[BL] Rules Of Desire: His Majesty's Secret-Chapter 48 - 46: Shadow on the Road

The morning mist clung stubbornly to the dirt path as Kaelith and his companions rode deeper into the forest trail that led to Khasidar.

The sky above was a dull gray, clouds hanging low as if watching their progress with heavy eyes. Trees arched high on either side of the road, their branches clawing toward the path like twisted fingers.

Elion and Lysaro rode ahead, occasionally scouting with narrowed eyes and ready blades. Kaelith and Hale followed just behind, with the remaining knights keeping to the flanks.

The silence of the morning was unsettling.

Even Elion, usually the first to crack a dry joke, had gone quiet.

Kaelith adjusted his cloak and glanced toward Hale, who rode with practiced ease but remained alert, his gaze flicking toward every shadow.

For hours, they pressed forward, hooves thudding against the soft ground, until Kaelith raised his hand for a brief halt near a shallow stream.

"We’ll refill water skins," he said. "Quickly. We move fast from here."

As the others dismounted and began collecting water, Lysaro suddenly froze mid-step.

"Something’s wrong," he muttered.

Elion’s hand went to his sword immediately. "I feel it too. Like... we’re being watched."

Kaelith’s gaze swept the treeline, eyes narrowing. A rustle from the bushes sent Hale’s hand to the dagger at his side.

Then it came.

A flash of movement.

Figures burst from the undergrowth bandits. Rough, desperate, and fast. Their faces were painted in ash and dirt, blades glinting as they lunged for the party.

"Protect the Prince!" Lysaro roared, sword drawn in a blink.

Steel clashed against steel. Elion was already in the fray, moving with fluid precision, his blade a silver blur.

Kaelith backed toward the horses, Hale beside him. A bandit charged straight for them. Hale stepped forward, parrying with his short blade, then ducked low and swept the man’s feet from under him.

Kaelith finished him with a swift, precise strike. "Stay close," he ordered.

The battle didn’t last long. Their training and superior weapons turned the tide swiftly. But the message was clear—they weren’t just dealing with spirits. Even the living had been driven to madness in this cursed path.

After they bound one unconscious attacker for questioning later, they mounted again, weary but unharmed.

"Second bandits, what next?" Elion muttered, wiping blood off his blade.

"Don’t jinx it," Lysaro snapped.

They pressed on. The forest seemed to close tighter around them the further they rode. The trees grew darker, the shadows deeper.

Then the cold came.

It wasn’t natural. One moment the air was humid and heavy. The next, it chilled their bones. Kaelith’s breath misted. Hale’s hand moved toward his sword again.

"Don’t move," Kaelith whispered.

Shapes moved ahead.

No footsteps. No sound. Just shapes. Floating, cloaked in black, eyes glowing faintly beneath hoods.

Spirits of Vale.

Hale’s hand gripped his blade, knuckles white.

Then a voice... no, not a voice, a thousand whispers all at once seeped through the air.

"Turn back... turn back..."

Kaelith resisted the chill creeping through his mind. "Keep riding. Don’t stop."

Elion muttered prayers under his breath, something old and half-forgotten.

As they rode slowly through the spectral procession, the spirits simply... watched.

Their eyes, hollow and knowing, followed every rider.

No attack came.

Only dread.

Only after they passed the final spirit did the air warm again. Kaelith didn’t speak. Neither did the others. Only Hale whispered under his breath, "They wanted us to see them."

As dusk approached, the forest thinned, and finally, the mountains of Khasidar loomed ahead. Jagged peaks pierced the horizon, and nestled in the valley was the temple city ancient, forgotten by most.

The road turned to stone, carved by hands long dead. Torches flickered along the path as if lit by unseen hands.

"We’re close," Kaelith said. "Keep moving."

Finally, just as the sun dipped behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of violet and flame, they reached the gates of Khasidar.

Silent monks in red and gold robes stood waiting, their eyes solemn, their presence unsettling.

"Welcome, travelers," one said. "The Priestess has been expecting you."

Kaelith dismounted. He looked back at his weary companions. They were tired, covered in sweat and dust and memory.

But they were alive.

"We made it," he said quietly.

For now.

The gates of Khasidar closed behind them with a slow, grinding groan, sealing out the cursed whispers and fog that still lingered just beyond the forest line.

The group stood in silence, surrounded by the tall, jagged stone of a city that looked as if it had been carved from the mountain itself.

Cold winds swept through the empty streets, stirring ash and dust that had long settled.

"This place..." Hale whispered, his voice barely audible, "it feels like it’s been waiting for us."

Elion adjusted his blade, eyes scanning the looming towers and abandoned archways. "Or waiting for something else," he muttered. "Something worse."

Khasidar was ancient a city once vibrant with life, now hushed and hollow. Dark ivy clung to broken pillars. Statues of forgotten gods stared down with cracked faces and hollow eyes. The air felt heavier here, dense with centuries of secrets.

Kaelith took the lead once again. "Let’s find the temple of the Priestess. She’s the only one who might have the answers we need."

As they moved through the streets, the horses’ hooves echoed too loudly, like intrusions in a place that wanted no visitors.

Shadows shifted at the edges of their vision. Shapes that disappeared when looked at directly. Whispers remained not as loud as before, but constant.

They turned a corner and found themselves before a grand staircase that led to a tiered temple carved into the mountain’s side.

Runes flared briefly as Kaelith approached, casting a faint silver glow across his armor.

The horses refused to go any further, stomping and snorting as if some invisible wall barred their path.

"We walk from here," Kaelith said, already dismounting.

As they ascended, Hale moved beside him again. "What if the Priestess doesn’t help us?"

Kaelith didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was fixed forward, his jaw tight. "Then we’ll make her."

Lysaro snorted behind them. "You’re going to threaten a holy woman?"

"If she has the answers to break this curse," Kaelith replied coldly, "I’ll do what it takes."

At the top of the stairs stood a set of ornate wooden doors, carved with spirals of flame, water, and shadow. Kaelith reached out, placing his hand flat against the center. It was warm, pulsing as though the door had a heartbeat of its own. With a loud creak, it opened inward.

The interior of the temple was bathed in soft violet light from floating crystals that orbited high above. Candles burned in long rows, untouched by wind or time. At the far end stood a woman in robes the color of ink and moonlight, her silver hair trailing behind her like a veil.

"You’ve come," she said, not turning to face them. "The storm approaches."

Kaelith stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "You know why we’re here?"

She finally turned, and her eyes glowing pale violet met his.

"You seek to break the chains that bind your kingdom," she said. "But freedom always comes with a cost."

Behind Kaelith, the others stood silent, unsure whether to bow, speak, or simply watch.

The Priestess stepped down from the dais, her movements like flowing water. You bring with you desire, death, fear and love.

Dangerous companions in a place like this.

Kaelith tensed. "Can you help us or not?"

The Priestess stopped in front of him. "I can. But not tonight."

Elion let out an impatient sigh. "Oh, brilliant. Of course it’s never tonight."

Ignoring him, the Priestess gestured toward a side corridor. "Rest. Eat. Your presence stirs the energies here. You must recover. At dawn, the real journey begins."

Kaelith exchanged a glance with Hale, who gave a small nod.

"Very well," Kaelith said. "We’ll wait. But just until dawn."

As the group was led to their chambers, the doors of the temple closed behind them once more, not with resistance this time, but with the quiet finality of something old and knowing.

Whatever lay ahead, they were now part of something far greater... and far more dangerous.

The stone chamber they were led into had a long table, adorned with silver trays and goblets filled with dark wine. Plates of roasted meat, stewed vegetables, and unfamiliar fruits were spread across the polished surface. The smell was rich too rich, almost unnaturally inviting.

Kaelith narrowed his eyes as he approached the table. "We don’t know who prepared this," he said, slowly pulling out a chair. "It could be safe... or it could be something else."

Without waiting for the others, he reached for a spoon, intending to taste the stew before anyone else could touch it. But Elion’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist firmly.

"Don’t," Elion said flatly.

Kaelith looked up at him. "Why?"

"If anything happens here, if something is laced with poison or cursed or gods-forbid laced with whispers," Elion said with a hardened stare, "then it shouldn’t be you who suffers it. Not any of us. If we’re going to lose someone, let it be someone... replaceable."

Kaelith’s jaw clenched. "And who do you think is replaceable?"

Elion didn’t hesitate. "Your servant. Him."

The room went silent. Hale, standing beside Kaelith, didn’t flinch. But his hands tightened at his sides.

"Elion," Kaelith said lowly, his voice tight with restrained anger.

It’s challenging already...

What happened next...

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