The King Trials 2: Beyond.

Primus Kelan. P.O.V.

I never did need directions. I can always feel her.

Her palpable energy rising, the sense of her presence heightened.

I stroke the wedge-shaped face of the stallion whilst I survey the village. Unlike Nure, this is a gated community with a towering palisade erected around it with only two points of entry. It mainly consists of equal-sized homesteads, at the hub is where the centre of life is, where all the stores, side-market stands, and the only tavern is situated.

Already a few passing villagers chuck hostile looks at me, muttering to each other in Nuvele, which they assume that I cannot understand. With a last brush, I leave to saunter down the rim of a narrow path. I exhale a puff of white, cool air nips my face. Every moment glares pierce my back. It is all too clear that I am an outsider. This entire village is possibly under the control of an Alderman.

Ahead of me, a little girl ambles out of a door from my left flank. She’s swathed in a fur coat bigger than she is. She pauses and turns to face me, her gaze rises high to meet mine.

Hazel-doe eyes stare back at me. Most of her head is swallowed by a woolly hat.

“Ureze ka lempase tu pasva?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You should not be talking to strangers,” I respond in her tongue.

“Erekumpa ge lump aske.” She gesticulates, signalling behind her. “Rumpas na la va.”

I nod, I pull my lips back to offer my thanks in a form of a smile. She burst into a small peal of giggles, covering her mouth with tiny, gloved hands. She then extends her arm out to me with her hand flattened. I sigh and lower myself to sit on my haunches. I outstretch my arm to lean it against hers, our arms crossed. Simultaneously, our hands lift until they brought into line with each other. A common farewell salute performed by the lowborn of Nivalis.

Promptly, a warmly dressed woman exits from the same place. They look alike, too young to be her mother, so she must be an older sister. Her eyes on transfixed on me as she absently closes the door. My eyes clasp her gaze, and she tears it away quickly. She looks down at the little girl and lightly scolds her for talking to me.

I ascend, and I walk past them, trampling over small mounds of snow.

The tavern is easy to locate. It is the most populated, drawing in crowds, most of them dally near the entrance. I drift inside—hit by a wall of malty smells, a blend of yeasty rich ale, and other fermented drinks. My eyes scour the rowdy crowd with large pints in their grasps.

I delve through, shouldering past stumbling folk with absolutely no cognitive functions at work. I skim over the congested tables with females draped over the male laps. Suddenly one of them springs up and obstructs my path merrily.

She sways towards me. “Elve ompre nesalva lump ta?” She says in high spirits, but level-headed enough to hold a conversation.

“I do not understand you. I am not from here.”

I move, she sidesteps to block me once again.

“Neither am I,” she says Arkian. “Why don’t we trade stories and…” with her finger, she draws a line down her skin, between the plunging neckline of her garb, “get to know each other better.”

“A fine-looking foreigner.” A companion of hers rises from a seat, barely clothed with so many holes and slits in her dress. Somehow immune to the cold of Nivalis. “I did not think that such handsomeness was possible.”

“Isheke,” the other agrees and fastens her eyes on me, playing with her hair; a multitude of braids. “I never beheld such rugged beauty.”

She slinks behind me, fingers exploring my back, venturing from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. “You seem tense. Stressed. Why don’t you allow us to take care of that? No expense. Just endless pleasure.”

I jerk away, and her hands slip from me. “No,” I say, not entertaining this any further. I breeze past the other and make my way through the gaps, eyes hunting. Though I do not need to see; I can feel her. Her presence is ever potent, but something about it wanes.

My head whips left. I spot her at the back, leaning torpidly against a wall, her gaze cast to the ceiling with her mouth hanging open. I approach her table cluttered with empty pints, squeezed between other revellers.

I stop before the table. By the way, she’s so hypnotised by whatever she’s hallucinating, I am even tempted to take a glance at the ceiling even though I know there’s nothing there.

“Aurora.”

Her eyes remain mesmerised by what she sees above.

“Aurora,” I repeat harsher.

She drops her gaze to finally acknowledge me, but she is incapable of looking me straight in the eye. Her eyes that have darkened several shades to a deep, forest-green under the pall of winter. She looks in my general direction, her eyes roaming around me.

“I—know you,” she slurs. She plops her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm. “I saw you in a dream I had.”

“I came to take you back.”

“Where?” She straightens unsteadily, her eyelids constantly drooping. “Home? Will you take me to Armathis?”

“Aelvebore,” I say.

She hums thoughtfully, her eyes travelling is if the answer is something she can find. “No.”

My brows clash. “It was not a request. You can either go with me willingly or I will force you.”

“Force me?” She giggles childishly. “What else will you do? Tie me up?” She sprawls her arm behind her and pins her hands to the wall. “What would you do to me if I was at your mercy?”

“Aurora.” My voice thick with practiced restraint. “Enough.”

She drops her hands angrily. “I forgot. You dislike me.” She points a wobbly finger at my face. “Smart, very prudent because those that do tend to die.” She lapses into a fit of hysterics, slapping the edge of the table as she laughs. “My—you were scared of harming me—I nearly had you killed. You were right to reject me, you are only alive now because of it.”

“I did not reject you and I will not talk to you whilst you are out of your wits.” I lunge for her. She squirms excitedly before I grip her forearm, and I yank her out of her seat, bumping the table with her hip.

“Let go of me!” She screams.

“Do not cause a scene,” I seethe.

Her rose-pink lips curve into a menacing smirk. The expression dissolves into a look of fright; her face contorting into a look of pain and fear as she begins thrashing, trying to break my hold.

“Unhand me! Please!”

I heave her to me. “Aurora, what are you—”

“You!” Someone yells behind me in Nuvele.

I rotate my head to look off my shoulder at a male fortified in average leather armour, coated with furs and an entourage of snarling companions to reinforce him.

He tips his chin at Aurora. “Is she your wife?”

I nearly baulk at the assumption.

“No.”

“Then unhand her,” he says as an ultimatum. He slants his head to look past me to Aurora. “Lady, you know him?”

Aurora shakes her head fervently. “Never seen him in my life,” she responds in fluent Nuvele as if she were a native.

I was afraid this would happen the moment I felt a pull towards a tavern. I liberate her and Aurora frantically staggers backward to return to her seat, appearing like a frightened little pup. She meets my gaze, something Vince-like flares in her eyes.

I rotate around. “I am Primus Kelan—”

“Avangard scum—” he quickly taps his mouth his hand. “Pardon. Commander of the pillaging scums. You are far from Urium and out of your jurisdiction. Unless you seek to plunder new territory since Urium in not enough for the lot of you.”

New territory? None of our military combatants has ever touched Nivalis lands. That would be an act of war.

“Our convoy are esteemed guests of Aelvebore. Not that I need to explain myself.”

A hush had descended upon the tavern, all eyes set on us as people anticipate a spectacle to unfold. What’s a good time in a tavern without a classic broil?

I breathe deeply and I turn to stare down at Aurora. “Come with me.”

Something thumps the back of my head and clatters to the ground. I bristle. Carefully, I revolve and glimpse the rolling tankard on the floor. I look at the ‘leader’ of the group, who drops his arm with a triumphant smile on his face.

Oh, why must they provoke me?

“Leave walking or leave as a corpse. You choose.”

My head tilts downwards. “And you think you could make me?”

He rushes at me, thrusting a jab only for me to grab his arm and effortlessly haul him off his off feet, sliding his heft over my shoulders. The masses explode into riotous cheers. I hurl him over my head, launching him at his small horde of followers that crash to the ground with a series of grunts, scrambling to stand.

I swivel around to look at Aurora’s blanched face.

“You are strong,” she says with faltering breaths.

I move forward to seize her and this time no-one tries to stop me. I slam my foot forward, undercutting one of them as he crumbles back to the ground. Aurora still whimpers and writhes whilst I drag through and the throng gives me a wide berth, splitting away. We emerge outside and I lug her down the path from which I came.

“Let—go!” Her fist beats my arm relentlessly.

“Stop.”

She doesn’t.

“Get hold of yourself!” I snap, her tumult of her emotions invokes the bedlam of my own.

I whip around and grab her jaw, not to her harm, only to hold her in place. She reacts by clutching onto my wrist; her gloved fingers digging. Her hair straggles out its bounds messily, half of her tresses inked in black. The golden yellow nearly consumed.

“You do not understand!” She shrieks. Her breaths reeks of disgrace.

“I do because I went through it all too!” My enraged yell draws eyes, but mine are only her. “Do you think you are the only one that has gone through grief, shame, and guilt? I have done incorrigible things. But I dug myself out of my own pit of suffering because I knew wallowing would achieve nothing. The only thing left to do was to make things right, not to rebuild myself but to make a new me entirely.”

Sloppily, she beats my wrist. A few moments of hesitation in-between.

“What would Solaris say if he could see you this way? Lost in a void of your own sorrow and pain when you are not to blame.” Tears well in her eyes, shimmering. She denies my gaze. “You need to see the truth of yourself. Something, he saw, and something I still see within you. A goodness that cares for others, a strength that will fight for those who cannot. It is no longer just about your life. You need to take a grip of your fate because it is yours to mould. Relent from this path of self-destruction.”

Her resistance ceases, a moment of clarity flickers. I release her. She wobbles back, snivelling, cupping her cheeks with her hands, her fingers jittery.

“You are not what others perceive of you. You are what you decide to be, who you chose to become. Are you a conqueror or will you be conquered? I see a greatness in you, even before I knew you were the Sagetai. Solaris saw it. Why can’t you?”

Aurora quivers despite shrouded in a thick cloak, again her eyes roam as if searching for something, but evidently, she is calmer. She wrangles a few deep breaths.

“Come with me.”

Her chin trembles, nodding. She steps forward and sinks to the floor. I capture her before they could meet, and I lift her in my arms—an explosion of agony storms through my back, a paroxysm of pain that nearly destabilises me, my knees buckling. Huffing, I hoist myself back up. She curls her arm around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder.

“I have you, I have you,” I reassure. Uncertain if she can truly comprehend me. “When you need me, I will always be there.”

With a semi-conscious Aurora in my arms, Greer opens the door to her bedchambers. She hurries ahead of me and moves to fling the layers of the bed open as I saunter to the flank to sit her down. I gingerly strip the cloak off her whilst Greer works to unfasten her boots. With the cloak in my grasp, a familiar scent wafts my way. I throw it on the other side of the bed.

“Kelan—I feel ill.”

“I will go retrieve a bucket and a fresh cloth,” Greer offers. She neatly places the boots aside before she rises, dusts herself off, and departs from the room with haste. Aurora collapses on her back, her legs dangling awkwardly before she heaves them up and shifts. I inch closer to cover her with the blankets, drawing them up to her chest.

“Do not,” she whimpers, her eyes closed, her head turns from side to side restlessly.

“What?”

“Do not leave me again.”

A blade of anguish skewers my heart.

“Never,” I promise.

I scan the room. I walk away to collect one of the armchairs until I notice a parchment laid on one of them. I sneak a glance at Aurora, who flits in and out of consciousness. I edge towards it and pick it to give it a quick once over, my eyes perusing the abstract and foreboding writing. By the tell of the foreshadowing of doom and gloom, this must be the oracle she mentioned before when—

The door creaks open.

I place the parchment back. I latch onto the other armchair, making my way to the side of the bed. Greer sets down the bucket right beside it and settles a tray of two small towels on the bedside table. My eyes dart to a turquoise gemstone that shares the space. Strangely, its coat is tainted by red splotches. Blood?

“Thank you for your aid. But you may go.” My gaze falls on her. “I will take it from here.”

She nods and recedes, soon I hear the door close behind her. I seat the chair down and plop on top of it, slumping against it, my weight leaning to one side, elbows rested on the arms.

“Kelan,” she whispers.

“Rest,” I order.

“Cannot—guilty.”

“I told you—”

“Vince kissed me.”

Shock hinders my ability to breathe, my heartbeat skips several beats, veered off-tempo as I grapple for composure. I inhale a breath, my chest rising, filling with stolen breaths.

She rolls sluggishly to lay on her side, facing me. “I wanted to kiss him back,” she confesses, her eyes still closed. The embedded blade twists deeper into my heart. “I wanted to…let go. Could not. Not when all I could think of is you. Only you. Always you.”

I steady my breathing, expelling images of her and Vince from my mind.

“But Primus is promise-breaker.”

“Not with you.” My spine snaps straight. “Not ever.”

“You promised not to hurt me—why it feels like I suffered two deaths—” her words devolve into gagging sounds before she bends over the edge and hurls into the bucket, unbridling a gut-churning cascade, emptying the contents of her stomach. She concludes with a short succession of frame-wracking coughs, hacking into the bucket before she lifts and flops over onto her back.

Ignoring the sickening odour that my hyper senses amplify to my great displeasure.

She clutches her stomach and slogs to her side.

I rise and take up one towel. I unfurl it and lean forward to wipe off the thin streak of vomit stringing down her chin. Delicately, I drag the towel down, cleansing it from her skin. She moans, then slackens, succumbing to fatigue. With pinched fingers, I drop it back on the verge of the tray.

I seat myself back on the chair with a long, exhale.

I observe her intently, awestruck. Though she sleeps, the corners of her face are creased, lines formed between her brows.

“One day you will not only save the world, but you will change it.”