Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER TWO
Winter
THE COMMAND MADE of me by the Chosen still rankles as I make my way along frigid corridors to the courtyard.
Since the keystone was stolen many centuries ago, a rotation of Blood has always been tasked to maintain its whereabouts.
Until an orc patrol ended the life of both the Blood and his warrior party. One lone survivor escaped to tell the tale.
Now I, as a Blood with the strongest keystone awareness, am tasked to relocate it. A far from simple task, given artifacts other than the true keystone can generate a similar pull.
Once close enough to verify, I will marker the location, call a portal, and return. Then it will be someone else’s problem to maintain the keystone’s location. Our actions in this make no sense to me. There are rumors of a prophecy or change or some mysterious happening that must occur before we have hope to defeat the orcs.
I am not superstitious, nor do I give credence to the ramblings of madmen, for that is where all prophecies begin.
But I am neither Chosen nor king, and my opinion is not sought.
Gone is my pretty gown. Instead, I wear form-fitting functional leathers, while my hair is braided into a single long plait. I do not wish to go on this quest. There are many better equipped for such an endeavor, yet it is me who is going.
Rain saturated grey skies greet me as I emerge into the courtyard where the horses are stabled. He is waiting for me, Jacob, the warrior my life is entrusted to on Cecil’s recommendation.
It has been many years since I ventured outside of Sanctum, half a century or more. The last warrior I paired with died a decade ago. Jacob is a young warrior, and although this causes me some doubts, Cecil assured me he is the best available. Well integrated with the binding and even in temperament, were Cecil’s words.
I see none of this as I look at the colossal Alpha readying his horse. Nor did I see this yesterday when he boldly held my gaze. The binding only goes so far, and temperament can be faked.
Still, he does possess a particularly broad-shouldered, brawny physique that puts other warriors to shame. As long as he has some brains to go with it, we will assuredly be safe from any foe.
“Mistress,” he says, giving his head the briefest bow and barely meeting basic decorum.
“Jacob,” I reply.
He has two horses waiting, laden for the journey. The larger black bay gelding is for him and a smaller liver dun for me.
As I near, he gives me an appraising look, and his expression turns pained.
“Omega,” he says. It is a statement, not a question, for clearly, I am an Omega. His frown is disapproving. “You should not have weapons.”
“I fail to see what my status as Omega has to do with my carrying a weapon,” I say. My tone is a little frosty. I am not used to being questioned by anyone beneath the king.
He grunts noncommittally.
“Oh!”
My shock at being grasped around the waist and deposited on my horse is short-lived, for I am already in place. With slick speed, I am relieved of my small dagger and the reins placed into my nerveless hands.
The boldness of the young man daring to put his hands upon me renders me speechless. By the time I revive my wits from their paralysis, he is mounted and heading toward the mighty iron gates. The place where his hands gripped my waist aches like they are still there.
When was the last time someone touched me? I can’t remember… Many decades have passed, and I lose track of such details. It has been long enough for the lingering touch to unsettle me, such that I start riding without giving voice to my complaint.
We have a long way to go. The weather is grim at this time of year, and the quest holds much danger. Coming to conflict with the warrior who now holds all the weapons would be a poor idea.
Yet my abstinence from criticism surprises me. Perhaps time has mellowed me? Then again, perhaps not.
There are two sets of gates leading from the courtyard. One leads north toward the Beldair Forest, which surrounds Sanctum. The others lead south to the portal chamber.
We turn south. The huge iron gates grind and screech as they are drawn apart, giving access for our horses to pass through.
