Gwen wasn't religious, but on this faithful day, she considered praying for her life. Gerald rode like the devil himself was chasing them. He rode furiously, relentlessly, with absolutely no regard for the injured woman clinging to him on the horse.
"Slow down!" Gwen yelled over the wind. "I'm not made of stone, you know."
Silence.
"I swear, if I survive this, I'm never riding with you again!" Gwen shouted against the wind, gripping his shirt as tightly as her aching fingers would allow. "I am practically halfway to death!" she snapped. If he heard her, he didn't show it.
By the time they finally stopped beneath a clump of trees for a break, Gwen's entire body was screaming. Her legs wobbled when he helped her off the horse—more like dragged, really. She hit the ground with a groan, eyes narrowing when Gerald tossed a piece of dry bread and a flask of water in her direction without saying a single word.
"How generous," she muttered, staring at the not-so-appetising meal.
He sat across from her, biting into his bread like it had personally offended him. The silence between them stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Gwen stared at him. Gerald stared into space, his jaw tense, lips moving as though he was talking to himself.
She watched him for a moment, the silence stretching too long. Then, in a poor attempt at small talk, she asked, "So, what's it like? Living in the Almor palace?"
Gerald didn't answer at first. He chewed slowly, eyes still locked on something only he could see. Gwen was just about to roll her eyes and give up when he finally said, voice low and flat, "Most unpleasant and dangerous place on earth."
Gwen paused mid-bite. That was not what she had expected. "Dangerous?" she repeated. "How? Is it cursed? Haunted? Full of traps? Secret assassins? Does the floor open up and swallow people?"
"Yes," He said without blinking.
Gwen stared. "You're joking." He shrugged.
She scoffed. "Do you ever speak in full sentences, or were you born this annoying?"
"I talk when there's something worth saying."
She stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "You're impossible."
"And you talk too much," he added flatly.
Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me? I was only trying to initiate a friendly talk."
Silence.
He earned himself a string of curses under her breath. He either didn't hear them or pretended not to.
When they finished eating, Gerald stood and offered a hand to help her up. She was about to slap it away, but thought better of it. Pride wasn't going to carry her back onto that beast of a horse. He hoisted her a bit too roughly, and she winced.
He paused, his eyes flickering to her face. "Sorry."
She blinked. "Did… did you just apologise?" She looked at him, surprised. That was the first real human thing he'd said all day, if she must say.
"I'm capable." He replied flatly.
"Could've fooled me." A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
As they continued riding, Gwen's body ached more, but the exhaustion weighed heavier than the pain. At some point, she wasn't sure when her cheek found the back of Gerald's back. She was too tired to care, and surprisingly, he didn't push her away as she had half expected. In fact, his arm subtly shifted, steadying her or she must have been imagining things.
And for the first time since they set off, she felt the tiniest shred of comfort. Maybe it was the rhythm of the horse, or the growing darkness around them, or maybe it was just that she was too tired to argue anymore.
Gerald finally slowed the horse, showing a rare flicker of mercy. Gwen let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding. Her bones felt shaken, her muscles stiff, and every part of her ached from the relentless pace he had kept.
By the time the gates of Almor came into view, the sun had dipped low, casting a warm, amber glow over the land. The city looked softer in the fading light, almost peaceful, as if it had not just taken her half to death to reach it.
The palace rose in the distance, grand and graceful, its pale stone walls catching what little light was left. It was beautiful, in that overwhelming, too-big-to-breathe kind of way. As they drew closer, Gwen spotted a small group waiting near the entrance. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the faces.
There stood an older man with a crown—King Armstrong, she assumed. His expression stiff as stone—ah, like father, like son, makes sense. Beside him was a tall, sharply dressed man with a charming smile and eyes that crinkled at the edges—Princess Phoebe's brother, Prince Malcolm, the one who had announced her the winner on the day of the competition.
And to the far right stood a woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere else but still managed to keep her chin raised—Princess Phoebe, with her eyes shamelessly glued to Gerald.
Gwen didn't need introductions to know who they were. It was definitely going to be a long evening, she told herself.
Gerald dismounted with ease and reached out to help her down. This time, his touch was careful, his eyes flicking briefly to her bandaged leg. She landed on the ground with a soft grunt, gripping his arm a second longer than necessary. Not that he said anything about it.
They approached the group together. Gwen hung back half a step, unsure of the protocol.
The king gave Gerald a curt nod and an even shorter greeting. "Welcome back." There was no warmth there. No fatherly embrace or proud smile. Just a cold acknowledgement. His eyes flickered to Gwen, and he gave an even stiffer nod. Without sparing them another glance, he turned and went inside.
"Well, that wasn't awkward at all," Gwen whispered to herself.
Prince Malcolm stepped forward with a cheerful grin. "Princess Gwendolyn, nice to meet you again. Hopefully, you still remember this handsome face." He looked at her expectantly.
Gwen grinned. "Finally, someone with a sense of humour!" Gwen said in a hushed voice loud enough for the little crowd to hear. Flashing him a lazy smile, she said, "Yes, I do remember you."
"You've had quite the journey, haven't you?" Malcolm's eyes flickered to Gerald accusingly. Before she could answer, he pointed to her leg. "That looks painful. What happened? Did Gerald do this to you?"
"Ha, he has done worse," Gwen said half jokingly, eyes flickering to Gerald, whose eyes narrowed slightly, and that was about the only reply she got from the infuriating son of the devil.
Malcolm threw his head back and laughed, "Oh, I love you already. If you don't mind…" He stretched his arms towards her with hope of relieving her from Gerald's claws—she gladly jumped at the offer.
Phoebe cleared her throat and stepped forward. "Gerald,"
Gerald acknowledged her with a nod, "Phoebe."
"You are looking thin." She stated firmly.
"Thanks for the important observation, Phoebe," Gerald said, already turning away.
Phoebe looked Gwen over, then promptly dismissed her with a blink. "You didn't reply to my letters, why?" She asked, following Gerald.
"Because it wasn't necessary. I was only gone for a few days." Gerald replied, motioning for one of the servants to come forward. "Take her to her room." He jabbed a finger towards Gwen, "She needs a bath and dinner.
He turned to Malcom. "Come. We have things to discuss." And just like that, he walked away. One of the servants quickly rushed to Gwen's side, ready to offer assistance. Throwing Gwen an apologetic smile, Malcolm dashed after Gerald.
Phoebe lingered a moment longer, lips pressed together as though holding back something unkind. Gwen just smiled sweetly and gave her a little wave before limping towards the entrance with the help of the servant.
She had survived the ride. She was inside the palace. She had dinner and a bath waiting. Now, all she had to do was survive everything else.