I use the cover of night to my advantage and move swiftly, dodging sleepy guards until I reach the kingdom's royal stable. If I plan to cover any ground by sunrise, I will need a steed.

When I turn the corner, I am not so surprised to see a man dressed in the kingdom's colors- blue and yellow- standing out front with a sword at his belt and a lantern in his hand.

I crouch in the shadows of the building and those cast by the warm light, the dark cloak that I had tied on before I left shielding me from the guard's eyes.

My legs are just starting to fall asleep beneath me when he sits on a wooden barrel outside of the door, seeing that no one is  idiotic enough to steal from the king. After another half an hour, his eyes droop, then fall closed all together. It is never too long before night guards get bored and fall asleep, I see them do it all the time.

I silently slip past him to the man door, and quietly creep inside, shutting it softly behind me. Greeted by the familiar smell of the sea and clean hay, I find a lantern and fumble around in the darkness like a blind man until I find a flint to light it. I shield some of the light with my hand so anyone who may happen by do not see it through the few windows.

I close my eyes to listen more carefully before I start to find my mount, making sure that I am truly alone. Other than the soft snores of a stable boy in an empty stall, It is just me and the thirty purest blooded animals for several kingdoms.

The stable is grand; the stalls and hall way spotless of excess debris and wastes with beautiful, hand carved wooden rafters and horse boxes, made by the best carpenter money could buy. But that was when we had money to spend.

I look up, and am greeted by a dozen or so heads and several deceivingly warm calls. I pass by them all, not daring to reach and stroke any of them. They will not use they're siren's song on me- I know much better.  I do not make eye contact with any of the beasts and continue on until I get to a familiar stall. I click my tongue softly, not loud enough to wake the boy a few boxes away.

He's a brave one, that Navani. Most men are afraid to step foot inside of this stable, but he has a strange love for these animals and handles them well. He has no fear of sleeping near them, even when they are so dangerous.

A beautifully sculpted head pops out of the stall in front of me, and I smile, rubbing my thumb over the single white snip on the animal's nose. This one is not like the others- this one is mine.

Like me, my beast is invisible in the darkness, and if it wasn't for the dim light of the lantern in my grasp I would not be able to see him at all. Many fear him most of all the others for that reason: if he were to manage to get out of his specially built stall, no one but me would be able to find him again. He would be the perfect predator, and he doesn't stop when he is full.

These horses in this barn are not the usual kind. They are, in fact, beasts of the water and are much more dangerous and adept than regular ponies. They do look like them, save for their carnivorous nature, the black, fish-like eyes, the smell from their coats and the long, slim ears that have an inward curve at the tips. You won't know what they are until you see a flash of sharp teeth when they bite or drag you beneath the waters surface.

They are a species of fairy beasts that live in the seas of this region, known for devouring seamen and their crews. Mothers have told their children stories to scare them for centuries, keeping them from the shorelines of the coast. They are formally called Hippocampi, but my people call them Vann Hest, meaning Water Horse.

My great grandfather had taken an interest in them when a stranger found his way into our town perched atop one of them. It was unheard of to attempt to ride a Vann Hest, a ludicrous idea invented by a mad man. Why would anyone desire to mount a beast as dangerous and blood thirsty as these? Horses served as much safer and easier mode of transportation. The people didn't see why anyone should ride the Vann Hest, until they were shown just how fast they were on the land. In a short distance foot race against the regions greatest Thoroughbreds, the beast placed first a whole minute before the rest.  While this tamer of the Vann Hest was a guest in The King's halls, the man told the secrets of training them to an almost docile level. The King paid this man off and asked him to train the beasts, if he could capture them. He agreed to the well paying job, and our stock of fabled beasts began.

The Vann Hest are still quite deadly when handled wrong, so not every citizen of Nordic is permitted to ride them. Mostly nobility, but there is the occasional common-person who owns one. In order to ride a Vann Hest, it takes intense skill of the mind and body, and you have to be trusted. If your mount senses that it is stronger than you, it will always turn on it's rider: dragging you into the sea or tearing your throat out in your sleep. This is why specific training is needed in order to be a Rider. Not only do you require a strong, dominant personality, but you must also possess an impeccable mental strength. The Vann Hest and their Rider connect through a mental bond that is created through the acceptance of one another. The beasts are known for their cunning, siren-like charm, and they will often try to trick you. That is how entire ship crews drowned- no one forced them over board, they went willingly into the open jaws of a Vann Hest.

I would not take my mount if I wished my disappearance to remain a secret, but being a Princess, how could it not? Word of my leave will travel fast, and by day light the whole city will know what has happened. So in the end, it will not truly matter if I take my own beast or one of the others, because they would know that I had left. And besides, because he is mine, I would not be stealing if my father still chooses to banish me.

The Vann Hest shows me the whites of his eyes and bares his sharp teeth, snapping his jaws in my direction. His dilated nostrils blows hot, kelp scented air, untrusting of the unfamiliar boy in front of him. Instead of smelling soft and animal like, the beast instead smells of the sea, even after centuries of breeding.

I tilt my head so my hood falls away, and I look him right in the eyes, the dim firelight casting shadows upon us both.

It's only me. I whisper into his mind. He then bows his head in acknowledgment and presses his muzzle into me with welcoming. I back away, not giving him the opportunity to bite me, and reach down to grab his bridle from a hook at the front of the stall. The faint light glints off of a silver plate at the stall front, the name Lasreal inscribed in beautifully scrawled writing on its glinting face.

I slip the headstall over the Vann Hest's ears, then the bit cautiously into his mouth, quick to keep my fingers from his razor sharp teeth. Once I fit it correctly, I lead him out of his stall as quietly as I can, grateful for the dirt floor beneath our feet. Otherwise, the sound of diamond hard hooves would wake the sleeping stable hand from his straw bed.

I think about the stone walk out side of the door that I had slipped in through, as I slide a saddle onto Lasreal's back. That is also the door that I will have to ride out of.

I walk him to the bigger door that is made for the beasts to be taken in and out of, and open it quietly. I step into the stirrup and slide onto the black beast's back and pull the hood back over my face, taking a deep breath and trapping it in my lungs. There's no turning back now.

I kick Lasreal hard, and he explodes out of the doorway, almost immediately causing the guard to wake at the sharp clatter of hooves on stone. When he collects his barings, he shouts, most likely for me to stop, but I don't look back, less I have a change of mind. Instead, I press my heels into Lasreal's sides to keep him moving, urging him on with my body and mind.

He surges with power beneath me, happy to do as I ask and together we fly through the village, past sleepy looking houses and people. Men, woman and small children go to windows, some stepping out into the night to point and shout when their lights shine across the gleaming haunches of the Vann Hest.

"Who would be mad enough to attempt this!" I hear a woman cry to her husband, her two young boys clinging to her skirts with terrified expressions. "That be the Princess' beast!"

Two guards stand defensively as we near the front gate, awoken from their sleep, and have their swords drawn. "Halt!" One yells, and I give a smile, knowing very well that they will move out of the way of a water horse. They do not wish to die tonight.

Surely enough, they jump out of the way of Lasreal's thundering strides, but not before he lashes out and snatches some skin and cloth from the shoulder of one of the unlucky fellows. He lets out a scream, a womanly sound for a man I think, as we bolt passed.

We don't stop at the closed gate, but keep heading straight for it, and with a screaming whinny from Lasreal and with my consent, the heavy doors burst open. There is a sort of magic on the gates of Nordic that only certain people can work to their will, as I've seen done by my father before. These walls have known me as their Princess for many years, and have come to know my commands.

The call of a Vann Hest, can haunt the memory of any who are not a Rider. I feel sorry for the virgin ears tonight as Lasreal calls again in his excitement. The sound of a water beast is the sound of the devil himself, of the greatest predator to ever roam these lands. The noise is the sound of millions of screeching boars and the crashing of waves, all together like nothing you've ever heard before, and would pray to never hear again.

As we streak away from the lighting Kingdom, I hear the answering screams of several beasts from the stables, the howling screech of souls in hell calling for their leader to return to them. Lasreal flicks a curved, black ear behind to listen, and I feel his muscles quiver, tempted to turn back. I make quick work of his mind, soothing and urging him forward.

The real problem will be if we near the sea. Luckily, it is at least two kingdoms distance from here, on the beaches of Whales. Should the need arouse, I've the practiced hand of blocking the sirens call for the both of us, if I can sing it to him correctly. If not, then I will surely drown and Lasreal will be lost forever, savage and wild like his ancestors. With that needed encouragement, Lasreal switches his strides to full length and we disappear into the tree line, breaking away from the beaten down path that leads to the kingdoms walls.

There is a pursuit behind us, but we keep moving. I do not worry, because I know that Lasreal is by far the fastest steed in our stable, and we have a several minute head start on them. Even the finest tracker won't be able find two shadows in the dark. We keep our heads down, sticking to the darkness of the trees while the other idiots stick to the paths.

We keep at a solid gallop until sun up, far ahead of the search party, until we come to the next town.

Lasreal's pitch black coat is slick as ink from running, his saltwater sweat half stinging my eyes as much as his. He does as I ask nonetheless and walks through the town gate. He has the stamina to keep moving further, and he dances with the unused energy.

I swing off of him to walk beside his head, keeping him steady by the bit. When push my hood back, some people give a double take as if they thought they saw someone they knew, then realized that it truly wasn't that particular person, after all.

I've been here before as a Princess, but sparsely, so they wouldn't recognize me now, though they may recognize Lasreal. It is hard not to stare at a Vann Hest.

On my last visit here, I had heard of a street urchin who sold dirty weapons and goods, things that he had stolen or made himself. He sells them far overpriced, but I can afford it.

I walk around with Lasreal's reins tight in my grip, keeping his head close to me so he will not lash out at someone and get us both even more noticed. We walk until I spot a hunched figure that leans against the wall of an ally, people giving him dirty looks as they pass by him.

That's my guy.

I stride over to him, and the filthy man looks up, giving a brown toothed smile. "How can I help you, young man?" He asks, though he looks at Lasreal, not at me as he speaks. The glamor that I surrounded myself with is still in force, making my body and face more convincing as a boy. Though my height cannot be helped, unless I tell who I am, all anyone will see is a young man with a black Vann Hest.

"A bow." I say, dragging his eyes back to me. "I assume you have a decent one. Unless you are truly that cheap and the rumors I've heard of you are truth." I speak with the dignity of an important man, keeping my voice low and as deep as I can. The magic helps immensely with the pitch.

He gives me a look before he laughs shortly and harshly, and peels away from the wall, wagging a finger at me. "Ah, you're a funny one aren't you?" He cackles dryly. "Follow me. I have one you may fancy."

I follow him cautiously, knowing very well that this man cannot be trusted. Though the hair on my arms is rising, I know that this bow is vital to my survival, and would certainly make my life easier for hunting.

When we pass down several tight alleyways, he finally comes to a stop in front of a small, shabby shack. "You can tie your horse here. The weapons are inside."

I fold my arms. "I will wait for you here, old man. Return with the weapon and we will negotiate a price." I say firmly.

He gives me the stink eye and strokes his dirty beard, but nods. "Aye." He says, before slipping into the doorway.

I will not set myself up for something that could get me into a bad situation, which is exactly why I refused to leave Lasreal here for someone to try to steal, which is something that I could expect from the old man. Neither will I go with him into the shack, lest there be others waiting to jump and rob me. I may have been raised a lady, but I am quite familiar with the dirty tricks and compromised morals of others.

The man returns a few moments later with two bundles of cloth, and squats to set them down in the doorway of the shack. He has greasy grey hair and a wrinkled, dirty face with a pair of misty looking blue eyes, and wears peasant clothing. I know that he must make decent money in his cheating business, but he knows as well as I, that appearances are meant to deceive.

"These," he says, glancing both ways down the deserted alley before unwrapping the bundles. "We're handmade by a young man, like yourself, who sold them to me on his way through here. This one is clean, a relatively newer weapon in mint condition."

I closer inspect the weapon, only to find that he is speaking truthfully. I know he is going to throw this at me terribly overpriced: I can read it in his greedy expression. "I will pay no more than seven pieces of silver for it." I say, holding his gaze.

He narrows his eyes, wrapping the bow, quiver and arrows back up into the cloth. "Ten."

I raise my brow and and give a bored look. "Eight. No higher."

He turns his head to spit, then looks back at me, giving a once over. "Fine. Eight it is."

I take the coins out of the pouch in my trousers and hand them to him, taking the dirty cloth bundles in exchange. As I turn to leave, he looks me over and calls back out to me. "Big horse for a little boy."

Now it is my turn to laugh at him, trying to keep my voice low.  "Our deal is done." I say curtly, and turn my back, walking away. A bead of sweat drips down my shoulder blades as I stride away, feeling his eyes on me. I pray he did not distinguish how nervous that encounter made me.

I follow the twists that lead back out to the street, and think that the old man asked too many questions for my liking. But other than that, my disguise seems to be bought by the others. Good.

After I hastily purchase rations, I take the cloth that the bow had been wrapped in and use it to conceal chunks of bread, and secure it all into a satchel that I also bought to help hold things together nicely.

I strap the quiver of arrows to my back, and the slip the bow over my body before re-mounting and leaving the town from the back gate. No sooner do we step foot of the town than horn sounds, signifying that someone important has arrived. I don't look back as I kick Lasreal into a gallop, once again staying close to the trees and brush.