This piece is inspired by this picture from the wiki commons.
He looked over his shoulder for the last time. The white-washed building had been home for ten years. It lacked earthly pleasures, but there was more peace inside it than any palace.
He might be back, but never as a monk. The king, perhaps. If he was lucky enough to survive his coronation.
He took a deep breath, looked ahead, straightened the gold tassels on his sleeves and squeezed his calves gently to move the horse forward.
His guard fell in around him, a glittering force in sable uniforms and crimson trim.
He sent up a silent prayer for survival.