Morgana and DystanMature

The conveyor glanced suspiciously over his spectacles at Victoria and Harold. “So let me get this straight. She isn't your wife, yet you openly share a child?” He asked in disgust.

Victoria tensed she didn't like the idea either. Their story was a long and drawn out one. They both knew the couldn't afford to trust anyone with the details.

“That's right,”Harold grumbled, before muttering something under his breath.

Victoria shot him a sidelong glance and then returned her attention back towards the conveyor. “We are plebeians. Marriage is not common amongst our ranks,” She lied compellingly.

The Conveyor shook his head. He hated the royals. Victoria knew selling themselves as Plebeians would buy over the man's sympathy.

The Conveyor shook his head. “Yes of course. Forgive me for being intrusive.”

Obligingly he took out his scroll and quill. Moments later he handed them each a notarized piece of parchment and stamped it with a seal. Victoria glanced upon the documents, approvingly, when she saw that they were each given false names. Morgana and Dystan. With those names came a false pretense that listed them as belonging to the society of achieved Warlocks. Hastily, they thanked the conveyor and went on their way.

They walked mainly in silence, well into the evening. They only spoke to each other when it was absolutely necessary. They had left their horses in the stable, after persuading a stable boy to look after them in their absence. The forest itself was a hard place to navigate on foot, let along on horseback. It was a roundabout way of entering the Nevelock. They were less likely to run into the Kings guards. Not to say that this was the more desirable of the two routes.

Victoria had heard gruesome tales about the creatures that lurked in the forest. Shadow beasts, they were called. In comparison; the shadow beasts made Grimley seem approachable. They were distorted deformations of animals. Horses with the canines of a wolf and wolves the size of horses and so on. If the stories were true these animals were alive only during the dark of night. Night- magick, could be a terrible thing.

Victoria chose to ignore the myths. She focused on one thing. Rowan. She glared at Harold's back. How could something so sweet come from something so vile? She wondered

When Victoria left to seek out Harold, she had expected he would still be in high rankings with the Kingdom of Torgus. If that were the case he would have been equip with an army, he would have been an asset to her. But this Harold was, pathetic, he was a beggar, with no pride and a sharp tongue. He was a liability now. Still there was one thing she needed from him before he could part ways and she knew he wouldn't hand it over willingly...

They set up camp a few miles into the deep forest. They were cloaked in the middle of the forest. They started a small fire in a small clearing between two trees. They cooked a dinner of rabbit meat over the fire. Harold, was handy in his hunting skills, but Victoria knew which fruits and berries were safe to eat and which ones were poisonous. She collected a couple handfuls for dinner. They were quiet and solemn as they ate. Afterward Harold set up a large canvas tent, with collected tree branches. They each took up refuge in opposite sides of the tent, as far away from one another as possible. Victoria peaked over at Harold. As predicted he was fast asleep. Her father's sword was on the side of him, grazing the canvas.

Quietly, Victoria crawled over to the slumbering man. Awkwardly she knelt over him, reaching for her father's sword. She let out a rushed breath when her fist closed around the hilt of the familiar broadsword. She glanced back at Harold, could she really go through with it? Could she kill her father's assassin, her daughter's father?

The End

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