You Make it to the Capital

Despite the captain’s warning, you make it to Ariavel unaccosted and in good time, arriving just before noon on the third day. The city is a spectacular sight to behold, looking like something plucked straight from a medieval textbook. Towering stone walls, at least two hundred feet high, loom above you, their imposing presence a testament to the city’s strength. Every so often, you catch the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the armor of guards patrolling the battlements.

As you approach the massive gates, a guard steps forward, her expression stern. “Where are your papers, sir?” she barks, startling you out of your reverie.

“I haven’t got them,” you answer lamely.

The guard stares at you blankly, her brow furrowing. “Where is your guardian?”

“My who?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“Are you daft?” she says with an exasperated sigh. “Your mother, your sister, your wife. The person with a cunt who takes care of you, for fuck’s sake.”

You glance around and realize that the only people traveling alone are women. Every man, regardless of age, is accompanied by a woman. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

“I’m traveling alone,” you admit, your voice tinged with unease.

The guard’s expression hardens. “Look, I don’t want to cause any trouble; I just need to make it to the university,” you say, trying to step past her. But she grabs your arm, her grip firm.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” she says with a resigned sigh. “By order of the Queen, I hereby remand you to the custody of the Queendom until a female relative of sufficient age claims you.”

“Am I being arrested?” Panic wells up inside you, visions of medieval dungeons and **** chambers flashing through your mind.

“In a sense,” the guard answers tersely, tightening her hold on your arm and ushering you into a small guardhouse. “Wait here until I can find someone to bring you in for processing.”

Sensing your rising panic, she softens her voice. “Look, you won’t be harmed. You’ll be given food and a warm cot until someone collects you. A handsome thing like you shouldn’t go unclaimed for long.” She flashes you a reassuring grin before returning to her post.

You sit in the guardhouse for several hours, the tension in your chest growing with each passing minute. Finally, a man and a woman, both dressed in white robes with small white caps, bustle into the room. The man shoots an accusatory look at the guardswoman.

“Did they touch you?” the man asks, his voice sharp as he carefully examines the still-healing gash on your forehead.

“No, I got that in a fall a few days back,” you tell him.

He nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns back to the guard. “I’ll take it from here,” he says brusquely. “Thank you for your service, Guard Captain.”

The guard inclines her head slightly, and the white-robed man and woman practically drag you into a waiting carriage. As you make your way through the city, the man tries to engage you in conversation, but your **** silences him. The three of you settle into an uneasy silence, the clatter of hooves against cobblestones the only sound.

It’s nearly nightfall by the time you reach a small, nondescript building near the center of town. The man helps you out of the carriage and gestures toward the structure. “This is St. Jonathan’s Sanctuary,” he explains. “You’ll be safe here. No woman, save a member of the Order of the Chaste, may enter these walls.” He nods at his silent companion, who smiles back warmly.

The building itself is as bare and unremarkable on the inside as it is on the outside. Battered furniture and moth-riddled wall hangings fill every corner. You pass a table where a trio of men chat amicably while diligently knitting what looks like a pair of stockings.

“It’s no palace, but you’ll be safe here until someone claims you,” the man says as he guides you into a small room with a lumpy-looking bed. “And if they don’t, well, you’re always welcome to stay.”

“You may use these quarters as your own,” he adds. “Breakfast is at six o’clock, so please do not be tardy.” With that, he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.