mOnStEr - tHrEe
856 Words
Grey wakes up groggy and disoriented. His head hurts and body aches from sleeping on the ground all night. The dirt floor is not as comfortable as the bed of the ocean. It's something he should have expected, but didn't.
With a small groan he yawns and stretches, his bones protesting with a pop.
He ignores the aches and pains. Something he probably shouldn't have done because when he tries to stand he only manages to plop back down.
He can't help but hit his head against the trunk of a tree with a light thud. He peers at the sky, sun peeking through the horizon and slowly bathing the forest through the little cracks and crevices of the trees.
He stays there for a moment longer, enjoying the warmth that will soon become too much, too unbearable.
For now the cool of the night still clings to his skin.
Eventually he gets up again, slower.
He stretches once more just for good measure.
He wanders leisurely through the trees until he reaches the edge and finds his way back to the gates of the Kingdom of Fyre.
He bites his lip as he thinks of a way to bypass the guards. It's not like he can just waltz in. He's a little too obvious with pointed ears and gills that flutter nervously like a fish out of water. And the irony in that is not something he appreciates.
He sighs, his attention getting caught by the sound of wheels.
He looks up and he spots a cart full of silks and spices and stones and clothing.
Merchants, he thinks.
The group is stopped at the entrance as the cart of goods begins to be inspected. Grey takes this as his opportunity. He toes around the back before the guards make their way there. Stealthily he pulls out a pale blue scarf from the array and wraps it around his neck and head. He pulls it over just enough to cover at least half his face. He quickly slips to the front, just behind the merchants as they pass through the gate once inspection is over. No one bats an eye at him, no one questions who he is.
He can't help but feel giddy. He's fooled them and now he's one step closer to his destination. Of course, that is until the merchants realize they have a stowaway among them.
"Who the hell are you?" One sneers.
Grey pauses, cowering at the harsh tone of the leader of the group. He doesn't think twice before dropping the scarf, priding himself in the fact that he's not a thief, and making a run for it despite the shouts following his retreating form as he weaves through the crowd. He looks back though, and a laugh threatens to escape him that quickly dies in his throat when he realizes he's not really sure where he's going.
Soon he's blinded by panic, but he continues. He runs and runs until he's out of breath and his legs ache with the threat of giving out.
His focus redirects to the palace. He can see it just on the other side of town, big and intimidating. The heat radiating from it like waves making him shiver unpleasantly the closer he gets. Sweat pricks his skin and his gills begin to flutter with his discomfort.
Sooner than he thinks, he's there. In front, up and personal.
There are guards everywhere. Doing what guards do.
His lips purse.
What should he do now?
His eyes wander and he realizes he can sneak in... maybe...
Maybe he can just-
Grey grunts when he's suddenly tackled to the ground. He squints up, gills opening and closing erratically when he realizes he's been caught.
He forces them to close and stay closed before his attacker notices.
"You've been following us, why?" Someone says.
Grey looks up and finds his throat dry, tongue tied.
It's them. The royal.
Grey winces when he's poked, "State your name, intruder."
Grey's lips open but he's unable to make a sound. He can't help but just stare.
"Now."
The threat is clear and he squeaks a soft, "Grey!"
The royal tilts their head, long hair (longer than Grey remembers) falling like a cascade on their shoulder.
"And you?" Grey wonders breathlessly.
"Me?"
"Your name," Grey nods.
They both turn at the sounds of shouting.
"Princes Allison!"
The royal grimaces as she let's up.
Grey shakes his head, no that's not right.
"Your name?" Grey repeats.
"Didn't you hear? Are you deaf?"
"That's not your name though. Trust me," Grey frowns, "I know."
"You don't know anything," the royal sneers again, face contorting unpleasantly.
But Grey's smile is sad, "I know."
And he slowly takes off the netted shirt that does nothing to hide his skin. But without it there, the scars are visible.
"I know," he repeats.
The royal looks at Grey with a small frown, but they don't stop from reaching out and touching.
Grey shivers. He had expected warmth, overbearing heat, not the cool touch of fingertips on his skin.
"Albion," the Royal mumbles, "My name is Albion."
- Writer
