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The trull’s cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, softening. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Harald studies me with a wrinkle above his nose, then glances away and falls silent. I release a soft sigh. Prometheus flies around my head, providing a welcome distraction, and I watch as the baby shows off with little chirps and chatters.
“That’s it, you cute little dragon. You’re big. You’re strong. You’ll catch a bird in no time!”
Prometheus preens under my praise and zooms down the path. I laugh and quicken my pace to keep up. Harald is still silent, but I decide it might be better to give him some time before I try to apologize again.
By the time we make it to the gates, the sun is setting. The castle is so big it could house at least a hundred ogres. The smooth gray stone is imposing and blocks out most of the light and horizon. There are no turrets or spires. Despite the lack of familiarity, there’s no mistaking this brutish piece of architecture is important. Two navy banners hang on either side of the gate.
The minotaur guard perks up as we approach and narrows his cow-like eyes. He’s wearing a navy uniform—shirt and pants—with an embroidered M on the left side of the collar of the shirt. His hooves poke out from the bottom of the pants, no need for boots. He takes in Prometheus who is flying, albeit a little unsteady, before shifting his attention to me.
“Folk aren’t allowed at the castle,” the minotaur gruffs. Its hide is a darker shade of brown than the one from the inn and there’s a tiny spot of white covering its left ear.
“Good thing she isn’t folk then, eh?” Harald snaps, standing on my forearm. He’s so short his head stops at my chin. “This here is yer PRINCESS,” Harald shouts the title so all the guards can hear, “and ya better move out of the way before I cut those horns from yer body with a dull knife.”
The minotaur startles at the burst of anger that spews out of the trull I’m carrying. He takes a quick step back. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Harald scoffs. “I couldn’t tell from the way ya were talking to Daisy.”
“Daisy?” The minotaur gives me a wide-eyed look. “Orcus’ mate.”
“Uh. Yeah. How do you know my name?” I ask as Prometheus circles around me. The little dragon is getting tired, dipping low and swooping high as it tries to muster up more energy.
“Everyone knows who you are.” The minotaur bows low to the ground, horns tipping down. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
This is so awkward. “It’s not a big deal.”
Harald tosses a glare over his shoulder. “It’s a big deal when he insulted you. The king’ll have his hide, but I’m willing to take his horns if you want them.”
“Oh, that’s not really necessary, is it? He was only trying to do his job and…” I try to think of something to keep the trull calm. “His horns aren’t exactly nice. Orcus’ tusks are pure ivory, beautiful and smooth. His horns are a little too rough and a little too yellow. Besides, I’m tired from all the walking. Maybe we can find ourselves some rooms and you can settle in for a nice bath?”
The minotaur makes an undistinguishable sound—maybe offended that I insulted his horns—and the trull considers me with a long, squinted look. “Ya’d offer me a room?”
“Of course,” I say, then quickly add, “so long as the king is okay with it, but you’re my travel companion. I don’t really see how he can say no.”
Harald’s face softens and his eyes water. “Companion?”
Do trulls not make friends? I guess it might be a little hard to befriend other monsters if you’re always threatening to skin them or gouge their eyeballs out.
“Yes,” I say with gusto. “As long as you don’t threaten me, Prometheus, or Orcus, I think we can be friends.”
“You can’t be friends with a tru—” the minotaur’s words are cut off by a miniature dagger embedded in his tongue.
I gasp. Harald pulled it out and threw it before I could even comprehend what was happening. His gaze is still on me and he places his hand over his heart. “Daisy, I mean, Princess, I pledge myself to you as the Fifth Trull of the Mullen line.” He palms another tiny dagger and slashes it across my forearm, carving a small T into my skin.
“Ow!”
“It’ll pass.” Harald returns the dagger to its rightful place before plopping down to sit on my arm next to the little mark he made.
“Give a woman a little warning next time,” I grumble at the vicious little monster before smiling up at the petrified minotaur with a knife still stuck in his tongue. He doesn’t seem willing to move. With a heavy sigh, I step forward. “May I?” I gesture toward his mouth and he nods.
The dagger may be little, but a gush of blood fills the minotaur’s mouth as I carefully extract it from his tongue. He reels back from me like I was the one who stabbed him and swallows the blood, keeping his attention on Harald.
“Is Orcus here?” I ask.
“He’s”—the minotaur winces in pain but continues—“in the. Infirmary.”
