Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

He grabbed the pommel of the leather saddle and swung himself up onto Ruin’s back, settling Seraphina comfortably in front of him, right on the horn of the saddle.

He wrapped his heavy cape around her to shield her from the wind, securing her with one massive, armored arm.

”You will sit still,” Kaelus warned, taking the reins. ”If you fall, I will not catch you.”

”Liar!” Seraphina muttered under her breath, getting comfortable against his chest and reaching into a small pouch Gallahan had desperately handed her, pulling out a perfectly chilled strawberry.

Kaelus ignored the accurate accusation.

He looked over his convoy.

The carriage was loaded with enough supplies to survive a siege.

The Count’s treasury was secured.

The ghosts were gone.

”Vanguard!” Kaelus’s voice boomed, scattering the last of the birds from the courtyard. ”Formation! We ride for the next territory! And if the pace is too rough, the man who set it will be walking the rest of the way!”

”Yes, Your Grace!”

With a thunderous clatter of hooves, the Black Bastion rode out of the ruined estate.

At the head of the terrifying, blood-soaked procession rode the Reaper of the North atop a demonic warbeast, looking every inch the villain of a dark fairy tale.

But hidden securely beneath his midnight cape, happily munching on a strawberry, the little shrimp who had stolen the monster’s heart watched the bright, sunlit road ahead, ready to conquer the Capital one ghost at a time.

***

The Imperial Highway, stretching between the fallen Count Rodhe’s territory and the fertile plains of the next province, was normally a grueling gauntlet.

For the elite knights of the Black Bastion, a journey of this distance was a mathematical equation of endurance, calculated in sweat, worn horseshoes, and the rhythmic, bone-rattling thud of a forced march.

Under normal circumstances, Duke Kaelus von Nacht would have pushed his vanguard to cover the distance in three, perhaps four days.

They would ride from the moment the sun crested the horizon until the moon was high, sleeping in their armor and eating dried rations in the saddle.

They were like the Reaper’s scythe; they moved with terrifying, lethal efficiency.

But this week, the scythe had been wrapped in several layers of imported cashmere, and the terrifying Vanguard had been reduced to the speed of a leisurely, overprotective parade.

The journey would now take seven days.

The primary reason for this drastic tactical shift was currently sitting on the velvet floor of the mythril-reinforced carriage, humming a tuneless melody and folding a highly classified espionage report into the shape of a fat, lopsided duck.

”Papa Duke,” Seraphina chirped, holding the paper duck up by its crinkled tail. ”This one looks like Sir Lucas when he’s trying not to sneeze...!”

Across from her, Kaelus von Nacht did not look up from the topographical map he was annotating.

The carriage, usually a silent tomb of military planning, had been transformed into a nursery of discarded state secrets.

The floor was littered with paper frogs, paper boats, and several abstract shapes that Seraphina claimed were dragons but looked suspiciously like crumpled balls of frustration.

”That document contained the patrol routes of the Eastern border guard,” Kaelus noted smoothly, dipping his quill into a silver inkwell.

He still didn’t look at her. ”And Sir Lucas does not sneeze. He merely expels his weakness from his nasal cavity.”

”Well, the Eastern border guards are now a duck,” Seraphina declared, placing the paper fowl on the empty seat next to him.

She smoothed out her soft blue dress and crawled over to the small stack of papers Kaelus had pushed to the edge of his desk. ”Can I have this one?”

Kaelus finally glanced over.

His violet eyes landed on the parchment she was pointing at.

It bore the heavy red wax seal of the Imperial Treasury.

It was a formal summons, subtly demanding an explanation for the sudden liquidation of Count Rodhe’s assets.

It was the kind of letter that made lesser nobles write their wills and flee the country.

”Yes,” Kaelus said softly. ”That one is entirely unimportant. Fold it as you wish.”

Seraphina beamed, grabbing the terrifying Imperial summons and immediately creasing it down the middle. ”I’m going to make a boat. A really big boat with cannons!”

Kaelus watched her for a fraction of a second before returning to his map.

To anyone else, the Archduke’s leniency would have been incomprehensible.

He was a man who executed clerks for spilling ink on ledgers.

Yet here he sat, allowing a six-year-old to turn his diplomatic correspondence into a makeshift naval fleet.

But Kaelus had quickly realized something profound about his new daughter: she required constant mental stimulation to keep the fear at bay.

When her hands were busy, and her mind was focused on the intricate folds of the paper, her Spirit Sight seemed to dull.

She didn’t look out the windows at the dark woods, where the restless spirits of bandits and lost travelers lingered.

She didn’t clutch his cape in terror.

She just sat in the warm, quiet safety of his localized aura and babbled about ducks.

If exchanging a few arrogant letters from the Emperor for the child’s peace of mind was the price, Kaelus considered it a spectacular bargain.

Suddenly, a soft knock-knock echoed from the heavy wooden door of the carriage.

”Your Grace,” came the muffled, slightly strained voice of Sir Gallahan. ”We have reached the midpoint of the day’s travel. There is a clearing ahead with a fresh stream. The horses require water, and... the Lady Seraphina has been sitting for three hours.”

Kaelus looked out the window.

The sun was indeed at its zenith, casting dappled, golden light through the dense canopy of the forest.

The carriage had been enchanted by the Bastion’s finest mages to absorb every rock and rut on the road so the child wouldn’t get motion sickness, but even so, Kaelus knew the confines of the cabin were stifling for her boundless energy.