Young Writers Society

(830 words for the Last Man Standing contest. Don't even read this <.<)

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The new king wasn't there to bid the count of Drakefort farewell. He stayed inside, somewhere behind the closed curtains and cold walls, with his crown and the royals lining to ask for favours or offering advices.

Iluan sighed, looking away from the castle. In the few days since Erion was crowned, the siblings have barely seen each other. Iluan couldn't quite lie to himself and pretend he missed them - the way Erion looked at him, with the same contempt that used to mirror in their father's eyes, and the way the others kept glancing in his direction as if expecting him to kill them all in their sleep, wasn't something Iluan was particularly fond of.

He smirked as he thought back to the past few days, and the way his siblings' attitude towards him has changed. Ever since the burial, the family reunion felt more and more like a trial.

It appears time is the enemy of pretending.

He said nothing as he followed Devin down from the mountain. The statues stayed behind them; tall and majestic, resting in the tall grass, with their bodies of animals and creatures, waiting for Iluan's next visit.

Little do they know they might be waiting forever.

With his little brother - seemingly as absentminded as he was himself - by his side, Iluan turned the smirk on his face into a small smile, greeting the queen. He wasn't expecting her there, seeing him off like back in the times when he was younger and traveling on his adventures. He knew she didn't approve of his choice of fiancée. But then again, he couldn't help thinking, she's probably even less fond of father's bastard son parading the castle's corridors.

Iluan had to admit, he missed his oldest brother; out of all the Verylle siblings, Ethian was often the only one whom Iluan felt truly close to, and although he was happy for Ethian when he heard he'd keep his position during Erion's rule, Iluan wished his big brother was there to wish him safe journey home.

Home... There was a time when you used to call this palace so.

"Travel safely," the queen said, cutting through his thoughts almost as if reading his mind.

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I don't suppose you wish to be invited to the wedding?"

She stepped aside for the servant to open the carriage for Iluan. "Not any more than I suppose I can change your mind about it."

*

Alone once again, as the carriage softly rocked down the road, Iluan pulled the curtains over the windows, hiding himself from the eyes of the city, and closed his eyes. In less than two days, he would reach the port - and from there, after a debate with his crew which he knew he couldn't avoid, he'd sail to the Invisible Islands.

To Rile.

A smile crept onto his face at the thought of her. Just a few years ago, she was looking at him through the bars, awaiting her execution - now he could imagine her looking through the window of their room in Drakefort, in her thin dresses of pale colours which fell so gently in the contrast with her dark hair. Waiting for him to come home.

He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head slightly. It was strange to miss her so much - never before has he felt like that about any of his lovers.

She's about to become your wife. She's not any of your lovers.

He chuckled, remembering the way they met; the thin, silent girl in the outfit of the castle's maid, serving wine to the royal family, glancing in his direction under long eyelashes. She only grew slightly taller in the years to come - the long hair, tiny freckles and figure that could put to shame some of the most beautiful sculptures Iluan had ever seen, haven't changed one bit. Opening his eyes, he could almost see her sitting there, looking at him with a slight smile from across the carriage.

Perhaps she really is a mage, he allowed the thought cross his mind. A witch, like her most famous ancestress, allegedly skilled in magic of blood and demons.

The carriage stopped, dispersing his thoughts into tiny fragments of memories and hopes. If she was a witch, I'm suddenly fond of magic.

"Sir?" He turned to one of the guards Erion insisted on sending along with him. The man was somewhat familiar, someone Iluan had probably seen around the castle, but nothing on his squared, expressionless face was memorable enough for the count to know his name.

Even now, Iluan only really got one good look of him; his light brown eyes, and strong chin, and traces of what might have turned into a beard given enough time away from sharp objects. Then before either man got time to speak again, silently creeping closer like a ghost in broad daylight, silver mist touched the ground - and there was no more words powerful enough to make them not feel threatened.

The Labyrinth was coming.

*