The Road Between Kingdoms
749 Words
The road to Valenreach did not rush them.
It unfolded slowly, winding through open fields and gentle hills, passing villages that watched the procession with quiet curiosity before returning to their daily lives. The escort moved at a steady pace—alert but unhurried—giving the journey a rhythm that allowed the days to breathe.
Alice learned that rhythm quickly.
Mornings began with the soft sounds of preparation: horses snorting, leather straps being tightened, maps folded and unfolded again. By midday, conversation came more easily. And by evening, campfires brought everyone closer, shadows dancing against the trees.
On the sixth day, they stopped by a lake.
It lay just beyond the road, its surface calm and wide, reflecting the pale sky like glass. Reeds lined the edges, bending gently in the breeze. The escort halted there to rest, tents going up in practiced silence.
Alice wandered closer, drawn by the water.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, kneeling at the edge.
Alex joined her, sitting on a flat stone nearby. “We’re ahead of schedule. We can stay longer.”
She looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”
He shrugged. “The road will still be there tomorrow.”
That was all the permission she needed.
Alice slipped off her shoes and dipped her feet into the lake, gasping at the cold. “It’s freezing!”
Alex smirked. “You’re the one who wanted to see it.”
She splashed water toward him without warning.
“Hey—” He leaned back just in time, water soaking the front of his boots. “That was uncalled for.”
“You were smiling,” she accused. “That counts.”
He rolled up his sleeves. “You’re going to regret that.”
She didn’t.
They ended up ankle-deep in the water, laughing too loudly, splashing each other like children who had never been told to stop. Alice slipped once, catching herself on Alex’s arm, both of them laughing harder at the near fall.
Cold water soaked their clothes.
Behind them, a servant cleared her throat—loudly.
“My lady,” she began, hands on her hips. “My lord. You cannot possibly intend to—”
Alice splashed again.
Alex followed suit.
The servant sighed in visible despair. “I will have to dry those garments. Again. And prepare new ones. Again.”
Alice glanced at Alex, water dripping from her sleeves. He glanced back at her, equally soaked.
They both smiled.
“Sorry,” Alice said, not sounding sorry at all.
“Yes,” Alex added solemnly. “Terribly irresponsible.”
They climbed out of the lake eventually, dripping and shivering, escorted back to camp by a servant who muttered the entire way. Fresh clothes were pressed into their hands. Towels were demanded.
As they changed and settled near the fire, Alice leaned closer to Alex, lowering her voice. “Worth it.”
He nodded. “Completely.”
That night, the camp felt lighter.
They sat by the fire longer than usual, sharing stories that didn’t matter—memories of lessons they disliked, foods they missed, places they wanted to see without escorts or expectations.
Alice talked about her mother again, this time with a smile. Alex listened, elbows resting on his knees, eyes reflecting firelight.
On the following days, they walked together whenever they could.
Sometimes in silence.
Sometimes arguing about nothing.
Alice walked along the edges of the road, balancing on stones and fallen logs. Alex watched, occasionally offering a hand she pretended not to need.
“You’re going to fall,” he warned once.
“Not if I don’t,” she replied, promptly slipping.
He caught her easily.
She laughed, breathless. “See? I planned that.”
He shook his head, smiling. “You’re impossible.”
She beamed. “You keep walking with me.”
The nights grew cooler as they traveled farther north. On the ninth evening, rain forced them to shelter early beneath canvas awnings. The sound of water drummed steadily overhead.
Alice hugged her knees. “Do you ever wish you weren’t… this?” she asked quietly.
Alex didn’t ask what she meant.
“Yes,” he said.
She nodded, satisfied with the honesty.
By the time Valenreach’s borders approached, Alice felt lighter than she had in years.
The road had taken her fear.
It had softened her expectations.
And in its place, it had given her something fragile and rare—
Time.
And the quiet comfort of being seen.
- Writer
