RISSA
The first time I traveledacross Fifth Kingdom with the army, I was a captive.
The royal saddles were kept together like pigs in a pen, guarded day and night. Our tent was bursting with all of us in it, which isn’t a good mix at the best of times but certainly not when everyone is cold, stressed, and scared.
I thought one of the saddles was going to yank someone’s hair out or slap a few cheeks by the time we finally reached Ranhold. I had to constantly intervene between them, trying to manage short tempers and help to resolve issues so no one clawed anyone’s eyes out.
This time, the traveling experience is different. I’m not a captive, but a grudging guest instead, and I’m not sharing a tent with a dozen saddles—only Polly. But I’m still managing bouts of short tempers, and if anyone’s eyes are going to be clawed out, it will be mine.
It’s been weeks since we left Ranhold, and it’s so difficult to keep up with such a punishing pace. Even though Polly and I ride in a carriage all day, I’m exhausted by the time we make camp every night.
Though my exhaustion isn’t just due to the travel.
I glance over at where Polly is sitting hunched on her pallet bed, shivering over the coals where they burn in a cauldron in the middle of our tent. I give it ten minutes, and then she’ll be snapping at me that she’s having hot flashes again, and she’ll start pouring out sweat, demanding ice packs.
All this time, and she’s still going through withdrawals.
The first few days, she was in a rage. Screaming at me for taking her away from Ranhold, crying about the news of Midas being dead, threatening to leave and walk back on her own. It was only because her bursts of energy were very short-lived that I was always able to drag her back to the tent before she could get too far.
She hates me.
I hate that she hates me.
Yet I still take care of her, because she is the closest friend I’ve ever had. Or at least, perhaps the longest one.
Polly and I received our contracts to become King Midas’s royal saddles together. We started at the same time, probably accepted because we look so similar. Very quickly, we decided to become allies to help solidify our place in Highbell Castle. We made ourselves desirable as a pair, superior over the rest of the saddles in Midas’s stock. We played to each other’s strengths, we gossiped, we had each other’s backs. Our friendship was strong while we were in Highbell.
Until we weren’t.
It seems like as soon as we left, things began to change.
Maybe it changed that night on the Red Raids’ ship. MaybeIchanged that night on the Red Raids’ ship.
The thing about being a saddle is that it was a profession I chose. I chose to go into sex work because I was beautiful but had no highborn family or money to protect me. I’d already been accosted by men, so why not turn around something that made me feel powerless and use it to be powerful instead? By making it my career, I put sex undermycontrol.
And I was good at it.
Becoming a royal saddle is what so many workers in the brothels dream of. The contracts always pay very well, the clients are rich and powerful, and many saddles in that position can simply retire when the contract ends, sent away with a pouch of coin and that’s that.
The problem is, somewhere along the way, I didn’t want to do it anymore.
The seduction, the flirting, the makeup and hair and tight dresses. I got tired of having to smile and bat my eyes, to suck cock and spread my legs when I wasn’t in the mood.
I wanted something different. So I started to save up the money I made when nobles and visitors stopped by the castle. I started to work even harder to please, to be the favorite, so I could fill my hidden purse instead of spend it on frivolities.
When we left Highbell, I thought Ranhold would be a new start.
But then, the Red Raids happened.
Captain Fane happened.
Auren happened.
Every night, while I tend to Polly’s feverish fits, my mind replays the events from the moment we left Highbell all the way to the ballroom when I grabbed Polly and started to flee. I nearly didn’t make it out. We were stopped in the entry hall by some of the guards, but a woman with smooth umber skin wearing army leathers and the shapes of daggers shaved into her scalp spotted me, told me that Auren had mentioned me and that I needed to go to Fourth’s army. Then she somehow distracted the guards, and Polly and I were able to slip away.
It feels as if I owe Auren, when my last assurance was that she owed me. But now, I’m not sure if she’ll help me again. Or if she even can. Because apparently, she stole Midas’s magic in front ofeveryoneand killed him right there in that ballroom that I fled.
Men. Why is it that my life’s events always seem to revolve around the deaths of men? First was the death of my father, whose loss left me nothing but debts and vulnerability. Now Midas, marking the time for me to flee.
