Echizen Ryoma, Prince of the kingdom of Ensinkil, nervously looked out of the car window at the storm raging around him.
They were driving along a mountain road, surrounded by tall, ominous trees that were being bent by the wind. Ryoma shivered and leaned forward to talk to the driver.
“Can you turn the heating up?” He said. The driver ignored him, so Ryoma tried again.
“I said, turn the heating up,” he commanded, wondering if the driver could hear him over the sound of the rain pelting against the roof of the car.
Karupin looked up at him from his lap, where he was curled so that he looked like a big ball of fluff with a face and mewled at him.
Ryoma huffed and sat back in his seat, wishing they could go quicker so he could get out of this damn car.
They’d been going since the early hours of the morning and now-Ryoma glanced at the clock- it was past 10PM.
He’d slept through a lot of the journey, but now he could sleep no longer and it looked like they’d be driving through the night to the country of Taranis.
If he’d had his way, he would have flown across, but the government had confiscated the royal jet, sentencing him to this never ending car journey.
He was sure it wasn’t safe to make his driver drive for so long without a break,
but he knew that neither the government nor his subjects would grieve for long if his life ended in a wrecked car in the middle of nowhere.
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