Megan and her squire continued walking in silence as the sun continued its downward journey. Occasionally she would look down at her new hands, large and calloused with dirty, stubby nails, or she wold stroke and pull at the whiskers on her face. She really hoped they’d find a place with a mirror soon.
Eventually, the rolling countryside began giving way to farmlands and houses and barns started dotting the horizon. Soon enough the pair were walking down the cobbled streets of a bustling village.
The first thing Megan noticed was the smell. The stench of urine and body odor seemed to fill every walkway. Even so, Megan’s nose quickly grew accustomed and her concerns were pushed back by the commotion around her.
Merchants and peddlers called out wares and prices. People joked and laughed on street corners while others argued and fought. More than once women with tight corsets that pushed their breasts up to their chins approached Megan, asking her if there were any... special services she needed. All she could do in response was blush and hurry along.
Something else Megan noticed was that despite the throngs of people, horses, and carts, she and the boy had never once slowed down. Everyone made way for Megan, giving ample room for her to comfortably continue walking at a brisk pace. At school Megan always had to get out of people’s way to avoid being shoved aside. She was always last in line during lunch because people would just cut in front of her, and she never felt confident enough to say anything. Even at home she always got her brother’s and father’s scraps. Her mother was the only person who’d make room for her on the couch or save her a couple slices of pizza.
Megan felt a pang in her heart at the thought of her mother, of her family, and the thought that she might never see them again tied a knot in her throat.
“Halt!”
Megan jerked her head up and quickly rubbed the tears that’d begun pooling in her eyes away.
In front of her were two guards in armor not too different from her own. Except where hers was uniformly silver, theirs had a painted crest on their chests. They each held a sturdy looking spear which they intercrossed in front of an imposing wooden gate.
“His highness the King has requested Sir Herriot of Bennett’s presence,” the squire announced.
‘Herriot?’ Megan thought, ‘that’s such an ugly name. Oh my god, is that MY name?’
The guard on the left unfurled a scroll and quickly read through it.
“Open the gate!” the guard yelled.
Soon after Megan heard the clatter of chains and gears and the heavy wooden doors slowly swung open. The guard on the right took the horse’s reins from the squire, “We’ll have a stableboy take care of your steed, sire,” he told Megan, “you may enter now.”
Megan gave him an unintentionally gruff thanks and walked into the castle.
The interior wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She’d been imagining spacious white halls adorned with gold and glass, but instead she’d walked into a solid stone interior, lined with candle sconces and rich tapestries. Above them hung wooden chandeliers and servants scurried about tending to their chores. It was surprisingly cozy.
A portly man with a bushy beard and velvet coat approached then.
“Ah! Sir Harriot of Bennett! My, you made quite the speedy journey. Well, I suppose your village isn’t all that far. And I see you kept young Lord Philbert in your care. It’s a pleasure to see the two of you again. Now, if you’ll follow me, His Highness is holding court as we speak and has been expecting you all day.”
Words flowed out of the man’s mouth like water out of a fountain. And whenever he gesticulated, which was often, Megan could see several gold and jewel rings glittering in the candlelight. He kept talking as he led them down the grand corridor.
He must’ve been some sort of butler, Megan figured, but he was too luxuriously dressed to be part of the castle staff.
“Very well, gentlemen,” the man came to a stop in front of a pair of tall, intricately carved doors, “after you.”
He rapped one of the doors and shortly after they both swung open. Inside was a large hall, with a pair of thrones elevated on a stage at the very end. A small crowd was gathered on either side of the long carpet that led from the door up to the steps of the stage. And sat upon the thrones were a middle aged man with a finely trimmed beard and crows feet, he was wearing an elaborate crown and rich looking robes. Sat next to him was a woman who looked about the same age as him, her long, silver streaked blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. A tall white collar with gold detailing surrounded her head, atop which sat a crown similar to the king’s.
The portly man and Philibert bowed, and Megan quickly imitated them, not wanting to upset anyone.
“I’ve been expecting you, Sir Harriot!” the king gave a hearty chuckle. He seemed to be as good humored as his employee.
“I know you must be tired from your journey so I’ll be brisk and we can get you and your squire to your rooms.”
The king shifted in his throne.
“You’re my most experienced knight, Harriot, and I’m need of that expertise. You see...”