Chapter 6: Storyteller

"Why are you following me again?" Relia whined, weaving through the bustling crowd in a futile attempt to shake him off.

He shrugged nonchalantly, pointing at the small pony she had entirely forgotten about. "You left him behind."

Relia flushed with guilt and took the reins from his hand. "Thank you."

She was about to tell him off when, without warning, he placed a flower crown on her head.

"What's this for?" she asked, startled.

"You won at archery," he replied with a playful grin.

"That wasn't me; it was you," she argued, pulling the crown off. "Here, take it back."

He didn't argue, and she walked away with the pony in tow, making her way toward a circle where a storyteller held court. A group of blushing women surrounded the storyteller, hanging on her every word.

"The prince is strong, gentle, and kind," the storyteller said dramatically, "but he bears a terrible curse. At night, he transforms into a vampire!"

The women gasped in collective horror. "Oh, the poor prince!"

"The vampire is pale, cruel, and dangerous—a stark contrast to the prince's noble self," the storyteller continued.

"Does he ever break the curse?" one of the women asked eagerly.

The storyteller nodded, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "He meets a strong-willed princess, but this princess isn't taken with the idea of the prince. It's an uphill battle for him to win her over."

"But does he?"

"Do they kiss?"

"Does she fall for him?"

The women squealed in excitement, their questions tumbling over one another.

Relia blushed at their exuberance, finding it all a bit vulgar.

"You'll have to come back next week to find out," the storyteller teased, closing her book. The women groaned in disappointment but reluctantly dispersed.

Relia was about to leave as well when the storyteller suddenly addressed her. "You, dear, what a handsome husband you have."

"Husband?" Relia and the man blurted simultaneously, exchanging horrified glances.

"We don't know each other!" they said in unison again, both cringing at their strange synchronicity.

The storyteller chuckled softly, reaching into her bag and pulling out a thick, dark red leather book adorned with intricate gold markings. "Do you believe in destiny, child?"

Relia shook her head firmly. "No. I believe life is shaped by our choices, not myths like destiny or shooting stars. Fairy tales only feed us lies."

The storyteller smiled knowingly and extended the book toward her. "Take this. It's a gift."

Relia hesitated. "I don't need it."

"This book claims you as its owner," the storyteller insisted, pushing it into her hands.

Reluctantly, Relia accepted the book, glancing at it suspiciously.

"I don't like old witchy women," the man said darkly, his tone dripping with disdain.

The storyteller turned her sharp gaze on him. "How many years have you searched and still not found her?"

The man's jaw tightened, the visible side of his face darkening with tension.

"I'm sure you followed her because you believe she's the one," the storyteller said cryptically before turning back to Relia. "Take care, my child. Until we meet again." With that, she disappeared into the lively crowd.

"Well, that was weird," the man remarked, his voice laced with discomfort.

Relia's eyes lingered on the spot where the storyteller had vanished. Then she turned to him, her tone sharp. "Not as weird as you following me everywhere."

Before he could respond, the clock tower rang loudly, signaling the break of dawn. Panic surged through her.

Shoot!

Her sisters and family would be awake soon. If she wasn't back in time, there'd be trouble.

She hastily tried to mount the pony but struggled, her movements frantic. "Can you help me?" she asked him, desperation coloring her voice.

"Please, if I get caught, I'm doomed!"

He stepped forward without hesitation, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her with ease. His touch sent a strange tingle through her, but she ignored it, focusing on her escape.

As she settled on the pony, he raised an eyebrow. "Do you still need my help?"

"Yes, please," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment.

With a smooth motion, he mounted the pony behind her.

"At your service, my lady," he said, his voice tinged with amusement.