Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
The skeletal beasts draw back at his arrival, their bony hands frozen in nasty claws as they behold him with empty sockets. They do not move one bit, almost as if they have turned to stone. Charming does not stop for them. He rides through them as if they are nothing, turning bones to dust and mist beneath the great pawing hooves of the equine creature he is astride.
“And where the fucking hell have you been?”
“No time to explain,” Charming says. “Come with me.”
He reaches his hand out and I extend my hand back. He grips me down my forearm and hauls me back up and onto his unicorn mount. This time I do not fit as neatly as I did when I was wearing a gown. Now my armor creates distance between us, and clangs awkwardly with the gait of the unicorn.
5
“What is happening on this planet?” I shout the question in his ear to be heard over the din of hooves on stone. “Why are there two versions of it happening at the same time? It’s like one of those before and after sliders on Internet articles about disasters.”
He doesn’t know what I am talking about, and he does not immediately reply. Instead, we ride back to the castle, as we have done before. The village is once more silent and quiet, doors heavily bolted, windows boarded up. Not so much as a candle dares shed cheerful glow in any house. The animal people of the kingdom have gone to ground.
When we arrive at the castle, it too is changed. It is no longer a great pristine erection towering into the sky with beautiful, elegant spires. Instead it is a great, squat obsidian behemoth, an eyesore on the landscape. A great drawbridge has been extended down over a fetid green moat which fair roils with the scaled backs of crocodiles. We rush over this bridge, hooves echoing across the great stone-clad spaces, the sound of our flight returning to us.
We pass under a portcullis, a black iron grille which falls down behind us. Seems like it won’t be of much use against a dragon, but it is in keeping with the general theme.
Inside the courtyard, Charming and I dismount.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says.
Damn right he does. Very little of this world makes sense, and what does make sense concerns me a lot. I feel as though I am getting an instinctive grasp for what is going on here, but he still needs to provide an actual explanation. I turn to face him, my sword still in my hand. I have spent most of the ride trying not to accidentally poke the demonic steed with the pointy end of it. That creature is being led away by a stablehand, who now appears to be a mangy-looking Shetland pony walking upright, with human hands but the head of the aforementioned equine.
“Why am I wearing armor? Why do I have this sword?”
I show him the blade, and watch as his eyes widen, and then his expression falls.
“I had hoped it would not come to this,” he says with a deep sorrow. “That is the sword wielded by the…”
“Dragonslayer. Yes. I know. Can you tell me something I haven’t already worked out from context?”
He scowls at me. “I don’t appreciate the sass, princess.”
“I don’t appreciate the hell realm, your highness.”
King Charming is quite a formidable figure at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. He takes a step toward me and begins to loom in a serious sort of way.
“I owe you an explanation,” he repeats, his voice soft but gravelly. “But I will not tolerate your disrespect. You are still to be my bride, princess.”
“Am I? Or will dragons burst in out of nowhere every time we attempt to marry?” Perhaps I am more upset about that than I realize. I thought I would be enjoying my wedding night right now. I thought I would be in his arms, entirely naked. Instead, I am wearing more clothing than ever, and unless I goad him into ripping it from me, sex does not feel imminent.
“I am sorry the dragon returned,” he says. “That is my fault.”
“Is it? If it’s your fault, why do I have the sword?”
“Because you are the slayer, and you always have been.”
“That does not make sense.”
“There we agree,” he says. “I was certain that when I joined with a princess, the dragon would be slain. That’s how I understood the prophecies and tales. Now I am beginning to think I have suffered from a dangerous misapprehension.”
The castle no longer feels cheerful. The butler greets us at the door, Whiskerton. He is no longer an elegant, twitching, whiskered mouse. He is now a thick-barreled, red-eyed rat with great yellow incisors. His uniform is tattered and stained. He greets us with a hissing, sibilant greeting that lacks no deference.