The King’s Possession
Marek is on his feet in less than a second, but the weapons that glint maliciously in their hands stops him short.
Rifles.
“Look what we have here. Fugitives," one of them says, the firelight dancing across his face menacingly. The two men wear the same uniforms I saw a glimpse of from earlier. Velvet in a royal blue colour, a red band wrapped around their waist. Those are colours I'm unfamiliar with. The ruling authority from where I'm from a women, who does little in interfere in our lives. And of course, the overruling King.
“We broke no law. We are nomads," Marek says uneasily, trying to remain calm, but the sight of their guns has clearly caught him off guard.
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