It's empty, my "older brother" nowhere to be found.

Father checks his watch and huffs impatiently. "Malcolm's late."

We wait around in silence for a couple minutes. I find a mossy log and drag it towards the bridge, settling it in a little patch of purple flowers before sitting on it. Caspian joins me, but father and Silas remain standing, pacing worridly before the bridge.

Caspian fiddles with something in his hand as I take a closer look at the purple flowers surrounding us. I pick one and twirl it in my fingers. Datura, also known as the devil's trumpet, is the poisonous sister of brugmansia, the angel's trumpet. Seeing it here gives me a bad feeling, like a bad omen trying to warn me not to do this. But it's too late now. I have to do this.

I fiddle my fingers as I wait, trying to steady my breathing and steady my nerves, but suddenly a faint snapping is heard, along with the crunch of dried leaves under hooves. I spring up from my seat and walk to the river's edge, peering over to the other side. A young man with dark, reddish brown hair rides towards us with lanky ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his black blazer. I've never seen him before, but he walks towards us with such easy confidence that I don't feel afraid.

Father, Silas and Caspian are squinting, looking hard into the blackness with scrunched up faces. I realize abruptly that they're eyesight is not like mine, and that they can't see anything in the darkness.

"Reddish-brown hair, black blazer with silver embroidery around the hem, looks like he's in his late twenties to early thirties, pale skin, tall, 5"10-ish, slender." I describe, and watch as Father's face melts into a relaxed recognition.

"I'm assuming this is Malcolm, then?" I ask pointedly.

"Yes, I see him now." Father comments.

As Malcolm approaches, I pull back my hood, let down my hair and unbutton my white cloak to reveal the dress underneath. I throw the cloak onto the log and stand next to Caspian, who stares apprehensively at Malcolm, who now stands at the edge of the bridge.

"King Ivius. Prince Caspian."  He says, bowing his head in greeting. He speaks with an odd accent, and I suddenly remember reading somewhere that mortals call it a British accent.

He nods at Silas, clearly not recognizing him, but when he turns to me, his dark, wise-looking eyes glint with recognition. "Princess. Or dare I say, assassin?" He smiles slightly.

His calm demeanour puts me at ease, and I immediately like him. His coiffed hair curls at the ends, giving him a boyish look, but his eyes are wise and curious. I can already tell that he's seen a lot, experienced more than I could ever dream to.

"Malcol, I'm glad to see you. Is everything going to plan so far? Father asks.

"Of course, your highness. I've got a steed waiting for the two of us a little farther off, and the court of shadows has already been alerted that my little sister is coming to stay." He assures, and smiles at me. "All you need to do now is cross over."

I take a deep breath and make for the hazardous bridge, but I'm stopped short when father calls out.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" He asks. When I turn around and move towards him, he pulls me into a brief hug and kisses my cheek. I try not to show any emotion when he does, still angry about the blackmail, but my heart clenches at the thought of leaving my family behind.

I nod to Silas and thank him for his lessons.

"Last lesson: don't let your emotions cloud your judgement, okay?"

I nod and smile gratefully before moving on to Caspian. An owl hoots overhead as I smile sadly at him. It's a shame that we weren't close when we were younger, and now that we are, I'm leaving.

I pull him into a hug. I can hear him cough in surprise,but soon he relaxes and melts into me, arms wrapped tightly around my middle.

"Be careful, okay? Come back in one piece." He whispers into my shoulder.

I laugh quietly. "I'll try."

I reluctantly pull away, but before I can get very far, Caspian grips my wrist tightly and pulls me closer. He presses something into my palm, and closes my fingers around it tightly. When I look at it, it turns out to be a necklace, a little bear charm strung on a leather cord. The same one Caspian gave Genevieve many years ago.

I look up at him. "Are you sure?" I whisper.

"I want you to have it now. You're strong. You can do this." He whispers back.

Tears pool in my eyes. "Thank you." I say gratefully as I fight them back.

I peel away from him and make my way across the bridge, stepping gingerly as I try to avoid the gaps in the wood. Twice the bridge creaks and twists, making me gasp and stop abruptly. But I get across eventually, Malcolm taking my hand as I take my first steps on Xeoria.

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Word count: 2274