Chapter 2: Headless Horseman

The sun was long gone by the time Orpheia crossed her childhood home’s threshold for the final time. The sky was overcast with a heavy gloom, reflecting the pitiful and morbid expressions of her people. They gathered in the streets to watch their fearless sacrifice walk alongside her father, much like a bride being escorted down the aisle, to face her new fate. The two of them wore all-black; the finest clothes their wardrobes had to offer. Black was the color of celebration to the Umbranians. Of course, there was little to celebrate on that All Hallows Eve. Samhain elected for Orpheia to wear red, but she refused, for she knew that black was the color of mourning in Terrsolis. She intended to make a statement.

Orpheia wore a long, elegant gown that hugged her petite frame, made of rare leather taken from the wild night mares. Hunting such glorious beasts was highly frowned upon, so when a mare would lay its head to rest through natural causes, the Umbranians made sure to use every part of its remains. Their skin was used to create a type of leather so tough that it was often utilized as lightweight armor, yet it felt buttery soft. This made it a suitable material for a dress Orpheia would be forced to wear for days during her escort back to the kingdom of Terrsolis. The gown cut low against her chest, allowing her pale breasts to spill out of its tightened bodice and revealed a pendant she had prepared for the journey; a charm made from a rabbit’s foot, dandelion fur, and her father’s loving tears. Though Orpheia’s people could not bask in the beauty of her ensemble, as Orpheia had covered herself from head-to-toe in thick black lace that trailed so far behind her it almost appeared as a river of silken flowers and dainty needlework. Lord Samhain made a great effort not to step on the lace’s trim, not wishing for it to rip against the crown of black roses that adorned Orpheia’s head. She had requested that the roses’ thorns not be removed. With each step forward, Orpheia could feel the gentle pricks digging deeper into her scalp. Pain was a comfort to her during times of great trials. And it offered a trivial distraction from her racing heart as she neared the city’s gates.

Standing in a great mass of armored bodies was the fearful army of Terrsolis, positioned up on the crest of a large hill that overlooked the city. Every man in the crowd wielded weapons of various heft and sharpness, as if they were specifically chosen for their respective soldier’s strengths to ensure their battles would be historically bloody. Each soldier stood perfectly still with their backs erect and their eyes alert as Orpheia and her father faced them from below.

“You cannot follow me from here,” Orpheia whispered from beneath her veil.

Lord Samhain’s grip tightened around his daughter’s leather-gloved hand. He knew that he would be struck down if he attempted to leave the city, as per the rules stated in Meyrick’s letter. But this did not stop him from taking two steps past the gate, pulling his daughter back toward him.

“We can still run,” Samhain said.

Orpheia pursed her black lips together, forcing herself not to cry in front of her father. His plans to flee were foolish, but stemmed from a place of love. “Take care of our people from here. I will do what I can from the throne.”

“He won’t allow you power on the throne,” Lord Samhain spat out. “He’s just like his uncle.”

“Then I will do what I can from his bedchamber. But mark my words; I will not let our people be slaughtered any longer. That is a promise to you, Father.”

Lord Samhain paused as he gazed upon his daughter one last time. Though her body was completely covered, he could easily see her face beneath the veil. She had features nearly identical to her mother’s; the same soft cupid’s bow lips, the same sharp cheekbones, and the same wide, curious eyes. That was what made it so hard when he had to dress her in her mother’s wedding veil.

“Kiss me one final time, my ghostly girl,” Lord Samhain said. His voice trembled when he spoke, choking back tears.

Orpheia sprang forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her father’s neck, wishing for her skeleton to suddenly become rigid and refuse to let go. Through her lace, she planted a heavy kiss on her father’s cheek, then stepped away before he could feel her tears soaking through the fabric. They exchanged their goodbyes, declaring their love loud enough so that even the monsters of the Terrsolis army would hear.

Orpheia mustered together all the strength she had within, drawing power from her ancestors as she slowly began to ascend the hill. As she studied the faces of the men who would likely flay her if given the chance, Orpheia was quick to realize that there was one man missing from the fight; arguably the most important one of all. Her betrothed.

“Where is your king?” Orpheia asked. Anxiety stalled her footsteps before she could reach the edge of the army. She found herself ready to pivot on her heels should things turn dark at a moment’s notice.

A man on horseback stepped through the crowd. He rode on the back of a grand night mare, one that was likely stolen from its mother as a colt and painted white to match the horses native to the Terrsolis’ plains. Its breed was larger than any other steed alive, towering over everyone and everything in its path; and yet the man who rode its back was hardly small by comparison. His bulky silver armor misshapened him, enlarging his silhouette in such a way that Orpheia was unsure where the fellow was peering out at her from. In fact, it looked as if he didn’t even have a head. Such a peculiarity sent Orpheia inching away until the steed stepped forward and approached her from the crowd.