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“Get out,” she hissed, her patience wearing thin.
Beldor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Eldrion asked me to show you the town. If you want to go there, it’s either me or him taking you. And guess what? He’s away for the entire week.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he couldn’t care less either way.
She clenched her fists. Anthea desperately wanted to see the outside world, beyond the confining walls she had been trapped within for so long. But the idea of spending time alone with Beldor was far from appealing. The queen had assured her they wouldn’t hurt her anymore?—
“We don’t have to exchange pleasantries or even talk. I’ll take you there, you’ll see the place, and I’ll bring you back. Simple,” the elf said from the door.
The idea of breathing fresh air and seeing the town was too alluring. She gave him a curt nod, her voice sharp. “Fine. But remember what you said. No talking.”
Beldor smirked slightly. “I remember. Ready when you are. And dress warmly.”
Anthea grabbed a gray cloak from the cupboard in the bedroom and joined him.
As they ventured out of the castle, silence filled the air between them. The elf kept a steady pace, always two steps ahead of her. Yet, every so often, she’d catch him sneaking quick glances in her direction. Anthea felt a growing irritation each time he looked her way but said nothing. By the time they reached the lower levels of the castle, she’d had enough.
Stopping in her tracks, she blurted out, “What?!”
Beldor looked momentarily startled, then feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
“Every two seconds, you glance over. If you have something to say, spit it out,” Anthea challenged, her hands on her hips.
“Why do you fight so much? Why not submit, like the other humans in Isluma?” he asked. His gaze was steady, almost analytical as he studied her. “Submission is in your nature. Humans are meant to serve,” he stated, motioning for her to keep walking.
“Do you really believe that?” She crossed her arms on her chest, not moving an inch.
“You are a small, fragile creature. It would be easier for you to just yield.”
“Firstly, I’m not from Isluma, so don’t try to apply your societal expectations onto me.” Anthea huffed, taking quick steps to move past him. “Secondly, from what I’ve heard the humans in Isluma aren’t as submissive as you’d like to believe.”
“There is a difference between accepting the reality and giving up.” Beldor fell into step with Anthea as they approached a massive wooden door.
“Your reality is not mine.” She reached out to open the door, but the elf beat her to it. With one last glance at her, he pushed the door open, revealing the expansive side courtyard.
Stone pathways led to an assortment of buildings. Three impressive oak-like trees stood tall, their bark midnight black. Their canopies spread wide, creating pockets of shade where the ground was covered in a lush layer of moss and grass. Here and there, elven servants went about their daily tasks. Soldiers too, clad in their dark gray armor, walked the grounds or conversed in small groups.
Anthea and Beldor continued in silence. She could feel the eyes of a few elves on her, their gazes curious but not unwelcoming. Distracted by the surrounding beauty, she didn’t notice Beldor’s quick glance in her direction, assessing her reaction to everything she was witnessing. As they walked, the distinct sound of horses reached her ears.
The stables were made from timber and stone, dark gray roof covered in moss.
Beldor led Anthea to a beautiful chestnut mare, the morning sun glinted off the horse’s well-groomed coat. “Her name’s Echo.” He broke the silence as he led the mare out of its stall. Anthea had always found horses to be unpredictable, their large eyes, even larger teeth and sudden movements making her feel a bit uneasy. She had watched Treia ride them with a certain envy, but she had never been brave enough to learn herself.
Beldor offered her his hand. Noticing her reluctance, a teasing glint appeared in his eyes. “You’re welcome to try yourself,” he said with a hint of mirth, “but you’re, well, rather short.”
Her face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. But she couldn’t deny he had a point. Taking a deep breath, she begrudgingly slipped her hand into his. With a firm grip, he helped her up onto the saddle. Once securely seated, she glared at him, “I could’ve managed.”
“Of course.” Beldor chuckled softly, taking a step back, allowing Anthea to get used to the horse. She took the opportunity to awkwardly pat the mare’s neck, hoping it wouldn’t drop her or bite her. She kept her eyes on Beldor. The elf had moved toward another section of the stable where a large gray stallion was housed. The stallion stood tall, a distinctive white patch adorned his forehead. With a swift and practiced motion, Beldor mounted it, the beast’s hooves lightly tapping the stable’s ground in eagerness. Once atop, he looked at her, pride in his eyes. “This is Acorn,” he introduced, nodding toward his steed.
The mare shifted beneath her. Anthea clung tightly to the reins, her knuckles turning white, as she fought to control her mounting anxiety.
“Anthea, you cannot ride, can you?” he asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I . . . I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up her neck.
Beldor’s grin widened. “And how, do tell, did you get around in your world?” He guided his own horse next to hers.
“We had cars, vehicles,” she muttered. “Not horses.” As she spoke, Beldor reached out, his hand touching Echo’s neck in a soothing gesture—the mare, feeling the reassurance, calmed, looking back at him with trusting eyes.
“Do not worry,” he said, taking the reins of Anthea’s horse into his hand. “We’ll go slow. Now, tell me more about these vehicles?—”
