Fantasy Heir’s Augury [Closed]

[peritwinkle]

It was apparent within the look etched in the boy’s eyes that at least a part of him was smitten with her, truly, in a way one would be when seeing their parent’s eyes light up after a day of sadness. It was a feeling she could not contain within herself as she looked upon him as well, a pure young lad - now a man - whose own existence now could not be denied had derived from her own seed and roots.

A smile touched her lips again at his words, ever calculated but sweet, as if he were being careful not to hurt her feelings by denying her offer. A part of her had known he would not agree to it. There was too much loyalty residing within him for the man who had brought him up, and she could not blame him, for she had done the same with Roddrick; while he was not truly her son of her blue blood, she had brought him up like her own, loved him like her own. It had been both painful and fulfilling, but the former had been a much stronger feeling. After all, she had lost the only thing that had been hers from the very beginning.

“Of course you would not,” she shook her head then. “You have grown here. You likely only know these lands now. The Capital has not changed much, but perhaps your memories of it have.” A place and a moment were much sweeter in the presence of a loved one. He might not feel the same now, if he came South along with them. Not if Marietta was not there for him, and she would make sure she was not.

She was momentarily tempted to ask what the woman’s name was, but she knew that would be to no avail, since she would have likely hidden it from his ears to protect him. The Capital was large, and one as nameless as a handmaid would be impossible to find within the thousands that looked the same. Marietta’s features had never been particularly prominent, and nor would they ever be alongside other whores who could steal the attention away from any common beauty.

Amara lowered her head at his question, as though deepened in thought for a brief second, before turning her eyes back to him. “My home is my favourite place,” she said softly. “Safe, away from the dangers waiting to engulf me outside. Warm, embellished with gold and shrouding one in a false sense of hope and security...” It was a sweet dream, too sweet to wish to escape it. So long as Corban did not stain it, her days were peaceful in Illegard.

Soon enough, the melody came to an end - Amara could recognise the ending notes, for she had attended many feasts, and despite rarely ever dancing, had gotten to know some of the prettier song. Even then, the eyes of the dancers in the room were still on them, but she made a point to herself to disregard them for the time being, and simply enjoy the view she had been blessed with that day.

“We will speak again,” she assured him. She was unsure if that was what he wanted to hear, but it was a reassurance she moreso wanted to hear for herself. They would leave soon, she knew. It seemed that the rumours of their reasons had spread already, which would only leave Corban with an easy job of convincing Victor Sterling of taking part in such deed. “I will wish to see you again in the morning. A familiar face amongst those stern eyes of Northerners.”

With her dismissal, Amara slipped from her place by his side and went to sit back at the table reserved for the nobles. She did see the way Roddrick was eyeing her, both bothered and intrigued at what he had seen. She simply gave him a soft smile as she reclaimed her seat and began digging into the appetizer, despite not being particularly hungry right then. She knew the void within her would never be filled by food any longer. Her mother would know, as well.

Lyram watched as well, although now slightly tense at the sudden shifts in view within the room. He had seen the Queen herself dancing with Ethon, and he could no longer see Ethon by their father’s side, which only left a sour taste in his mouth. Hector’s question followed like a knife to the gut, and the man turned his eyes to him, almost burning with the same anger and demureness as when he had addressed their younger brother earlier that evening.

“I cannot dictate what he does,” he said. “I can only hope that his choices are not worsened by the wine he’s had. But Conrad is not evil.”
He knew that. They both knew that, and yet, somehow, he was still worried that something might happen if he did not intervene. The girl was likely still in shock and wanting to rest. Had she wanted to enjoy a night of drinking and flirting with men, she would have joined them at the feast. A part of him was tempted to go check on her, to pull Conrad away if need be and save her from his famished gaze, but he could not push himself as far as to do that then. He would only have to burn with anxiety until he returned, and he found solace that he would return with a failed mission.

*

It was a true puzzle attempting to understand Lord Conrad’s words under the effects of wine. Even from so far away across the threshold, Aiyda could feel the wine on his breath, and although likely her own was stained as well, the sleep had brought back her senses, at least enough to see that he was struggling to find his words, or at least make them ring true to her ears in that moment, when they seemed so sudden and hard to believe.

She pursed her lips as he flustered slightly, almost amused at his sudden loss of confidence before her. “There is no need to lie to me, my Lord. I am not a Lady you ought to impress with your mercy,” for that was what it truly was - pity and mercy. He did not truly believe her and, frankly, she was surprised Ethon ever had, although she thought her looks had played a good role in him coming to the conclusion that she was telling the truth.

Aiyda closed her eyes as he quickly returned to reveal his true intentions. She bit her lip and turned her gaze away for a moment, to take it in. A part of her had enjoyed it as well, the same part that used to boil within her when she was truly happy and her life was whole, even if she did not know it at the time. When she could feel joy and look upon her family without ever fretting over their lives. When she could dance and play with men’s feelings the way she desired, despite knowing that it was not the right thing to do, coming from a woman of her name within the village, the North.

And even being known and desired by many men, she knew that there was anything but feeling that had brought the Northern Lord to her chamber that night. She was a toy to him, and nothing more. It made her regret having toyed with others similarly for her own amusement. Ethon, however, had come to her with his heart open and belonging to her, offering her his trust and friendship, and a kiss tinged by wine to complete the evening full of emotion before they had returned to their state of saviour and prey.

“We will speak tomorrow,” Aiyda stated then, turning her eye back to him. She was still disheveled and in no condition to speak; her shoulders were exposed and her cheeks florid from the heat of the room and being stirred so abruptly from her sleep. She knew that, likely, her looks were only inviting him in, but her stance did not falter, as she stood by the crack in the doorway, refusing to move aside as she had done with Ethon. “I do not want to force words out of your mouth that are not yours.” He was drunk, and the both of them knew that then.

“I do wish to rest,” she added softly, her gaze lowering almost shyly again. She could not kindle the same fire within her as that morning; exhaustion had gotten to her, and even that moment felt like a dream, far from vivid and palpable. “I am sure there are many Ladies missing you at the feast... Worthy of your time and affection.” Not that affection was what he wanted to give her. She could only sweeten her words to make her refusal seem more harsh. She did not want to think of what she would have said had he been there before Ethon had come.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon was intrigued as her favorite place was the castle. All he ever knew about the castle were the walls that kept him and the other common people out. That and looking up at the large towers on a clouded days wondering what it would have been like to stand in those towers looking over the city.

He did not comment any further, but he thought it was sad that her vision outside the castle walls of Illegard was unsafe. He never thought it much of a danger, but he knew the dangers for women in the cities were different, especially women of wealth and beauty.

Ethon pulled slightly as the song came to an end, he took a slight step back, realizing how close he was. He nodded some at her words, “Yes of course, your grace.” Ethon replied as she spoke she wished to see him again in the morning. He wondered now if she would be present with the King tomorrow as they discussed the terms of their visit in the throne room. She might be. His eyes now glancing over to Lyram and Hector sitting with Roddick.

His own eyes narrowed just slightly as he surveyed the prince. He seemed skeptical of his mother’s acts. Ethon knew everyone was intrigued of the queens actions, he would have to ask Lyram or Hector of the Prince’s thoughts later, Ethon had an odd feeling about this man.

His thoughts could no longer continue as Arah came forward taking his hand and her other hand moving to squeeze his upper arm. “Catching the eye of a Queen. Should I be worried?” She asked him, a small grin on her lips as they were close to his ear.

Ethon stood still, his gaze still upon the main table until finally turning back to her. “I need a break.” Ethon muttered, his voice tight. Even looking away from the Queen, he couldn’t dispelll the feeling he had in his gut about her.

Arah’s hand moved to his chin, turning his head to look at her, “Ethon,” She whispered, concern on her features, “Ethon are you alright?” She asked him, squeezing his arm again. “Maybe we can go back to your room-” She began.

Ethon pulled his arm away from her now, “No. Just, not tonight Arah.” he said trying to move away from her. He didn’t have it in him to question any guards right now, he needed to go lay down. Maybe chug a pint of ale, or throw up whatever had he already drank, he did not know and all he wanted was to get out of these tight and itchy clothes and change into nearly nothing.

Hector frowned deeply as Lyram addressed him in such a way. Lyram never gave anyone much respect, he willed it, but Hector thought his brothers act to be fake. Hector nodded towards the back tables, guests begining to leave already, likely to take whomever they had met that evening home for the night. He rubbed his face slightly and huffed. “The night is dying anyway. Will all will retire soon.” He spoke.

Hector’s eyes glanced over to his father, seeming to be still discussing with King Corban. Although Victor’s eyes still flaying between Ethon and the Queen. His father knew something and so did the Queen, something no one else knew and Hector had a need to understand it all.

*

The more Conrad rambled the more he could sense Aiyda catching onto his bullshit, and his continued rambling was not helping. Her words only seemed to be mocking him in his ears, and her body language made it clear she was not inviting him in. He stood up straighter and nodded, “We will speak tomorrow.” He affirmed and took a step back now. He was upset with himself and humiliated in a sense. There she was standing with her shoulders exposed, and her hair slight a mess, all he wanted to do was pull her to him and just feel her throughout the night. Yet he could not and it was maddening.

He turned now, muttering a goodnight to her without much else and heading back towards his own chambers.

*

Ethon headed down the hall towards his chambers, his hands pulling at the neck of his shirt and undoing the ties at his waist trying to loosen the fabric as he tried to clear his mind of all other thoughts. The Queen was a Queen, she had a son, a legitimate son. Women couldn’t carry bastards without it being known, it made no sense.

He found himself at the door of a previously empty chamber instead of his own. One he helped set up just the other night, he figured she was likely still asleep, so he turned the knob expecting to clear his head, using her steady sleep filled breathing to help maybe. But instead he found her awake.

He paused as his eyes met hers, “Gods, I am so sorry.” He told her, trying to breath a bit more easily. He took another deep breath and looked to her again, trying to avoid the mirror in the corner of the room, afraid to see the Queen’s eyes in his own face. Avoiding looking at any resemblance he held, it was simply because he was southern, it had to be, all southerners looked alike, it was the ale, he’d had to much. He did not even feel drunk, but he was almost sure he’d had too much. “I understand if you wish to be alone.” He told her, trying to keep himself calm.

“I’d like company. I need to take my mind off something.” He muttered out. “May I sit in the chair?” He asked pointing to the chair by the desk on the side of the room. He did not want to disturb her, but he also did not wish to be alone in this moment. Or really he just wished to find some sort of comfort he had felt earlier with her.

*

Conrad had gathered as much ale as he could carry from the kitchens before heading to his chambers, no longer interested in the feast. Aiyda’s words pissed him off, and after sipping another goblet of ale upon entering his chamber there was a slight move of a figure towards the bed. He pretended as if he did not see it, setting the ale upon his bedside table and removing his top layer of clothing. Another movement.

Conrad was quick, turning and gripping the woman by the neck, not enough to hurt her at all, but enough where the woman was slightly startled in her naked state.

“I thought I would surprise you, my lord.” Arah spoke, a small grin on her lips as her hands were at Conrads wrist.

Conrad’s jaw clenched, he knew the only reason Arah was here presenting herself like this to him meant Ethon had rejected her. And yet, fucking anything that remotely had any interest of Ethon felt riveting in the moment.

Conrad let go of her neck, and she smiled again, sleeping forward as her hands explored his torso some, the damned grin she held, Conrad knew it was fake. She could care less she was touching Conrad, the only one she longed for was a southern man who cared nothing for her. Conrad let her undo the ties of his trousers as she knelt on her knees before him.

 

[peritwinkle]

Looking upon the young Lord then was akin to watching a pup fret and bow with its tail between its legs. It was a strange sight, a man of his titles, almost bashful before a common girl whose words had reduced him to nothing but a boy by denying him of his nightly pleasures. She did not need to smell the wine on his breath to know it had gotten to him, otherwise his poise and confidence would not have faltered so easily.

Aiyda almost felt a pang of guilt strike her chest as Lord Conrad stepped back and turned to leave. The mumbled ‘goodnight’ kindled the unrest within her, but she was not willing to fill the silence for the sake of easing his burden. She carried one of her own, after all, much heavier than his, and not even the goblet of perfumed wine had not erased it from her memory. Frankly, she doubted anything ever would.

Pressing her lips into a tight line, Aiyda twirled on her heels and floated back into the warmth of her room, making sure to push the door shut back in its place. Exhaustion still echoed within her bones, but she no longer wished to sleep now. The melody still reverberating through the walls of the castle was maddening now, when only a few turns of the clock before, it had almost made her want to venture with Ethon for a dance in the Great Hall.

With the brisk air of the corridor having filled her nostrils, the room now carried a warm, dulcet scent of fruit and fire. The cracked window did not do much to overcome the heat, but Aiyda was content with it. Her and Mathys’s chamber back in Northcross was just as pleasant and cozy and, if she closed her eyes, she could almost picture herself back there, surrounded by the safety of her own family, of her home.

The silence did not run for long, as the abrupt grinding sound of the knob being twisted again jolted Aiyda awake from her tranquil state, and she hastily twirled back around on her toes, expecting to face the younger Sterling Lord a second time that evening. Instead, the disheveled image of Ethon appeared from behind the door, his collar pulled and the laces of his coat messily untied at the waist. His gaze carried a similar lassitude, reddened by either exhaustion or ale, which left her wondering if she had looked the same when greeting his Lord.

She felt her brows furrow above her eyes as he spoke, visibly taken aback by his entrance, but she did make an effort to soften it, for his sake. As soon as he parted his lips, she could tell that it was not alcohol that had muddled his mind. The emptiness in her heart in that moment rendered her numb as she listened, her gaze never leaving his features, trying to read the underlying details etched in his look.

Deepening her frown, Aiyda bit her lip and gestured towards the bed with a soft sigh. “Has Arah been giving you trouble?” Her voice was far from bitter, which she could not truly say about the maid’s behaviour from that morning. “I would understand. White Hall in itself seems to be a show of who can seduce another before the last reveller gets drunk.”

The thought of Conrad’s strange and unannounced appearance still floated about her mind, and Ethon’s own made it even harder for her to brush it away. She closed her eyes from a moment, turning to face the fire as she allowed him to settle into the room. “I do not know what went through my head earlier,” she added then, her voice barely covering the gentle crackle. “But whatever madness is taking over me, it seems like everyone is willing to exploit it.”

For a moment, she was tempted to tell Ethon to stay. She lacked the warmth he had sent through her, in one way or another, and missed the softness of his chest against her temple as they slept. Even more, she wished to have a soul by her side through the night, to keep her from falling prey to the thoughts that were already starting to creep into her mind, irking her, tickling her and forcing her out of the false state of bliss she had allowed herself to enjoy with a glass of wine.

Perhaps she should have had more. That way, she would have been knocked out before the pain and bitterness returned. Silence only kept her from unleashing its remainders on him, or maybe the feeling in her gut that told her he was the only being in that very castle who did not wish her harm. The mind that believed her, the voice that fought for her and the childish heart that thought kissing her would be easily forgotten.

Another breath left her lips before she turned back towards the bed and lifted one of the duvets to bring around her shoulders for warmth. Despite the intimacy of the room, she felt bare. The pit of wolves she found herself in was no longer welcoming, the comfort of her nude shoulders a mere illusion. “I cannot stay in this place any longer,” she murmured. “I cannot wait and watch. As soon as Lord Victor Sterling hears me out, I will ready my horse and ride back to Northcross.”

The stories she had been told had proven to be true, and it was no longer hard to believe the prophecies and tales of old that the hunters and elders spread about the Northern villages. Something was coming, boiling and yet to burst, just as her heart waiting for answers to her ardent, morbid curiosity. She was unsure if she had it within her to witness the tailings of the attack, but the Gods, the North, would never forgive her for running in cowardice at the sight of blood. She had already committed the crime once in the face of death.

Be it if she was to meet her doom whilst doing so.

 

[pointmango]

Ethon felt awful at her startled look upon his entrance. Had she not wished him to come? He had been expecting her to be asleep truthfully, and he could distract his thoughts by just sitting by her until the fire was out. He had only been expecting the chair, her gesture towards the bed was a welcoming gesture, which he took as she wanted him to stay. He moved towards the edge and perched himself comfortably there, untying the restraints of his shirt more. Why was it so hot?

“No, not Arah.” Ethon spoke, not even surprised by her question, or even annoyed at the mention of Arah. Normally he would have told his friends nothing, nothing to Conrad or even Lyram. He would have let his thoughts manifest inside his head for the longest time. “It was the Queen.” He spoke softly now, his eyes looking at the fire, watching the flames dance.

Ethon’s attention moved quickly back to her as she spoke about her head state earlier. Had something happened he was unaware of. Did she regret the press of his lips to hers? He certainly did not, but he wasn’t enough to ask her to clarify his confusion now. His jaw clenched as she spoke of exploitation, he stood up now, he didn’t realize he had crossed such a line by kissing her earlier. In fact, to him her lips suggested she wanted something more. He understood now she did not care for his action earlier, or likely now.

He nodded now as she spoke further about her desire to ride further north and discover what had been taken from her. “I’m sure Lord Sterling will hear you. I will accompany you. I am sure some of the others will as well.” He told her. “I will see you tomorrow, before Lord Sterling, make sure you are well rested, and prepare something to say beforehand.” Ethon told her, hoping his advice would suffice for the event. “Sorry for…” he trailed off some. He wished he wasn’t sorry, he wished she enjoyed their exchange as much as he did. “Sorry for earlier. I did not mean to offend.”

*

The next morning Ethon was second to the breakfast table, after Hector, who was always first. He was a bit surprised that Lyram and Conrad had not beat him all the way from the servant's chambers. Ethon piled his plate, but truthfully he did not have much of an appetite.

“So you will be showing the Prince about the library after your father meets the girl?” Ethon asked Hector, a sigh escaping his lips.

Hector’s eyes trailed over Ethon taking him in, he was not disheveled, he appeared tired, but in a manner of stress, not of night pleasure. And the noise from Conrad’s room… well Hector did not think the new wild girl would make such noise, she was wild, but after the events, even Conrad wouldn’t subject her to the fucking he heard from his brother’s room. Hector assumed Conrad took a different girl back to his chambers that evening. Neither of them spent their nights with the girl.

“Yes.” Hector said plainly, “Suppose it’s the first step. I will be serving the Prince in Illguard soon.” Hector shrugged.

“I still cannot believe your father is sending you away. You were raised to rule this land together.” Ethon stated poking at his egg.

“My father thought of going himself, but Lyram is not ready. He needs my father. And Conrad is… well Conrad is less ready for any assignment than you are. Despite his two year senior.” Hector shook his head. “It has to be me. Better me I think.” Hector revealed.

Ethon wondered if Hector was toying there, or being honest. Of all the Sterling boys, Hector was the least honorable, but also the most intelligent. He was smart with who he trusted and where he placed trust. Always revealing his ploys to others when it spotted convenient for himself. The only reason Lord Sterling let him get away with it, was because Hector was his best informant. Despite being less honorable to others, his loyalties always lay strongly with the North. He was the best man to travel south.

Conrad entered the dining chambers with a small grin on his lips. Bruises poking from the collar of his neck, poor placement Ethon thought.

“Morning brother, Ethon.” Conrad greeted as he lifted food onto his plate, a smug smile still on his lips.

Hector wondered if Ethon would be jealous of his night laying with Arah, or if he would be more jealous of his mindful visit to Aiyda’s room.

“How was your evening brother?” Hector asked Conrad, a small grin at his own lips as his own hand grazed his own neck slightly. “Perhaps a powder before we visit father soon. Or a higher neck.” Hector suggested lightly, his eyes turning again as the chamaber door opened once again.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda’s lashes were dampened from the strain of watching the blazing light dance in the fireplace before her. The room was growing warmer and warmer, and she was unsure whether it was because of the flames or the man’s presence so close behind her back. The effects of the wine she had drunk earlier that evening were still meddling with her thoughts and sight, only amplified by the abrupt disturbance of her slumber.

Her eyes flickered to Ethon as he rose from the seat he had just claimed on the edge of her bed. The mention of the Queen had gone past her ear at that moment, for her mind was filled with matters much heavier to her own person. It was his sudden shift in attitude that startled her, although only for a moment, until she realised what he would have gathered from her words. What sort of bluntness they had held, without her knowledge.

Despite that, she did not find it within herself to make the effort to correct it. His kisses and touches, Conrad’s visible desire, the alcohol, it had all shaken her that night and, frankly, there was nothing that she wished for in that moment more than peace. Not solitude, not loneliness, but tranquility and silence. The void she felt within the woods, when riding in the night upon Krull and listening to the grinding of its hooves against the frozen blanket of snow.

It was not the thought of Lord Sterling that she wanted to fill her mind with, but the comfort of knowing she had no control over her fate. A strange desire, one which others might find antithetical with her goals, but that would bring her peace over the worries of possible mistakes and repercussions as outcomes of her doings. For if she were to fail, if the will of the Lords and the Gods through them went against her that day, she desperately and childishly wanted to be reassured that it was not her fault.

She pretended not to hear as the door closed behind him when he left. The sound of hard wood hitting the frame echoed in her ears for a long time before the crackling of the fire took over once again, filling the chamber with an eerie, almost deafening tune. It almost covered the sound of the battle raging within her, between the thirst for the warmth she had felt earlier that evening and the reassurance of an empty, still room filled with only her breath and no one else’s.

*

The feast had left behind an eerie silence that still filled the corridors of White Hall come morning. As Lyram paced through the dimly lit hallways, he could hear the faint clink of silverware echoing from the kitchens and the creaking of doors where servants were tidying up after their guests. He had ensured that the King and his family would be brought a rich tray of breakfast to their own apartments for comfort, and frankly, he was thankful for a morning of peace, a moment of not having to paint his face sullen and his words golden.

And yet, a good night’s sleep had not been enough to wash away the tight feeling in his chest. Despite having treated the Northern matters with skepticism, it all felt more vivid than the worries of the royal visit. Conrad’s absence from the dining table the night before had only added to Lyram’s pile of fears, that only seemed to be growing heavier day by day. He could only hope that Arah’s disappearance had been tied to his brother’s, for the sake of his dignity at the very least.

The path from his quarters lead him to the door belonging to the girl from Northcross, now shadowed by the small silhouette of a servant he knew by the name of Lehna, holding a wooden tray in her hand filled with toasted bread, hard cheese, ham and a cup of heated milk. Her eyes flickered to him like a hare startled by its hunter, but managed to quickly regain her pose as she took a step back and nodded to greet him.

“My Lord...”

“Is she awake?” Lyram asked. His voice was low but heavy, almost pressing her to reply with honesty. He doubted that the girl would fancy a visit so early in the morning, after having had her sleep disturbed by music and chatter.

Lehna pressed her lips and gave him another bashful nod. “I have given her new clothes for the day. I suppose she would be presentable enough to he seen by you, my Lord.”

Lyram simply lifted his hand as if to brush off her worries, and gently removed the tray from Lehna’s hands with a short, barely sketched smile. “I will see to it,” he reassured her. “You may go help the others tend to the needs of the Queen.” For a moment, he was tempted to mention checking on Arah, but frankly, he did not care as much about the emotional wellbeing of the girl to meddle with her affairs. Instead, he offered her a cordial good morning and watched her twirl on her toes and trot down the hallway into the kitchens.

By himself again, Lyram clenched his fingers around the sides of the tray and gave the door before him a light knock. “Aiyda?” he spoke softly, a strange word upon his lips, but he could not find a proper title to address her, more fitting than her own name. “It is Lord Lyram Sterling,” he offered, in case she did not recall the sound of his voice.

Within a moment, the muffled sound of steps against the wooden floor was followed by the door being opened with an abrupt creak, and the light coming through the cracked window landed on a pale, languished face and a bush of carefully brushed locks pouring in a disheveled manner over her shoulders. Lyram’s own lips pressed into a line as he looked upon her; the crimson emptiness in her eyes seemed to be more than mere exhaustion from the lack of sleep.

Aiyda greeted the Lord in a weakened murmur as she took a step back to give him room. Her steady movements contrasted with her looks that morning, but Lyram knew that a woman like her, a huntress, would always be at her sharpest in motion. “I assumed you were hungry,” he offered her a cordial smile, much warmer than that he had painted on for Lehna. He looked down at the tray in his hands, almost inviting her to grab a bite for herself, before setting it on the edge of her messily made bed. The room was cold and the brisk air almost sent spikes down his throat, and set a pang in his chest at the thought of her craving said briskness.

“Have you slept well?” he asked then, as he slowly paced around the room with his hands at his back. “One would find it harder with the songs reverberating through the halls... The chatter, the laughter. I could only hope that they were not loud enough to disturb your rest.” He turned to look at her then, his gaze holding honesty and warmth. She looked much better than she had for their first meeting, but lacked the glow he had seen in her only the morning before. Perhaps it was Ethon that was missing from her side, or the long slumber she likely had not gotten the chance to enjoy.

Aiyda lazily twirled towards him, straightening her back and standing by the side of the bed. “I have had a peaceful night, my Lord.” Her gaze did not meet him this once, resting on the fine cracks in the wood beneath her. “I was not... perturbed by anything.” Lyram nodded at her words, then turned his head towards her, his eyes fixating her with steadiness.

“And not by anyone?”

Silence took over, eating her words away, which only earned a sigh through Lyram’s nose, before her words took over once again. “Nothing of importance. White Hall has given me a more than warm welcome.” Her sentences seemed to have been memorized beforehand, a feeling that ate away at Lyram’s sanity, but it was clear to him that she did not wish for him to press on the matter.

When his stride around the room lead him back to her, Lyram gripped one of her wrists firmly, but careful not to cause any pain, almost forcing her gaze to meet his, and eventually her dark pools mingled with the deep blue of his own. “I am not only your Lord, but also your friend,” he spoke. “I assure you, Aiyda, that under my wing you will be found by no harm. So long as you accept my protection, and give me your honesty in return.” He knew she would understand it concerned not only the matters of the night before, but the reason she had come to White Hall as well. Her silence was a mark of wit.

With that, Lyram let go of her wrist and walked back towards the door. “My father will see you today,” he promised, almost as a reminder that he had not forgotten, before making his way out of her chambers and down the corridors of the castle towards the Great Hall. He knew he would be the last one for breakfast, but such did not concern him any longer. Not then, when there were matters that his brothers could not be bothered with, and instead were peacefully enjoying their meal at his resolve.

He found the door cracked open as another servant rushed out with an empty decanter in her hand, and he easily slipped through the opening into the tall room. The scent of toast and tea imbued the air, a pleasant perfume that would have otherwise lured him in, but now seemed to be doing nothing more than to repulse him. He doubted his worries would let him swallow past the lump in his throat, yet he was at the very least willing to attempt to sit by his brothers and listen to their talk of fucking Southern women.

“Have you all had a good night?” Lyram asked as he reclaimed his usual seat. His plate was empty, but he did not bother himself with filling it. He immediately looked towards Conrad, whose marks staining his neck reassured him that his activities from the night before had not implied their Northern guest. “Ethon,” he switched then, “you have had quite the time and the partner at the feast.” His tone was more impressed rather than derisory. “Has the Queen’s touch shaken you so much that you had to leave so early?”

 

[pointmango]

Lyrams entrance did not cause much movement in the men at the table, but the servants stopped pouring, and those by the doors stood straighter upon Lyram’s entrance. Another face entering the room after Lyram, Arah, whose neck was also marked and she seemed rather flustered as she was pulling her apron over her waist.

Ethon’s eyes moved over her carefully, he knew what had occured the previous night upon a quick glance. She fucked Conrad. Conrad’s smirk was unsettling, as if he had won something, Arah was no prize to be won, neither was Aiyda, was his only goal to take what Ethon wanted? Ethon’s fist clenched around his fork, wondering Conrad’s true motivation was.

Lyram interrupted his thought, asking about the Queen. Hector leaned in on this comment. Ethon shook his head, “Just interested in my southern roots I suppose. Green faces in the North are rare.” He commented, looking at his plate, picking at the bacon on his plate, never bringing his fork to his lips. His dance with the Queen had shaken him, but he would not reveal such to any of the Sterling brothers. Ethon was torn, he never wanted to encounter the Queen again, he was left feeling unsettled, and confused. And yet all he wanted to do was ask her more questions, questions he knew he could never ask her.

His mention of him leaving early though meant he knew where Ethon had gone. “The Queen was not the reason I left early.” He spoke, his tone clear and blunt.

Conrad looked to Ethon now, watching the southern man test the waters on if Lyram would state Ethon was not allowed to step those boundaries with Aiyda. Conrad glanced to Arah at Ethon’s words, she had been looking down, Conrad wondered if she was hurt. She didn’t seem strung over Ethon last night.

“It was the same reason Conrad left early, if I am correct?” Ethon said, upset now, looking at Conrad. “Although my intentions were not so impure. Of course when Aiyda could not provide your favors, you took someone else up?” Ethon said to the dark haired man, his eyes flickering to Arah for a moment.

“Is that what she said?” Conrad asked Ethon, confused, he didn’t think he was that suggestive with Aiyda.

“No.” Ethon replied, settling back into his seat some, deciding whatever he was feeling was not worth upsetting Conrad’s simple mind over.

Hector sighed some, “What of you Lyram,” he asked now, changing the subject, “You take any women to your chambers?” Hector knew it was a lost question, Lyram was never much fun at events like these anymore. The older they become, the less fun he was.

*

“How did you enjoy your dance with that southern boy?” King Corban asked his wife as they made their way to the gallery of the throne room. They would be permitted to watch the unofficial trial occurring this morning. The King was interested, a girl from the North and her speculations, it would be interesting. “I’ve never seen you so fascinated with anyone, other than Roddick of course.” Corban pointed out to her, their arms were linked although his tone held no true interest in the matter. Often the two of them held no interest in the other, they only ever spoke of diplomatic matters or of their son.

*

Victor Sterling rubbed his face as his wife rubbed his shoulders, “The hunters were all killed. This girl, she is a hunter herself. Her father one of the most trusted men in all of Northcorss.” Victor groaned. “Corban does not need to be present during this hearing. The only ones need be present are the girl, Ethon, my sons and I.” Victor spoke, letting out groan as Lady Sterling rubbed his back again, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “This is your home Victor. Your castle. The King must respect that. Making a speculation of the girl is no way to provide hospitality to the shaken child.”

Victor stood now and stretched himself lightly, poking his head out of the chambers and calling forth his squire. “Tell Measter Whalfin he will be in charge of arranging an escort for the royals this morning. Keep them busy, away from the throne room. The guards are not permitted to let them, or anyone else in. Have Hector receive the girl. He seems to be the most detached from the the situation.” The squire nodded leaving as Victor returned to dress for the occasion.

*

“Your father requests Lord Hector to retrieve Lady Seaberian. Bring her to the throne room. The rest shall meet your father accordingly.” The squire spoke.

Ethon frowned, “I can escort her.” He said.

“Father asked for Hector, besides you’re too close-” Conrad began.

“They’re not your orders.” Ethon spoke to him.

“You’re right, they are the Lord of this castles, so I will retrieve her.” Hector spoke easily. “Go Ethon, our father probably has some questions for you as well.” He told him.

*

Hector’s trips down the servants quarters were never frequent, so knocking on the large wooden door felt foreign to him. “Uh, Aiyda.” Hector spoke at the door, unsure how to approach this. “It’s Hector, I’ll be leading you to speak with my father today.” He cleared his throat again, “I suppose I should try and put you at ease, but if you speak your peace, my father is an understanding man.” Hector voiced, attempting to give her some sort of security. He debated telling her that Ethon had been quite upset that he was not escorting her, something had gotten to him, and Hector was struggling to determine if it was because of the Queen or this wild girl from Northcross.

 

[peritwinkle]

For a reason unknown to him, Lyram felt uneasy listening to Ethon speak of his encounter with the noble. Queen Amara was a smart woman, one who did not pay mind to those who did not directly concern her or her family. The simple reason of his Southern roots sounded fabricated in his ears, but he did not do much more than paint a frown above his brow and watch him attentively as he explained.

His frown only deepened when he hinted at having visited Aiyda that night. The more he waited with the girl within his home, the more his brothers seemed to be losing their minds over the poor child. He would have otherwise doubted Hector would take interest in her, but now it did not sound like such a foreign concept.

Frankly, he could not deny that she was a pretty sight. Red hair was not as often found in the North or, truly, in Armath altogether. He had let his eyes graze over quite a few beautiful women in his life, mainly in his youth, but now the thought of a reckless love was no longer on his mind. It seemed, however, that the risks of staining the name of House Sterling by dishonouring a ritualistic hunter was not as much a strain on his younger brother's mind as it was on his own. Ethon had at least had the decency to keep his hands clean.

The tightness of his lips eased as Hector dissipated some of the tension between the two with his question. Lyram was sick of hearing the two bicker over women, over a huntress and a servant nonetheless. "You would have been the first to know, brother," he reassured him as he leaned over his empty plate. He had stayed at the feast for quite some time, until the exhaustion accumulated throughout the day had gotten to him. "I did not see anything that particularly caught my eye. I must be the only one, I take."

Not as much as a blow at his brother, but more of an observation. If only their father was young enough to put up with their childishness in that moment.

When the door opened once again, it was the youthful face of a squire that poked from behind the threshold, his eyes scouring the room attentively as he made the announcement their father had instructed him to say. Lyram straightened his back and cleared his throat, then his gaze flickered to his brother with a certain interest and flame. "Hector," he observed. It was clear to him then that his father had remarked Ethon's and Conrad's concern with the Northcross girl. It only made him wonder why he had not been chosen himself, but frankly, he was thankful he did not need to bother her a second time that morning.

*

It seemed like the stars had alligned to call for each of the Sterling brothers to her chamber that day, and Aiyda could not help but wonder what would happen if she simply pretended to be asleep. Yet, the responsibility of attending her hearing with Lord Victor Sterling kept her temper within limits for the time being, and her features as soft as ever, only barely tainted by a boiling vexation.

She hesitated for a moment before opening the door. She had gotten dressed properly following Lord Lyram's visit, and now donned a comfortable, pale grey dress rimmed with white ermine that clung tightly to her shape for warmth. The night had passed with her hair untamed and the aftermath of it showed then, in the braid messily gathered from the front of her head and secured behind her back with a few pins she had borrowed from Lehna. Frankly, any look would be more favourable than the one she had first presented herself in before the Lord's sons.

When she opened the door, Aiyda etched her gaze into Hector's own with a fabricated confidence. It seemed almost theatrical to her, but she could not show signs of wavering. Not then, as she had before Lord Lyram when he had delicately called her mad for her tragic story. "Thank you, my Lord," she said then, her voice louder than a murmur, but still holding the weight of languor in its depths. "I can follow you now, if your father will have me."

The night had left its mark in her bones, and it was a real fight to hide her exhaustion. She could still feel the cold of her chamber wrap around her ankles and neck, now ever so slightly subdued by the newly kindled fire. It had been much needed, nonetheless - a deep cold to make up for the lack of warmth. A strange desire, but something that had kept her from losing herself completely through the night.

It made her wonder if Ethon's presence would have had the same staggering effect.

*

Corban's arm felt foreign beneath her grip as he lead her through the cold corridors of White Hall that morning. The place felt far from home, almost urging them to leave, as if they were not welcome behind its walls. There had not been a time that Amara had missed her place back in Illegard, warm and safe, away from the peculiarities of the North.

The question that fell from his lips left a sour taste in Amara's mouth. She had known he would be looking at her if she dared to dance with anyone other than Victor Sterling and his three sons; his bitterness did not come as a surprise, but she was no less discontented with his involvement in the matter. "He was a gifted dancer," the woman spoke then, her eyes focused on their path rather than her husband. "Gentle with his hands. Respectful." Frankly, he had seemed smitten, but she could not blame a servant for being taken aback by such an invitation.

"It is not often that you see sunkissed faces around here." Corban was not particularly sharp-minded to her, but nor was he dimwitted. She had to be careful with her words if she did not want him to be digging his nose into her matters, even if, truly, they concerned him as well. The thought that he might have spoken to her mother irked her, and she was momentarily tempted to ask, but decided against it quickly after. Even if he had, she would not have divulged the secret they had been keeping for almost two decades.

"Were you unhappy that I did not dance with you, my King?" the woman asked then, theatrically attempting to change the subject into something more jolly. She was not a particularly merry woman, and Corban knew that much about her. Everyone did, and yet she was desperate enough to hide her thoughts before him, for she had failed to hide them in her expression when she had danced with Ethon that night.

 

[pointmango]

Moving to the Great Hall with Conrad and Lyram felt odd now. An unspoken tension between the three of them. Him and Conrad’s dispute obvious, but Lyram’s distaste felt unwarranted in Ethon’s eyes. The Queen had asked him to dance, not the other way around, was he to refuse? Besides, what he and the Queen discussed was none of Lyrams business. Ethon had the same questions Lyram did, he did not know why the Queen took such interest, he knew his southern face was not enough, but he didn’t have the answers.

His intentions with Aiyda never meant to be malicious, he still did not think that they were. Despite her later comments, when she kissed him, her lips were soft and warm, and they were kissing his own back. Ethon felt a similar fire in his gut he felt the previous evening just thinking of the act. She hadn’t had that much wine, had she? Not enough where she would have been lured to kiss him, had he even seduced her? His mind was clouded, and it was causing an ache, he’d have to find tea after the meeting.

*

Victor’s head lifted from deep thought as the door to the great hall opened, Lyram entering first, followed by Conrad, and then Ethon. His eyes watched the southern boy carefully, and eventful few days for the lad. Encountering a girl who claims she made true of tales of the most wicked stories in the North, and looking his true mother in the face, and probably feeling something, but unaware of what the feeling was or meant.

His eldest son stood tall, professional and ready to attend the meeting fully and conduct himself as he was taught. Victor remembered when he was Lyram’s age, quite similar, but even then, not as serious as his eldest son was. His wife often whispering at night she worried about how worried and serious Lyram was. That he would forget what it is like to make himself happy in trying to run a just court.

Worry did constantly plague his eldest son’s features. When he was a child he seemed the happiest of the three, the most eager to learn, to love his parents and his brothers, he was the first of the three sons to wholefully accept Ethon. He was good, too good. Lord Victor feared without Hector he would be too just, and Conrad was in no shape to provide warranted council, unless maybe they turned to war.

*

Hector smiled easily as she opened the door. Knowing a beautiful woman when he saw one, and training his face ever since he was young to react how other men did when they saw one. He bowed his head just slightly in a nod, “You look elegant.” He spoke, rehearsed. Hector understood why Conrad and Ethon took a liking to her, had he fancied the female sex, maybe Hector would have tried his wits at wooing her.

When she spoke she would follow him, he held his arm out to her so she could take it, and lead her to the great hall of white castle. Hector himself was deeply intrigued on how the event’s of this meeting would end. His father trusted the sacred hunters. He also put an immense amount of trust in Ethon, his word would do great for her cause. But his father held the same skepticism he had, there were no other witness’. Whether it was her, or the most honorable man in the world, a man sees what he sees, mad or not.

*

The door opened once more, Lyram standing to Victors right, slightly behind him was Conrad, and standing a few feet away at the foot was Ethon. Their eyes turning as the large wooden doors opened and closed, letting Hector and Aiyda enter the great room.

“Father, Huntress Aiyda Sibearen of Northcross has come to present her case.” Hector’s voice became more formal than prior, carrying more volume.

“Thank you, son.” Victor spoke, the Lord’s eyes now looked to Aiyda, “You may proceed.” He nodded.

*

Corban’s arm tensed beneath her hand. “A gifted dancer?” He asked, almost mocking her reasoning. His own gaz turning to watch hers, so easily parted from his own. He’d known his wife a long time, despite their lack of intimacies, sharing a bed with another for almost nineteen years brought them close, whether they liked it or not. Corban knew it simply was not his sun kissed face that drew her in either, although perhaps a story believable to an outsider.

“I can dance with you whenever I please,” He replied easily. “Perhaps at the next event we should though, keeps the people pleased.” He seemed to note that whenever they pretended affection it gave morale to at least some people.

“He is a servant. Southern or not. He came from the streets of our court.” Corban said to her, as if she had forgotten. “He’s nothing more than a southern bastard, Lord Sterling’s little experiment to educate is inspiring, sure, but is wasted. He’d be just as fine rotting away with all the other beggars, maybe allow another of noble birth to take stand here. Odd. Don’t you think?” Corban asked her, bitterness still tinged in his tone.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda did not pay much mind to Lord Hector’s formal compliment. Despite his gentle gaze, she knew he carried no interest in her person and, frankly, she was thankful for it after the last couple of days. Yet, the thought that she looked presentable breathed new confidence into her, enough to pull her head up and brush away some of the fear etched into her features following the cold night.

The path through the corridors of the castle and leading into the Great Hall seemed as vivid as a dream. The air was eerie, frozen in time and ever silent, as though the walls themselves were ready to listen to her speak. She could not feel the floor beneath her, only hear the light sound of footsteps against the hard stone, occasionally muffled by a downtrodden rug. Lord Hector himself was far above her, almost enough that he could pass as a moving statue whose gaze did not bother to meet hers, and instead remained as frigid throughout their stride as the brisk air in his home.

When the doors of the Great Hall opened for the two of them to step inside, Aiyda forced herself to look forward and not stray over the features of those there to witness it. They first befell Lord Sterling himself, whom she recognised by the solemn expression on his face, and the embellished attire he donned that seemed to match well with his sons’. It was a face she thought fitted a Lord of the North, cold but with a warm, welcoming gaze, which she could now see reflected in his eldest.

Lord Hector did not waste any time before formally presenting her before his father. Aiyda’s eyes flickered behind the Lord for a moment, touching over Ethon who stood there as though he had been nailed into the ground, then to Lord Lyram, whose pressed lips and arms hidden behind his back held a tension close to the volume of her own. Eventually, her arm unwrapped from around Hector’s and she stepped forward, close enough to be heard without having to raise her voice, and forced her back straight despite the sudden numbness washing over her.

“My Lord,” Aiyda spoke then, letting her arms fall by either sides of her hips. “I am the daughter of Jasper Saeberian, the leader of the ritualistic Hunt of Northcross. A man of faith... One who knew and respected you dearly.” Just as her mother had, and Mathys as well, by the time he turned old enough to think for himself. “I was chosen to take part in my first Hunt when summer ended. I was warned of the dangers it threatened, but trusted myself and my father’s judgement, for I had been training for years in shooting with a bow.”

A breath escaped her nose then, as she caught herself fiddling with her fingers behind her sleeve and quickly forced them straight and still. “It was the night before we were supposed to reach the city,” she continued then. “We stopped in a meadow, wide enough to hold all of us spread out, and our horses by our side. I could not sleep. I was counting embers in the night, when a cold wind washed over the opening and choked the fire.”

She could feel tendrils of cold wrap around her legs as she spoke, a feeling of dread and death that she now only recalled in her dreams when she managed to close her eyes and fall asleep. “The cold stirred our men awake. It was followed by a loud silence, no wolves howling in the night, no trees creaking, and our horses shook in their reins. Darkness took over... As if the woods had eaten the moon away. From behind the trees, we saw black smoke, floating like waves towards us in the shape of hooves, then horses and their riders, all of the same smoke, darker than the night itself.”

She stopped and dared to move her gaze towards Ethon and Lord Lyram, the latter’s eyes almost glazed and watching her as if she were a rotten corpse. Her tone remained contained, calculated, and her breathing soft and ever quiet, allowing others to break the silence with the rustling of armour and fabric rubbing against the leather of their girdles.

“It sliced and cut through us like water. I could hear screams, muffled but sharp, echoing from the dark mass and not our men, for soon enough a good portion of them were bleeding on the snow. The last thing I saw before I jumped atop my horse and fled was my father... The look in his eye, the fear, as though he had seen it all before and it were merely a recurring dream.”

Lyram’s eyes lowered to the floor and he gulped silently. He could almost feel the tension in Ethon’s muscles as he listened to the girl speak. He could feel it in his own, vibrating, sending shivers down his arms and legs. The thought of death had not seemed any more grim than it did now, and despite never truly having met the men, he wondered if Jasper Saeberian himself would have spoken of the carnage any differently, were he there instead of his daughter.

“Lord Sterling, I am no Lady, but I was brought up by good people,” Aiyda continued, her eyes now tinted crimson. “My father taught me how to read and hunt, my mother taught me how to sew. I would not have been chosen to be a ritualistic hunter, had I not been deemed sane from those who agreed to have me. I bled on my homeland and swore I would honour the North. That I would not lie, and keep my mind sharp.” For she had not come all the way to White Hall to present a false story before its Lord. “Those stories you told your sons... They are real, still. Not yet buried in the past. If they once lived, what keeps them from returning yet again?”

*

It was no secret to Amara that Corban held no affection for her, not enough to enjoy a dance the way one should, but rather revel in the joy and awe of the others watching. It was, perhaps, for the first time in years that she had not felt as though the hands holding her through the melody were cold and the gaze following her footsteps sullen as his. And Corban had seen it, for he was not a blind man. They all had, and in her moment of weakness, Amara had been naive enough to overlook it.

She pressed her lips into a line as he mentioned his origins. He was not entirely wrong; he had likely been raised as a beggar or a simple boy in the streets. Marietta would have done anything to protect the little treasure she had stolen, and Amara could not blame her for it, for she had done the same with Roddrick; instead, she could only despise her.

“Lord Victor is a good man,” she spoke then. “Pure kindness needs to reason. A good man requires to reward for being good.” He was, also, an intelligent man, who had had his wits about him when Corban had asked of the boy. She had seen it in his eyes, and now attempted to mirror it in her own. “They say you can see a child’s talents by looking in their eyes. He must have seen something in him, and for a good reason. Ethon is a well raised boy.”

The lump in her throat only grew thicker as she attempted to mask her emotions. There was a felling in her gut which she could not quench by merely speaking of him, the urge to see him again as if to confirm the thoughts that floated about her head.

“I know of a girl,” she thought to add then, “a servant who was, if I recall, collected from a brothel around here. Taken in and taught to be a proper handmaid for Lady Sterling. She might not have learned how to read, but a man is always of more use than a girl.” It was the only reasoning she could find behind taking in a boy of Ethon’s origins, and not as far from the truth. “What is odd, is that you are more concerned with a Southern servant than convincing Victor Sterling to give you his son.”

Amara’s hand slipped from his grip and she stopped in the middle of the corridor, her gaze digging into his own. “The weather seems to have gotten to the both of us,” she said to him, her voice gentle but steady. “I suggest we rest until we are called upon. I have been told that Lord Sterling is momentarily dealing with another matter... I am sure his attention will be directed to us shortly.”

 

[pointmango]

Lord Sterling nodded as she began, still impressed as a woman, her father had taught her to speak so formally and properly. Even as a huntress. Although some of the other hunters he had met other than Jasper were honorable, they were clearly not well spoken. Her tone alone was enough to cause Victor to take her more seriously. Although the eerie tone and the intensity of his sons interest in the matter did that alone.

Hector, who was now standing beside Conrad listened to her story, his eyes not paying much attention to Aiyda, although at times it was hard not to. Her tone was level, for such horrific words, she delivered them well. As she continued on, he watched Ethon’s body become more stressed, his hands clenched with white knuckles and Hector could have sworn he saw Ethon inch forward just slightly. The boy cared too deeply for this woman already, this woman who Hector still did not believe.

Ethon could sense the story consuming her, even if she was holding herself together, her words filled with horror and darkness no one could believe. Though her words and the trusting gaze of Lord Sterling gave Ethon hope.

She was done, a proper lady, Lord Sterling thought if she had the name she might be able to pass as one. He did not answer her at first, letting his eyes stay on her for a moment as he thought. What was to stop them from returning? Nothing. In fact, if the hunt was truly back, why had it not consumed the entire North yet? But ‘back’ was a loaded term, were they even there in the first place, hard to tell.

“I trust your honor, Aiyda Saeberian.” Lord Sterling began. His gaze glancing to his eldest son, before landing upon Ethon. “Ethon… you are the closest we have to a witness. I know you can only justify her story so much, but tell me what you saw.” He asked Ethon.

Ethon’s gaze stayed on Aiyda for a moment, remembering how he had found her, the only look that mimicked her current state was her eyes. She was not crazy, everyone was calling her so, but Ethon had a feeling in the pit of his stomach, his gut was telling him to believe this girl. “She was disheveled, her horse injured. A hunter does not stray from their group, especially in a camp setting. An attack had been clear, my Lord.” Ethon began, his tone deep, but it seemed as though he was still trying to recall.

“What woman trusts a strange man in the forest? A green face nonetheless.” Ethon added, “Distress, my Lord. You have seen her speak, you have heard her story, one that did not stray from the one she told me that same day I met her in the woods. I believe every word she has spoken, you’ve seen the honor within her, I know it is there too.” Ethon held his composure, his back straight and his gaze still upon the Lord who had raised him. “It is true, I did not see the hunt myself. But I can tell a set of mad eyes, from honest eyes. Scared, but also brave, I believe her. And so I stand with her words. The Wild Hunt has returned.”

Lord Sterling’s eyes kept Ethon’s gaze as he listened to the young man speak. A small boy from Beggar’s Hole was now standing before him as a proper man, going against every story engraved in him because of a story of a Huntress from Northcross. It was bold, and although Lord Sterling believed Aiyda before, this strengthened his cause.

“You both speak truly. That is clear.” Lord Sterling offered to them, his gaze faltering for just a moment. “I cannot send forces. Your words are still only words.” He told them both. “There is no evidence. If such is true, I would need all the armies and soldiers of White Hall, and all surrounding houses. I cannot convince other Lords based on words. Not of a task so sacrificial.” He breathed out. “Truthfully, I cannot find myself convinced without evidence either. I am very sorry for your loss Aiyda Saeberian. You will always have a place in this castle, if you so desire.”

Victor looked to his eldest son now, Lyram’s disposition unmoved, but clearly just as tense as Ethon seemed to be. “You will lead an expedition North. Find the campsite. Collect any evidence you can find. No longer than three days. I would like you to return before the King and the Queen depart. Take Ethon and Conrad, ten soldiers at most, and our fastest horses.” Victor’s hand touched the beard upon his chin, “Hector, you will stay.” He finished letting out a deeper breath. He settled back into his chair some, relieving a bit of stress from the moment.

“My sons, stay. We must further discuss the King’s proposal before you depart.” Victor huffed, discussing Hector’s leaving of the castle, and the terms that they would negotiate was an issue he wished to avoid, but as they were leaving for three days, they could no longer avoiding such.

Ethon stepped forward more towards Aiyda now, offering his arm to her, knowing he would not be included on the matter. “Maybe a walk to clear our heads?” He offered to her in a whisper.

*

It was unsettling within Corban’s chest, that his wife knew the servant boys name. The way she spoke of him caused an anger within him, it was as though she cared for the stupid bastard. “Comparing a whore being made hand-maiden, to a bastard being raised around Lords?” He questioned her, but he let out a huff, knowing he could never change Amara’s subtle stubbornness. She would never submit, she never had. She was not a forceful woman, but her beliefs and opinions were strong.

“I am not more concerned. Although maybe I should be, as the Queen has taken more interest in this Southern Servant than anyone else in the North.” Corban stated coldly.

“Besides we will get one of the sons. It’s to which that concerns me.” Corban spoke. “I know Victor will not let his heir to the south, but he is clearly the most valuable.” There was something cold within his tone, like Corban was sure the other two would not meet his standards. “The smaller one, seems cunning. Untrustworthy. And the large one, the youngest one, seems far too… barbaric.” Corban told Amara. “Have you spoken with any of them?” He asked her, another drive at her distraction of the Southern boy. “Perhaps they would be more telling with a woman.” Corban of course knew that was unlikely, although Amara a woman, she was still the Queen. And personally Corban thought Roddrick too young to have any proper say in the matter.

 

[peritwinkle]

Aiyda's words struck Lyram like a sword; its clink of steel rung quiet in his ears, but loud in his bones, sending shivers down his spine that made him wonder if that was what death truly felt like. She had seen it with her own eyes, for there was nothing farther from the living than what the Wild Hunt symbolized. What it had been, centuries before, and what it was to them now, in their thoughts and dreams, in the stories they once believed as children.

His dark blue gaze shifted from the girl's small frame to that of his father, ever stern and unmoving, weighing the matter with far more weight than he had when she had first presented it to him. The thought sent a pang of guilt through his heart. The fact that Lord Sterling believed her, or at least made an effort to, breathed some truth into the story he had earlier thought to be a mere fabrication of the mind.

As soon as his decision was voiced, Lyram felt his sleeves and collar grow even tighter. If it was all a tale, then why was he so afraid of seeing it for himself? The dread in Aiyda's eyes was as vivid as could be, only pressing on her truth, making that which she had seen real for them as well.

And yet, the decision to have his eldest lead the expedition was even stranger to him. He knew that Victor Sterling would not have risked the life of his heir, unless it were for the sake of pleasing a delusional girl. His lips pressed into a line as he looked down to his feet, no longer wishing to meet her gaze. Even there, she was not believed, and a part of him thirsted for justice almost as much as she did. Near him, he could tell Ethon felt the same, and despite his silence following Lord Sterling's verdict, it did not take more than a peek to know what the boy was thinking.

"Thank you for hearing me, my Lord," Aiyda's voice resonated once again through the tall room. Disheartened as she was then, she could only straighten her back take the blow as a woman would. There was no frustration residing within her any longer, only the desire to see it all over with, and yet she felt as though, then, she had to prove to herself as well that she was telling the truth. The truth of an honest man, not a mad eye.

She did not need to look for confirmation to know that the two sons of Lord Sterling would not be happy with his decision. If Lyram had remained poised and still, Conrad acted on instinct and emotion more than he did on sense. "I swear to honour your help," she murmured, "and not waste any of my Lords' time." It was only Ethon, whose face pale enough to almost pass as a Northerner assured her that he did not doubt her still. The white in his knuckles, the stiffness of his bones, it only made her wish to wrap her arms around his form and muffle the tightness in her throat she had been masking with a solemn silence.

As he came towards her and the Lords behind him loosened, Aiyda allowed herself to almost fall back into him, her arms both wrapping around one of his for support, whilst her eyes watched the scene from behind the shield of his shoulder. "Neither of them believed me," she whispered, quietly enough that only he could hear her. "But they listened... And they might see. I do not know if I will have the strength to look, then."

Her knees felt numb, but she found it within her to move from her place and follow Ethon away from the Hall and through the first opening leading into an empty corridor. She was craving silence, but her mind buzzed with the thoughts of the following morning. "I would have asked you to come with me," she said softly, "had Lord Sterling not sent you. I want you to see that I am not mad," if he needed any more proof of it in order to believe her. And yet, Lord Lyram and Lord Hector would come as well, and they would witness the remainders of the carnage with their own eyes, if the snow up North had not covered the scene by then.

She prayed it had.

*

"What is so different?" Amara lifted her chin and fixated him with her golden gaze. "A girl, raised with proper manners, taught to sew and speak properly before her nobles..." The man was burning with an anger she did not understand, but knew to be something different from jealousy. Interest. Intrigue. Shame. It was an amalgam of all three and perhaps more which she saw boiling in his own eyes as he looked down upon her. "And a boy, taught to read and behave, to hunt and bow his head when Lords address him."

"What is strange to me, is that Lord Lyram is not yet married," Amara said. "Which only reminds me, how little interest Roddrick has been taking in his betrothed's wellbeing in the past months since the announcement. Perhaps the Northerners are not so different in heart from us. Both picky. Both desiring the best, and to rid ourselves of those holding us back."

Amara's slender fingers came to wrap around Corban's arm, more menacing than seductive. She could feel his limb tense beneath her grip, and her eye flickered to it for merely a moment before returning to him. "But people of the North are cold. Unmoving. They keep their loyalties and do not waver. I doubt they would warm up to a woman, let alone one they could not bed."

She remembered what Ethon had told her, how he had refused her offer of taking him South with her. The thought of insisting on the matter was in the back of her mind, and she had considered mentioning it to Victor, if only to see his reason for keeping him to himself if he was not as valuable as he promised. "You are a man of wit, Corban. You know that Victor would not let go of his best, even if it was to please the King. The South could start a war for it, call it treason, perhaps win... But we need their understanding and support. Armath cannot do without the North, which means we need to remain on their good side if we wish to keep Roddrick on the throne."

 

[pointmango]

Ethon felt her grasp on him as soon as her fingers reached his forearm. Her whisper was revealed she was nervous, maybe? Perhaps scared? “We will cross that situation if we come to see it.” He spoke back to her just as softly. If they did find the campground where her kin were all destroyed they would face that fact. “I will be there,” he muttered, trying to let her know if she needed someone to lean on, emotionally or even physically he would help her all he could in that moment.

Ethon led her outside the hall, his own mind buzzing, thinking of the events that had occured. If Lord Sterling thought there was any true danger he wouldn’t have sent both Lyram and Conrad. Although, there was enough speculation to send three men and soldiers he trusted.

Outside the hall, down the narrow corridor she spoke again. Ethon nodded some, wondering why she was presenting these words to him. Why was it so important to her that he specifically see she was not mad. “I already do not think you mad.” He told her, his tone held little emotion as he continued to walk with her down the corridor. He did not fill the silence himself, he always enjoyed the quiet workings of the castle. And after a meeting as intense as that one, he did not wish to speak to much.

Ethon let his gaze turn to her now, briefly, but the slightest upturn of his lips occured, she looked lovely. Yesterday he would have sworn one of the most beautiful, and somehow today he thought her prettier. An opinion he wouldn’t voice, that was all women here heard, ‘oh you look beautiful’. It was no doubt Aiyda knew she looked so. Ethon didn’t think her mind was occupied with such in the moment anyway.

Ethon huffed his breath some, he knew the Lords would be a while in their discussion about negotiating with the King. Ethon did not want to run into the Queen either. Not after that, his brain was stimulated enough for the time being. He could let the Queen and her cryptic language consume his mind later. “Do you want to see the tallest point of White Hall?” He asked her, another small smile perching on his lips, letting his eyebrow cock just slightly.

*

Victor now looked to his sons before him and rubbed his temple some. “Alright, now that matter is decided.” His voice, which was almost always level and calculated held the slightest hint of aggravation. “The King knows we are aware of his presence here.” Victor began. “He knows our plan is to put forth Hector, as you all know as well. But he will try and collect you Lyram.” Victor spoke, now looking to his oldest son. “I do not worry much, all of you hold your grounds well, but he will be cunning. If he can find a way to convince you Lyram, he will.” Victor spoke to his oldest son.

“Don’t you have final say?” Conrad asked, a bit annoyed that they had to be told to say no.

“If he somehow convinces your brother, and I refuse… it will not look reputable. We must all be on the same page, with everything.” Victor informed them, his gaze looking to Hector. “No games.”

Hector’s normal response to such a remark would be to deny such antics. But to his father, well he just nodded. “If Lyram continues to act with a stick up his rear I’m sure the Southerners dislike of him will continue.” Hector commented.

*

Corban’s blood still boiled, but he let his wife speak her mind. Always a hot headed woman, he thought. He took a breath remembering when they were courting themselves. Corban was young, soughted as the most attractive King in a long while. And Amara was poised to him as the most beautiful woman. She was, there was no denying that even as her youth was fleeing. All those years ago, Corban was fascinated with her intelligence. It was rare a woman was so outspoken to a man about such political subjects. She never spoke out of turn before other men, but to him, she let her thoughts free. How could something that made him so attracted to her when they were young, bring him so much displeasure now?

“We should have tried harder for a girl.” Corban spoke, his tone tight. He knew the subject of that was touchy for her, but their losses had hurt him as well. There was a time in his life when Amara had meant more to him than the kingdom did. How the two of them would sit in their bed together when her belly began to grow with Roddrick, praying to the gods together, and he would hold her, telling her and their future son some of his best stories of adventure and triumph.

Now when they got into bed with one another, they barely looked to the other, the idea of making love seemed other worldly. Even speaking was often foreign when the lights went out.

“It is odd that he hasn’t even courted.” Corban agreed finally on topic of Lyram. And as it shifted to Roddrick he nodded again, “That boy is so illy interested in anything other than books.” Corban muttered. Roddrick did as he was told, he was a decent shot, held a sword well, rode a horse well also, but given his choice the boy seemed to prefer a book. Not the worst, but Corban wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or glad in his lack of potential bastard with the whores around the Kingdom.

Corban felt her fingers grap his arm, his muscles tensing at the pressure, his own gaze meeting hers. She was disputing his ideas, calling him silly. She was right though, a war over something so trivial. She was telling him what to do, his blood boiled further, and despite their location, he took both her arms in his hands and pulled her closer, just for a moment. Like he used to do when they argued all those years ago, before a surge of attraction and passion would come over him, and he would carry her to bed. And now…. There was nothing, still only anger, and displeasure. His hands released her arms and he let out a deepened breath.

“I will try for what I want, Amara.” He spoke now, his voice attempting to be more gentle. “But if we come back with someone lesser, one of the other two, I will not fret. I will try for the Northern Heir.” Corban thought, his mind still going through ideas of what he could do to get him. “Perhaps I will help to arrange a marriage even, one of our Southern allies with a daughter. Use another house to keep us all united, strong.” He thought a loud, unsure of where to go.

 

[peritwinkle]

A burning pang pierced Amara’s chest at Corban’s mention of another child. It had been years, and yet it seemed that the regret had stayed on his mind just as it had on her own. For she had wanted a girl, if only to have a babe if her own to hold clutched to her chest, after all her happiness had been stolen from her by a wrath-driven woman. The mere thought of it tensed her jaw, but the poise etched on her face did not falter.

When she lifted her eyes back to him, she saw that the flames in his eyes had faded, stifled by a blind hope which she doubted she could quench with words. Too infatuated with the thought that he could hold the North in his palm, too convinced of Victor’s loyalty to consider the repercussions of his actions. With a sigh, she let go of his arm and took a step back, as if to assess him. She did not have the energy to tell him he was in the wrong, but nor could she speak ill of her future.

“The decision is not in our hands, Corban,” she concluded. “People of the North are different from us. They hold their home dear and protect it with their life. You could not hope to pull a bird from its nest and force it to fly where you wish.” And so, they could not force Lyram to join them South, no matter what glory and luster they promised; he was far from an impressionable man.

“Our only hope is bringing the South here,” she continued, almost deepened in thought. “Braid strong ties through the winter to come. We need but a pair of eyes and ears to help us pull the strings from our seat in Illegard.” Someone obedient, but sweet enough to fall into the graces of the Lords of White Hall. It was, in essence, what her own father had thought he would do, but failed lamentably, ended by his own greed. A greed that she fought to stifle within Corban himself.

*

Feeling Ethon by her side brought a warm comfort back into Aiyda’s chilled bones. His words of reassurance were not needed then, for his own gestures and the look in his eye as he gazed at her were enough to stifle at least a small portion of the fears within. All she had was the certainty that whatever she would have to face in the meadow, she would not face it alone. Perhaps the Gods had not forgotten her, after all.

His softness almost earned a simper at the corner of Aiyda’s mouth. It was only then that the pang of guilt for pushing him away the other night struck her, and she felt her stomach clench tightly wondering if he held any resentment for her for what she had said to him. For the bitterness residing in her tone, even if it had been nothing but a repression of her pain and frustration. She was but a child, and he was but a boy who listened.

His voice echoed in her head, almost as vivid as his touches, and she quickly recalled the mention of the Queen, which she had not paid much mind to in that moment, but now seemed to carry more importance than it had then, if only for the disheartened expression it had earned from the boy. As she parted her lips to ask, it was Ethon who spoke over her, and Aiyda quickly pursed her lips and lowered her head to listen.

Ethon looked nothing like Lord Victor Sterling’s sons, but she could not help her thoughts from flickering to Conrad’s invitation for a walk the night before. She felt her chest tighten, wondering if the young Lord had figured out that Ethon had come to visit her after his own interruption. It was hard to imagine that her person would interest a Lord, even more to cause a dispute, and yet she could not deny the tension she had felt in the room as soon as Hector had lead her through the tall doors.

Aiyda let out a soft sigh through her nose and leaned against his side. “I have heard people from my village speak of how the keep of White Hall kisses the clouds.” She shrugged. “Not quite true, but I would be curious to see it for myself.” She could not deny that the thought of living in a city sounded much more entertaining than a simple village. Jasper had never had favourable views of larger settlements; even when they had been taken South to Eldstead to be taught to read, he had been ever cautious about the town, which, although considerably smaller than White Hall, was four times the size of Northcross.

A rustling of steps overshadowed their own as they paced through the corridor; turning around the corner, golden shapes painted themselves in the dimly lit darkness, faces she had not seen before, but could only assume the names of. The castle was still buzzing with people of the South following the royal visit; Ethon had spoken of it, yet she had not paid mind to the thought of ever witnessing royal blood for herself.

Without a thought, Aiyda fell to one knees, lowering her head, and waited for Ethon to do the same. Through her lashes, she made out the soft, sunkissed features of the Queen, her eyes glowing with the same gold as she remembered Ethon’s. She saw the corners of her lips turn up just slightly at the sight of them, and her hand lifted to rest upon the King’s arm.

Amara turned her head towards Corban, the simper playing at her lips almost twitching into a smirk, before returning to the sight of the two. “Please,” she nodded, gesturing for them to rise. “I was just speaking to my husband of the Southern faces I have seen around here. One in particular, that would be even harder to forget.”

*

The tension within the room did not fade with Aiyda’s leave. As he stood by his brothers’ side, Lyram could feel each one of their burning glares on his temple, Conrad’s more than any other’s. “You are a wise man, father,” he lowered his head as he addressed him. “Wise enough to not deny the Kilgours of what they demand. But the integrity of House Sterling and the North itself resides in this decision. If we accept, we lose one of us. If we deny... we might as well call each of us lost.”

His gaze flickered to Hector, whose bitterness had not managed to tickle his skin. He did not need to tell him that he was the future Lord of White Hall; respect was earned, not learned, and yet in such moments, despair and frustration clouded his mind. Instead, he turned back to Lord Victor and nodded. “I will not leave White Hall, but nor will they leave without what they truly desire. I am an unmarried man, easily a tool for them to maneuver as they wish if a tie is forged through my person.”

It was his way of pressing at him finding a wife for each of their sons, if only to protect them from the claws of the Kilgours. The North was strong and steady enough on its own, self-sufficient with the Eastern areas providing food through the colder seasons. Marriage was a shield to them and nothing more.

Lyram took a step back to pace around the circle of men, now deepened in his pool of thought. The royal visit, the disputable threat coming from the North, they all seemed to merge into one storm coming to wash over their family. With Hector gone, he and his father would be the pillars left to hold it up against the strong winds. There was no doubt that at least one of them would travel South, leaving their family exposed from one angle.

“We cannot let them coner us,” Lyram concluded then, his chin liftin back up. “We will put Hector before us, and stand with our decision. King Corban knows that people of the North are not easily swayed, and we will be no exception to the rule. We cannot let them see we waver and fight between ourselves. ” It was what he thought they all needed to hear then, if only for the sake of hiding the truth until the Kilgours’ teeth were no longer exposed.

 

[pointmango]

Victor let Lyram speak, he did not need to interrupt, he spoke well and true. And Victor felt safe knowing that Lyram would be the one to take his place when he was gone. However, he was well aware even if Hector was chosen to represent the North down South, Lyram would have to travel with him at first, help him settle in, and as a right of passage visit the capital before he became the true Lord of the North. Victor knew Corban was trying to create allies, that he shouldn’t worry, but a feeling in his gut told him otherwise. There was something so unsettling about sending his two eldest sons down South, even with allies, and even when one would be promised to be returned to him.

“They’ll bring you women.” Hector spoke to Lyram now. “When we go. They will pick their strongest allies, from eastern or western houses, other strong southern ones. They’ll want a strong bond. Perhaps even a cousin of the Queen. Or Roddrick’s bethrothed’s sister.” Hector informed Lyram. “You’ll have to pick based on the House… not on the woman.” Hector added, as if chastising his brother for waiting so long.

“Maybe you will get to choose.” Conrad informed him. “They’ll give you a lot to meet with. One on one of course, not like a line of pigs for slaughter, but you know, maybe three or four you court there. Bring back after Hector is settled, and further agreements in the South are established.” Conrad spoke.

Hector chuckled, “Such a romantic you are. Comparing the most honorable women of Armath and them marrying our brother to pigs for slaughter.” Hector shook his head.

“I did not mean it like that, I meant-” Conrad began.

Victor lifted his hand, “Nevermind what you meant.” His gaze on Conrad for a moment, his eyes telling him to be quiet. “We will discuss this matter further before you leave Lyram. Right now we must stay focused, pushing Hector towards the King, Corban will understand I must keep my eldest son. He will be stubborn, but he would do the same in my position.”

*

Corban could see the change in the woman’s demeanor as he had mentioned the child. He did want the North, but without a daughter they had no immediate involvement. And the North had no daughter to offer forth to Roddrick either. “According to you the South is already here.” He mumbled as a pair of people rounded the corner, one with a southern face, and the other a blazing fire headed girl dropping to her knees.

*

Ethon felt her sigh, her entire body leaning into him with the movement. He never minded the closeness of it all though. In fact, he was quite fond of how easily she seemed to be able to get close to him. He laughed a bit as she spoke of White Hall kissing the clouds. “I wouldn’t say it’s that tall. But you can see far enough on a clear day.” His voice light.

Their conversation cut short as they rounded the corner, and came face to face with golden figures and Ethon turned rigid as Aiyda bent to her knees. Ethon knew common people knelt before the King and the Queen, last night, among the nobles, he had bowed like everyone else for them. He glanced to Aiyda, kneeling himself now as well.

Corban let out a small chuckle at the gesture, even in his annoyed state. When they were gestured to rise, Ethon did so, but he made sure to still stand close by Aiyda. Shockingly, the King’s eyes did not falter over the girl much. His eyes did look over her figure, but there seemed to be no true lust present.

Ethon offered a forced smile to the pair, to both the King and the Queen. “Could only imagine who about.” He spoke, attempting a poor played joke. “Due to the numerous local green faces.” He forced his lips to turn upward again.

Corban’s eyes were more focused on the boy this time around. Not a boy, a young man truly. He was fit, well kept, likely a bit broader than his southern counterparts due to practicing his physical triumphs with the Northerns. But still, much to stalky to be a Northern man, even if he was paled from his years in the North.

“My wife was quite impressed with your dancing, past night.” He spoke, his voice was not as deep as Victors. To Ethon though his tone warm still strong, commanding, and even had a hint of warmth in the tones. Maybe if caught in a good mood the man would have come across as welcoming. “I’ve lost my touch, in the decline of my youth.”

Ethon nodded some, a bit uneasy with how the King seemed to be intently studying him now, focusing on his features, and even glancing between Ethon and his wife. “Lord Sterling says southerns have a softer foot. I may be a better dancer than most northern men, but I probably do not fare well with those in the south.” Ethon offered to the man.

Corban nodded, “Perhaps.” deciding to hold his comment on the issue that was flooding his mind. “You should accompany us when we travel South.” The King spoke now, interested himself. “I assume Lord Sterling will be sending another of his sons to accompany our new Northern representative. Another could not hurt. And you, my lady, should join us as well.” Corban spoke to the girl now, assuming the pair were together based on how they were standing. “Not often a lady of the North get’s to travel so far down, eh?” Corban was clearly pushing his luck with this pair. But he too was now intrigued by the Southern boy.

“Besides, I’m sure Victor would rest easier if there was another accompanying his other son on his journey back.” Corban informed them. Corban could not get a true feel for the Southern boy. Would he travel south with them? He would if Lord Sterling asked him to accompany the party moving south to help Hector into the castle. He would if Lyram needed a hand in courting women other than Northern nobles. He would if Corban settled on Hector, but requested the visit of Lyram and this Southern boy, to arrange some courtship meetings for Lyram as well. That and maybe it would shut Amara’s little obsession with southerners in the North up.

Ethon’s mouth twitched slightly, “If his Lord Sterling commands, I shall go.” Ethon informed the King, unsure if he should correct him on Aiyda’s status or not. She did not look like the mad-woman, who was described when Northern servants told the Southern visitors of the claims made by her.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lyram's frown only creased deeper above his eyes as he listened to his brothers bicker like children, even before their Lord father. The topic of the discussion was not something he particularly enjoyed either, but knew he would have to suffer for the greater good. It was in the name of his family and his father's legacy, after all, and he was the instrument of their continuation. Yet, as the mention of his own person traveling South with Hector popped into the discussion, his chest tightened and his blood rushed to his face like a boiling stream.

"I never said I would go," Lyram stated sternly, his gaze reverting to Victor. "Father, I am your eldest son, your heir. This is what they are awaiting, eagerly - for you to send me into their pit of wolves and the chance to twist you around their fingers." His words came out hastened and sharp, but Lyram quickly forced a drop of poise back into his features and straightened his back some. "Each one of us is honourable to a degree. I cannot contest our loyalty to the Crown, but first, we ought to be loyal to eachother."

The blind trust that his father seemed to have in King Corban and Queen Amara surprised him. It was known that the North had never truly been in strong ties with the South, nothing more than political contracts and matters of economy. Stronger and potent, it would not take the Kilgours more than a flick of the wrist to have the two oldest sons of Lord Sterling locked up and held prisoners until their demands were met favourably to none other than themselves.

"If you must keep your eldest, then I suggest, by all means, let me stay here with you, for I doubt I would be returning easily from a trip to Illegard." His gaze shifted to Hector then; he knew what the man must have been feeling, deep within him, beneath the thick ego and pride of being the King's protegee - fear of leaving home, as they all dreaded the day that he would pass through the gates of White Hall surrounded by strangers. "You are the wisest, father, but I fear I find your decision senseless."

He could not blame him for trusting a man he had known for so long. After all, one could be easily blinded by another who knew his way around words, and it was no secret that the Kilgours - or at least two thirds of them - knew how to lure their prey in with whispers. It had only taken a light chatter with the Queen to understand, or at least see a fragment of how her mind worked. If the woman was so intelligent and cunning, he could not think of King Corban as any less than she was.

*

Crafty. Amara was impressed with Ethon's response, slightly antithetical to his bashfulness from the night before. In that moment, she did not dare to shift her gaze from the sunkissed boy to Corban, in the fear that he would catch that glimmer which she did not seem able to contain. Instead, the simper on her lips was briefly directed to the girl, who had risen up from the ground and stood straight before them, although her shoulder was pressed to the boy's, who seemed to shield her from their eyes.

Yet as he addressed him, Amara could feel her blood drain down to her knees and feet. The boy was humble, as a servant should be, and parried Corban's subtle blows, masked by a theatrical warmth, with kindness. She watched him attentively, waiting for an answer to his question herself, but keeping her shoulders low and her gaze relaxed in a weak attempt to shroud the strange feeling in her gut. It was almost impossible not to notice the resemblance in their features, the way they both moved and held themselves up. The glimmer in his eyes, that seemed to spark just like her own whenever he was asked a question he knew the answer to.

Aiyda pursed her lips and peeked at Ethon from the corner of her eye, before returning her attention fully to the two nobles before them. "I am no Lady, my King and Queen," she said. "I am a Huntress of Northcross." She was, nevertheless, surprised that they would extend such offer to a servant, but the look in Queen Amara's eyes seemed to hold something deeper than an insignificant interest for his Southern roots.

"I have heard," Amara nodded, her tone low and heavy. She now remembered, although not based on the girl's looks, for one could have easily regarded her as any other less significant Lady of the court. "Our visit was not the only unusual occurrence in this castle." She noted how the girl seemed to tense with Ethon's half-mouthed assent, the latter only making her heart feel heavier within her chest. "There seem to be more surprises up North than we would have thought. Perhaps more answers and solutions to our wonders."

A vague term, but she knew Corban would understand what he desired. It was not easy for Amara to keep her thoughts and expressions separated, but knew she had to, if she wished to find the truth and protect it.

Aiyda's heart beat faster within her chest as she subtly tugged on Ethon's sleeve from behind. In that moment, she felt more childish than her little Mathys, but only wished to free him from the analytical gaze of King Corban. The corridors of White Hall were not restricted, but she did not feel like they belonged. Knowing that the Queen likely had an idea of the reasons behind her visit did not calm her nerves. She did not wish to prove herself mad before yet another, nevertheless the Kilgours.

"Your decision belongs to you, Ethon," Amara ended softly. "If you find yourself missing your home or wondering about your origins... Perhaps we could offer you a chance to go back. Take it as a gift of our own kindness, nothing more." And yet, it was so much more, so much that she could not yet tell him, or Corban, and which she was unsure of herself.

 

[pointmango]

Victor caught his sons gaze as he stood his ground. Good. He’d need that backbone here. Victor hoped Hector had his wits about him too, he would need to not bend while representing them all in the South either. “I do not expect you to go, I trust your judgement. But I do not favor a war with the South. Every great Lord should see the capital once in their lifetime. Perhaps you will wait until you are older, or when Hector is more established in the South… or when an heir of your own is born.” Victor told him.

His own father took him South when he was almost of age, feeling it was important for him to understand the land. But his wife would not allow her precious baby boys to go. “Your decision is wise then.” Victor spoke.

Hector frowned some, more annoyed that their father seemed to have his own blind trust with Lyram than really with the crown. Hector knew he would be in danger constantly at the Capital, but he was the best option. Hard to describe really, Hector was the next best thing to Lyram, a compliment he supposed, but also, disposable, which Lyram wasn’t, which boiled his blood often to think about.

When Hector said the decision senseless, Hector;s eyes flickered to his father, bolder words than before. But Victor seemed little bothered by them, as if his mind was somewhere else. It was common for his father, Hector had thought it simply his thinking face, but it seemed to appear that his mind was thinking, just not on the subject at hand.

Hector stepped forward just slightly, as he was going to speak, he wanted to ask of Ethon and the Queen. Why the hell they had been dancing the previous night. Maybe his father knew, maybe he didn’t. But whenever any stressful moments occurred around the subject of Ethon, his father would pretend as if he was not bothered, but he clearly had his mind somewhere else.

“Well, you best start planning your little expedition for these next few days.” Victor said, his tone was clear now, without the girl present. He truthfully did not think they would find anything. The girl was true and honest, but he’d only heard of mass slaughters further North. It was likely the wild people, not the Hunt. He thought it best to put the girl at peace of mind, out of respect to the hunters. Victor thought it was good to let Lyram lead a small expedition, he would have to organize these things in the future, best he attend one that held more importance than just hunting trips.

*

Corban nodded slightly as the girl spoke who she was. He’d heard of the Huntress from others, but he was not expecting such a collected and beautiful looking young woman to be a Huntress. But he nodded as his wife carried the outer end of the conversation. Although Corban’s gaze was tight on the light haired boy, he noticed the tenseness of both him and the girl. Corban let his eyes move to Amara though, her words, were hopeful and so sweet. She had taken a liking to this boy, and she seemed to wish for him to travel south.

Ethon felt uneasy, the Queen’s offerings were so abundant. And the way Corban was watching him made him want to turn away. “Thank you. Very much my Queen. King Corban.” Ethon said nodding his head to the both of them. “Aiyda and I must be going now,” Ethon informed them, giving little explanation, he bowed slightly, waiting for Aiyda to do the same before pulling them past the King and Queen.

Once they were further down the corridor, turning a corner that would lead them towards the tower, Ethon was still tense. “The tower is just up the hall there.” He said pointing towards a large chamber door, “Stairs behind there.” He said, his hand slipped from having his arm out for her to hold, to his fingers moving to hers, taking her hand in his. “Come on.” He whispered slightly, pulling her towards the end of the corridor.

*

After the pair was gone, Corban looked to Amara, his gaze looking over her carefully, wondering how much he should voice to her in the moment. “You’ve taken quite a liking to the southern servant.” He informed her. “If you had the attitude in Illgard you’d be consumed with every servant we have.” He pointed out to her, his tone clearly skeptical of her fascination with this boy.

 

[peritwinkle]

Lyram was thankful his father had eventually agreed with him, and yet it was strange that it had to come so easily following the final tone of his decision.The weight of the choice so pressed on his shoulders as his eyes removed from his brother, Hector, to Conrad, who watched him attentively, awaiting his next words, waiting for his temper to falter, for him to slip into despair of frustration. He knew he would have to leave his nest one day, and yet somehow, the thought scared him more than anything else.

As the subject was slowly brushed away, a hint of the expedition North arose once again, yet this once lacking the sullen tone from when he had addressed the girl that morning. “You do not believe it, do you?” Lyram asked then. He noted the slightly derisive touch, which strangely enough almost irked him. “After all she said to us. To you. But you know she was telling the truth.”

A statement, not a question. Lyram knew that his father was honourable, and could easily distinguish a lie from an aching truth. There was no doubt that Aiyda Saeberian had spoken the truth, but only the veracity of her story. Men were frail beings, easily predisposed to trickery of the eye and mind. And yet, he had seen the cold shiver grace them all as she had spoken the grave words, felt it himself and wondered, briefly, what the chances were of magic of old truly having returned.

“We will ride in the morning,” he reassured his father with a nod. “I will see to it, whether the reason behind the massacre was a band of wildlings or a myth come to life. It is the North’s duty to see to the needs of our hunters.” Soon enough, House Glovelyn would be informed, and the story would spread and heighten like wildfire. The discretion of a small group was a measure of keeping the damage contained for the time being.

When his gaze returned to his brothers, Lyram tried not to read into their own. He had had enough for that morning and only wished to close his eyes and rest. Think, perhaps, but only when his mind was no longer muddled. “I will see you all for our last dinner before I leave,” he bid, before turning on his heels and walking out of the hall, his jaw tense and his eyes of glass replaying the images of that day back in his head.

*

The air in the corridor felt thick and stifling, despite the soft aura of perfume around the Queen and the cold air slipping through the cracks in the windows. Aiyda was thankful when Ethon stepped forward to excuse themselves before the noble pair, although even as he began to pull her away, the tension in her chest did not seem to alleviate. She bid them a murmured goodbye, with a deep, respectful bow, yet still high enough to keep her arm wrapped tightly around Ethon’s own, before allowing him to lead her down the hallway.

Her eyes followed the Queen for a moment, until her golden hair disappeared around the corner, and the girl was forced to turn her gaze back to the floor in front of her. “People of the South seem very much alike,” she spoke, not yet daring to look him in the eye after the unusual exchange. “You and the Queen... No wonder that she took interest in you.” Yet, even so, it was not often that a noble bothered to give any attention to a servant, nevertheless offer them a dance. “You never told me you did dance with her. The young Lords must be intrigued.”

She was intrigued herself, but attempted to mask her curiosity slightly with a barely sketched nonchalance. It was only then that she understood why his disposition had changed so abruptly the night before. The memory of it all sent a shiver down her spine, a strange feeling which she fought to quench with other thoughts, but which seemed to be woven into her mind now. Even holding his hand felt peculiar, irking, but oddly soothing. Mixed with the stirring exchange with Lord Sterling from earlier that morning, her heart only grew louder beating against her chest, enough that she briefly wonder if he could see it through her blouse.

Aiyda let Ethon take her through the corridor and up the stairs at the very back of it, leading through a door which was only fastened against a wall by a weak metal bar. Once opened, the pure brightness of the scenery outside scourged her eyes, frigid wind breathing against her cheeks and hair. So high up, the sky itself appeared closer, but the sun was only colder, menacing behind its white curtains.

Looking down from the balcony, a field stretched around the keep, covered in ice and cut short by the dark shadow of the forest, only getting thicker as it flowed into the horizon. The opening faced the true North; there was no rustling coming from the stronghold beneath, nor the clink of steel from the guards moving about, but merely the wind’s whispers that became louder and louder as winter approached. Despite the distance, she could even almost hear the leaves and old trunks creaking in the forest below.

“I have never been this high up,” Aiyda whispered against the breeze, and clenched her hand tighter around Ethon’s. His felt warmer then, almost as though she had been standing in the cold for so long, whilst he had absorbed all the heat of the pale sun unto him. “I have been in the mountains near Eldstead... Never remotely close enough to their summits, but enough to see the entirety of the town from above. And it looked close to this.”

Even if she turned her head, she could see nothing but the plains and waves of the earth, the halfway covered pathways and roads leading South, or North towards Last Harbour. “Our father took us there a couple of times a year,” she continued, her voice ringing softly in the air. “Master Brion knew my father well. A retired hunter, but always one at heart. He had taught my father all he knew about the woods and the creatures within. Then, when he could not ride any longer, he taught Mathys and I.”

Books and manuscripts had looked cryptic to her at first, the art of writing meaningless for a girl of her upbringing, but she had obeyed. “Mathys was a fast learner. For me, it took endless nights and mornings... I was slow, but I did learn. All I wanted to do then was shoot arrows into whatever resembled a target.” Soon, her curiosity was kindled, and she became interested in reading her father’s letters, or the labels on strange liquids in Brion’s apartment.

When her eyes turned back to him, they held a warm melancholy, lacking the stinging weight from moments before. “All this might have gone to waste now... I am a hunter. But you... You might travel South soon. I think you were brought up for glorious things.”

 

[pointmango]

Victor looked to Lyram as he spoke now, bringing him back from his thoughts a moment. “I believe she believes it.” Victor stated. “She was telling the truth, her truth. Her truth does not make her words real.” Victor informed his son. “I do not believe the hunt has returned. I’m not sure I even believe it was there hundreds of years ago.” Victor informed them. “I mourn with her over the Hunters… over her family. And I trust your judgement, yours too Conrad. Should you find anything of speculation on your journey you will not endanger yourselves, or your party. You will come back if it becomes dangerous.” Victor spoke, his words very clear now.

Lord Victor would have liked to trust the girls words through Ethon as well. Victor had always held great trust towards the green faced boy, but as soon as he saw the way Ethon looked at her, he knew any words from his mouth were complete rubbish. In Victor’s mind Ethon was blinded, by lust, but something else… he didn’t know.

Both Hector and Conrad nodded to Lyram as he made his exit, Victor looking way again, letting his thoughts of Ethon get the best of him. He was almost certain the Queen knew exactly who he was. But what of Corban? Yesterday Corban had seemed blind to the fact, what would come of it all if Corban found out who Ethon really was. And what would come of Roddrick?

*

Ethon’s lips pursed slightly as she spoke of the Queen and him looking so much alike. He knew there was some resemblance to him and the King as well, which left him quite uneasy. He didn’t think all southerners looked a like, in fact, he didn’t think Roddrick looked as much like the Queen as he did. The nasty feeling in his stomach grew as Aiyda seemed intrigued at the fact that they danced. “Yes. Suppose I am too.” Ethon spoke, letting on he knew just as much as they all did, which was nothing.

When the pair emerged onto the balcony, Ethon closed his eyes a long moment as the cold air blew his hair, and felt crisp on his now reddened cheeks. He needed this today, hell he needed this for a while, he often came here to forget, or to think. It was nice, not many came here without a purpose, and whether it cold or warm, the scenery only changes with seasons. Never location, no settlement in the distance ever moved. The mountains remained always. Even the trees in the thickened distant woods, sometimes held leaves, sometimes did not, either way, they were always there.

He felt her hand clench tighter around his, interrupting his own gaze as he looked to her, a slight smile on his lips, wondering if she was nervous being this high. “I would love to climb the mountains. That must’ve been beautiful.” He spoke quietly. He was never allowed out too far. He’d been to the base of the mountains on hunting, and even day trips, but never allowed to go up them, see higher ground. Sometimes when they ventured out when they were younger, a guard would always be assigned, usually secretly to watch over each of the Sterling boys, just in case any of them got a dumb idea. Ethon often noticed a guard would watch him more intently than the others too. He often wondered why lord Sterling cared about his safety just as much as one of his sons.

Ethon now listened to her story, of her father and brother and of this Master Brion she was clearly fond of. He held her hand gently, letting her know he was listening and he even took a small step towards her as she continued on. He remembered how hard learning to read and write for him was at first. When he joined the Sterling boys they had been practicing to be Lords since birth, he joined them when he was eight. Lyram was fourteen by then, and even Conrad who was ten seemed so immensely skilled. Ethon caught on soon enough, now he barely batted an eye at the thought of it all.

“You have the same mentality as Conrad then.” Ethon chuckled when she said all she wanted to do was shoot things instead of reading and writing. But Ethon stiffened slightly as she turned the conversation to him. “All I ever wanted to do was travel South.” He whispered, “My entire life here in White Hall. I learned to read, and write, and fight. Each day telling myself one day I would go back, I’d find my mother and maybe some old friends. Take care of her. And now… I want nothing to do with it.” Ethon’s hand let go of hers now.

“They were unsettling, did you not feel it?” He asked Aiyda now, “The King and the Queen.” He clarified, as if she needed it. “Lord Victor has always been kind to me. And I would be foolish not to question a greater purpose.” Ethon huffed. He remembered asking Lord Victor when he was younger, the man would always tell him he would share his reasoning with him when he was old enough.

“You were brought up for glorious things.” He pointed out to her. “You are a woman, the eldest child of the leader of the sacred hunt. You maybe would have led them one day, maybe under your brother, or with him, or in place of him.” He wondered if she knew how different her life being a huntress was from a regular woman, or even from a noble woman. “I was born to a whore. A bastard in the south, raised to beg and work labor jobs. Had Lord Sterling not taken me, I’d probably be there still. Maybe selling myself to noble women, maybe working as a laborer at the docks.” Ethon shrugged.

*

Hector had remembered his conversation with the Prince from the previous night, he was to show him the library. He sent a squire to ask the Prince if he would join him, instead of asking himself, hopefully the dear Prince wouldn’t take such as an insult. Hector often had others do bidding for him, always a man behind the scenes. He kept himself perched in the corner of the library, the Squire knew where he was, he could tell the Prince, if the Prince so desired to join him. Hector has a book of blank parchment in his lap, using an inked quill to jot down notes from the meeting this morning.

He was unsure now, before he had found the girl’s story to be rubbish, but today listening to her, and then to Ethon, and even Lyram questioning his father after. Hector was now beginning to question the story himself. He doubted they would find anything on this little expedition, whether the Hunt was real or not, a dead body was a dead body. How could they determine cause of death accurately after so many days in the open snow, and with no previous killings of the Wild Hunt to compare it to. The only records of the Hunt were speculated stories, none ever proven as fact versus fiction.

 

[peritwinkle]

Ethon’s past was no longer a mystery to Aiyda after the evening they had spent together, and yet she watched and listened to him attentively, as thought fishing for the deepest details hidden in his words. It was not often that people of the South managed to adapt to the cold so easily, and to the Northerners’ way of life, but Ethon had been raised in such condition from a very young age. Young enough for the sun within him to fade with each day.

She pursed her lips when he mentioned the King and Queen again, words which only heightened the burning feeling in her chest. She was not at peace, and had not been since setting foot in White Hall; their arrival, although not tied to her person, still caused a stir within her. At the back of her mind pearled endless questions regarding their dance, for no matter his origins, it was unusual for a woman of Queen Amara’s standing to honour a mere stable boy with a dance, were there no underlying intentions hidden behind her actions.

“Have you ever wondered, Ethon,” Aiyda muttered, drawing closer towards the fringe covered in snow, “why Lord Sterling would take a harlot’s boy in as his own?” She had seen the way Victor Sterling had treated him, the trust he had put into the boy throughout his testimony, just as he would trust the golden minds of his own offspring. “The Queen must have seen the same spark within you. We would be both blind and deaf to believe you are a mere stable boy. I have always put more faith in myself than the Gods... And yet now, I believe they hold you in their palms for a greater purpose.”

Her pale fingers came to graze upon the fresh snow for a moment, before she quickly retracted them back into her sleeve at the scourge of ice against her fingertips. Aiyda took a step back and drew closer to him, slightly seeking warmth and shelter from the cold wind. “I doubt the Hunt would have followed a woman. And Mathys was not yet prepared to lead in my father’s stead.”

It hurt to speak of him in past tense, but it was a painful necessity. She could not affort to fill her mind with aching hopes and lies which would do nothing but dig the blade deeper into her wounds when she was faced with the truth. “But I know it was what my father was preparing me for. The Hunt honoured the North and brought prosperity to its lands. We were the instruments of good... A small generosity from the Gods, perhaps. He wanted to keep its flame burning through me.”

Aiyda’s eyes eventually moved to Ethon, and she placed a steady palm on his shoulder. “You now understand, Ethon. The attack was not an obscure casualty. Whatever it was... It cut a line of tradition from its root. It spit on the purest legend of the North.” It had been, undeniably, a threat, and she could not help but tie the Kilgours’ arrival North to what had happened in the forest only a few nights before. “Something is unveiling, slowly, but surely. The air we breathe is no longer the same, and I sense it will not be for a long time.”

*

The reflection Roddrick saw in the mirror looked strange to him. Dressed in one of his finest coats, only less intricate than the one he had worn the previous evening, he did not feel as regal as the gold embellishing his collar should have made him. The dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks spoke volumes of his night, but he did not regret having drunk an ungodly amount of wine at the feast. He would be a fool to deny himself of such pleasures after long nights and days of riding through Armath.

He forced a smile to curl at the corner of his lips as he pulled his collar up straight. The squire which had come to see him that morning had been greeted by a less than pleasant sight, a thought which Roddrick fought to brush away from his mind. And yet, there was a strange feeling in his gut, a tension in his bones that separated him from his usual self. From who he was made to be.

After enough time of stressfuly tugging and pulling at the sleeves and rims of his garments, Roddrick eventually presented himself once again before the awaiting squire and allowed the young boy to lead him down the hall. Upon leaving his room, he was met with a cold which seeped through his clothes far too easily; despite the fur and thick coatings, his attire had not been made remotely warm enough for that part of the North.

Around the corner, he spotted the familiar face of Hector Sterling by the door he assumed lead into the library. The squire by his side bowed hastily, to whom Roddrick have a quick nod and a gallant smile, before returning to the Lord with the same expression etched on his face. “A fine morning for reading,” he agreed with his unspoken statement. “I see you have kept your promise. Men of the North are, indeed, as honourable and heartfelt as they say.”

His eyes averted to the piece of parchment in the man’s lap, only stained by a few lines of ink, but made an effort not to scour it too attentively. “The hearing of the villager,” the Prince pointed out, his smile slowly faltering. The stories he had heard from the servants and guards around the castle were oddly unsettling, despite being so blatantly unbelievable. “It is not unusual in Illegard for the common people to spread rumours about legends and myths... We have just learned not to bend the ear to them. I do listen, though.”

A weakness, perhaps, but it had been intriguing to him for too long. His mind and dreams were filled with such stories, so much so that they had become a part of him, in a sense, and in the back of his mind, he did wonder if his mother questioned their veracity as well from time to time, for he had seen the spark of curiosity in her eye many times before, the same spark which he knew caught ablaze in his own.

 

[pointmango]

Her question was the one that had been plaguing his mind constantly ever since he saw the Queen of Armath. One he had wondered before when he was young as well, but never thought too much on. Any thought of such things before seeing the Southerners seemed like far fetched fantasies and stories just as Wild as the Hunt. But here was a woman who had seen the hunt, and the idea of who he was, who he could be really, was much less of a fantasy and more of a sick reality. Of course he wondered it. It was so damned constant this entire week, the only thing that seemed to pull his mind from it was her.

He still said nothing, but the more he thought on it, he was old enough. Lord Sterling should have told him the truth by now, right? He should have said something to him, at least in the slightest. Ethon wrestling with his mind trying to remember anything over the years that could have hinted at any of this. He remembered always what Lord Sterling spoke when he was learning to read and write, wouldn’t let him quit at it. Ethon never saw the importance of it, but he did it.

He watched her fingers, strong, but gentle in appearance as they grazed the snow lightly before she pulled her hand back quickly, due to the cold. She moved in closer to him, and Ethon let himself step closer, just one step, only slight. His eyes falling on her cheeks as she spoke to him, speaking of her family and her lands.

Her hand touched his shoulder and his own hand moved from his side up to hers, lifting her hand, feeling warm compared to the chilled air of the tower, his own palm intertwined with hers as he looked over the back of her hand. Her skin was pale, compared to his olive tones, although he was still pale as well. He nodded slightly, to let her know he did understand.

When he first came to the North, he thought their rituals weird and silly, and rather spiritual and aggressive as well. As he grew he learned to respect them, but he still did not participate much, especially in their odd prayers. He understood the hunters, their importance to the North, but truthfully there was a piece missing until he met her. They weren’t just savages killing for food, and being praised for it. They were much more, although some still considered them more like wild folk. Lord Sterling often referenced them as true Northerners.

When she spoke her last words, that something was unveiling, he pulled her closer to him, by her hand, just slightly, his gaze falling to hers. She was right, something was changing, but he did not wish it so. Whatever this ‘change’ was, everyone seemed to be aware of it’s presence, and it left an unsettling feeling in everyone’s gut. “Come. We should rest a bit before we leave tomorrow. They’ll probably want us ready before daybreak.” Ethon muttered, he gaze pulling from hers.

He still held her hand as he led her back towards the entrance of the tower, although he stopped just a few steps down, she was behind him, one step above where he stood. In this position she was just slightly higher than him, he turned, his eyes on hers yet again. “I am sorry. I know everyone has likely spoke so a thousand and one times.” His tone was deep, attempting to be softer. He wanted to voice his sorrows though. Everyone spoke it to her, but he did not understand the first time he spoke so. He felt he did now, better anyway.

He looked down just slightly, his free hand pressing on her waist for just a moment, swallowing his words, knowing she didn’t need to hear anymore sorrows. “Maybe we can sneak some bread, or food, go listen to some of the drunk servants and their tall tales of high life before their palace days.” Ethon said with a small smirk on his lips, attempting to lure her into some fun before their large trek into the woods the next day would bring.

*

Hector’s gaze lifted when the squire cam to the library with the Prince beside him. Hector stood a moment, nodding to the Prince, then remembering himself and now bowing a bit. The Prince’s words held in his ears; honorable and heartfelt. Is this what he expected when they brought Hector south? “What good is a man, if he is not true to his word?” Hector posed back at him.

The Prince’s voice spoke of the girl’s hearing. Although Hector tried not to have a faint mind on the Prince, his wits weren’t about him this afternoon. “She is not a villager.” He spoke, his tone even, a sternness within. “She is a Huntress of Northcross.” He stated as if that was reason alone why there was such a dilemma over the issue. Had it been just a villager, she would have been cast aside without second thought on her story. Not in such a blatant way, but no efforts to ease her conscious and mind would have been made.

Hector huffed slightly, “My father does not believe her. But my brother does.” He said, so clearly speaking of Lyram. “So does the greenface we keep.” He added about Ethon, “I thought the lot of them all just want a good fuck with the Huntress, until I heard her story this morning.” Hector spoke. The story itself was not one he need hide from the Prince. Maybe the details, but if he shared with him, it might build some trust. Hector was quite good at knowing what to let on, and what to keep from others. “She was compelling. Her words, not just her sex.” He added, a small chuckle coming out.

“A good quality in a King I think. Curious, and willing to listen.” Hector spoke, he didn’t speak his next thoughts, but he knew Corban was not so willing, nor curious. “Stories are something I have always enjoyed.” Hector spoke now folding the parchment in his hands. He set it in his pocket, and his hand now moved to touch some of the book spines. “History is all good to know, to study. But what we crave are the stories, right? The mystery? Especially the ones that might be real if not labeled fiction.” Hector could tell the Prince enjoyed such, just by the way his eyes reacted during his words. Hector prided himself on his ability to read one's gaze. Nobles were taught from a young age to control their face, but the eyes told one everything.

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite growing cold, there was a certain feeling of intimacy in the air that kept Aiyda from wishing to get back inside, back to the warmth and safety of the castle. Her cheeks had grown redder, and she could see the same flush in Ethon’s own; the crimson made him look younger, but the frown upon his brow took away from the softness of his features. It was clear to her than that her curiosity plagued him as well. Her observation had bothered him, for he had not agreed nor denied her insinuation. It was a question that seemed to float about him, doing nothing more than muddling his head, to no resolution.

Her lips shuddered when she took her hand and came closer. Moments from the night before popped into her mind, but she quickly brushed them away and returned to the present. She was left hanging in her subtle inquiry, or he hastily changed the subject to the morning to come, and Aiyda was quickly overtaken by dread.

‘One more night,’ she thought to herself. It was difficult to see it all as something positive. Perhaps she would be called childish for being afraid, but she could not help the sickening feeling in her gut at the thought of what she could see in that meadow. It had snowed over the past days, but barely enough to cover their tracks, nevertheless countless bodies. She pressed her lips into a line and lowered her head. “You are right,” she nodded. Her words came out empty, but she followed him easily as he lead her back into the tower.

When he stopped a few steps below her, Aiyda once again found the courage to look him in the eye. He was still obviously bitten by the cold, but his gaze spoke more than just the discomfort caused by winter winds. Regret. Indeed, it was what everyone seemed to feel for her own loss, and yet she could not begin to sieve her feelings into something concrete. There was pain, anger, frustration, dread, not only regret. She supposed it came easily for someone who was convinced of what they had seen that night, in the woods.

She did not reply. There was a knot in her throat that only grew tighter when the mention of her family was brought back to her mind. Instead, she offered Ethon a barely sketched smile and shook her head. “No need,” she murmured. “Lehna told me that Lord Lyram bid I could have whatever I wished for.” She had been given the right to a bath each evening, which was more than luxury, even to someone who lived in the castle. She had not had much of an appetite, but the opportunity was still there for her to take. If Ethon wished to eat, she might as well join him, attempt to wash away the sour taste in her mouth with a proper lunch.

The small smirk on his lips was strangely soothing. Aiyda pressed her cold palm over his own on her side for a moment, before trotting down the steps to resume their way to the kitchens. “So long as Arah does not mind,” she thought to add; a small joke, harmless, but likely not to the servant. She had gotten along with the others, but the girl, which spoke volumes regarding her relationship with Ethon. ‘It is nothing,’ she reminded herself, and in that moment, she wished to tell Arah the same. The night before had been a mistake.

*

Roddrick was surprised when Hector corrected him on the girl’s titles; he had heard of the Hunters of Northcross, although their stories rung like myths down in the South. The way from the far North was so long, that the tales of their glory took unbelievable twists and turns from each mouth, to the point where it was almost impossible to separate truth from blatant lie.

He understood, then, that it had been the reason Victor Sterling had given her the chance of a fair hearing. It was common for Northerners to keep close relationships to their servants; more often than not, they were almost regarded as equals to some. The concept was foreign to Roddrick, although he did wish he could spend more time listening to what they had to say than his own tutors sometimes.

The Prince nodded to Hector and let out a sigh. “I suppose different circumstances allow for different streams of thought to form,” he offered. “But I did not come to you to listen blindly. I want to see the place where you keep all those stories secluded.” Frankly, he only wished to put a wall between the two of them and the guards outside, who followed him everywhere he went; around White Hall, they were even more cautious than usual, which only irked Roddrick even more.

“What do they talk about in Northern inns?” He asked curiously, as he allowed Hector to step first into the library. He would only follow, silently, willing to listen rather than do the talking. Whatever the young Lord said, it seemed far more vivid than what he himself could assume. “Do they speak of legends? Of heroes? Do they cuss the Crown and all that come with it?” A bitter joke, but it no longer phased him. Punishment only came with the crime, and none dared to prove themselves guilty before him or his family.

 

[pointmango]

They began down the stairs further, although he comment on Arah did cause his brow to cock. He could sense the joke in her tone, he too found the comment of slight comedic presence, but had the servant girl heard so, she’d have it in for Aiyda’s head. “Arah minds too much about me.” He stated easily. He thought about going into further detail, but Aiyda didn’t need to know any of that.

He knew the girl fancied him. A lot of the new servant girls tried their chance, flirting with hi when they first arrived, but they learned quickly he didn’t have much interest. Ethon tried, but his mind was too muddled, not worth it. He didn’t think he could ever achieve what Conrad spent his free evenings doing. He had more of a sex drive than him, Hector and Lyram combined. He took a new girl quite often, although his favorite were conquests. He enjoyed a good chase, probably more so winning over a chase. Ethon thought that was why Conrad admired Aiyda.

Arah though was different, she wasn’t like the others, who gave up so easily, she stuck at it. He wondered if she thought fucking Conrad the previous night would make him jealous. Was that her intent? He did not feel jealous, merely confused by the pairs stake in the matter. Ethon was more upset Conrad had tried to visit Aiyda that night.

Ethon switched from holding her hand, to letting her hand move around his arm as they traveled closer to the kitchen. They stepped inside, it was between meals, too late for lunch clean up, just early enough where they would be starting any long haul dishes for dinner. Ethon plucked a roll from one of the baskets, handing it to Aiyda as he smirked at one of the kitchen chefs.

“Hands off, Ethon!” The older woman smacked at his hand, but even she finally let up a smile.

“Any chance Leon is back?” He asked. “Thought we’d get in a little show before supper.” He teased slightly.

“He should be back from the pubs any minute.” The older woman sighed. “Y’know, you lot bettah quit eggin’ on his stories.” She said as Lehna came around the counter with a basket of dirty sheets, she reaching for a roll as well, only for the older woman to smack her hand away.

A few more servants, both men and women filled the kitchen, some helping to cook, but most pouring themselves water, tea or ale. The lot chatting among themselves, clearly this was an event. Soon enough an older man came stumbling in. A couple of the girls asking the man, Leon how the pubs where.

“I’ll tell yer” Leon gruffed out. Leon was a tall man, his hair grey, but still a full head of it. From his stature it was clear in his time he was a good looking fellow, but age and booze had gotten the best of him. He began to go on about some tradesmen he met in the pub, but his gaze fell to Aiyda. “‘Ey.” He grumbled, “I haven’ seen yer here ‘fore. I’d member, the hair.” He said pointing at her head.

Ethon glanced to Aiyda a bit, the older woman shaking her head now, “You can’t even remember your own name.” She said, smacking Leon’s hand as it went for food as well.

“A huntress. Northcross.” Ethon informed Leon.

Leon’s gaze moved over the girl a moment, this new information plaguing his mind deeply. Leon was a drunk, but he also talked as much as he listened. Even he would have heard about the Hunter who came and made claims of the hunt. “Ight, git, all youse.” He said showing away the other servants. “Got some, er questions, this lot, righ’ here.” He said his tone softening as everyone now seem annoyed but dispersed.

There was a small table in the corner with a few chairs, a bit more private from the rest of the kitchen. “Git some ale, boy.” he said to Ethon who nodded, Ethon interested since Leon never made a spectacle of anyone but himself. He let Leon lead Aiyda over to the table, but he joined the pair, with three cups and a pitcher of ale, he poured for Aiyda first, then Leon, who downed his before Ethon could finish pouring for himself.

“Mor’ c’mon.” Leon muttered. Then his gaze turned back to Aiyda. “Them all, callin’ yeh crazy down at ‘em pubs.” Leon spoke to her carefully. “I seen ‘em.” He whispered to her.

Ethon leaned in a bit more, coming from Aiyda the idea didn’t seem so crazy, but when Leon spoke it, it did.

“Bin years. They’ll believ’ yeh. Yer a hunter. Mor’ honor ‘n me.” He informed her. His eyes glanced to Ethon, motioning for more ale, but his eyes also looking over the boy as well. “Don’ let ‘em tell yeh it’ ain’ real.” His hand shook as he brought the ale to his lips. “I seen ‘em kill meself.” Now it was unclear if the man was shaking from age, or from fear. “Killers, they leav’ notin’. ‘Spect they on’y movin’ in slow. Til ‘s ter late.” Leon’s eyes were locked on Aiyda’s. “Mak’ ‘em beliv’ yeh.” He spoke to her, his old hand reaching for hers, squeezing it, “Yeh can save us al’” His eye sglanced to Ethon, like he knew something the two of them didn’t. Like him telling the pair of them to save everyone, not just Aiyda.

“Alright, alright, get to bed you old oaf.” The lead cook maid began, pulling Leon up from his chair.

“I can git to me own bed, jus fine.” He grumbled taking the pitcher of ale as he stumbled off to bed.

*

Hector led them towards the back of the library, thankfully his guards did not follow too closely, Hector would have been annoyed as well being followed all day long. Although the Prince’s question about the Northern inns did surprise him. “Suppose the latter and more.” Hector chuckled dryly. He thought about telling the Prince of stories about him, but that could come later maybe. For now he would stick to the usual drought of conversation.

Hector and his brothers had attended pubs and inns on many occasions. Conrad the most, Lyram the least. Hector rarely drank while out, more concerned with the conversation among the location. He would milk on cup of ale the entire night, and listen to the grown men bellow their woes of the evening. Some even drunk enough, and out late enough to be as so kind as to walk him to the tall walls of white hall. That was when he would invite them further inside, but those tales were not for the prince’s ear.

“Legends, yes, much like the tale the girl claims is real. That’s a popular one. Although it is enjoyable to put our own spin on common southern tales as well.” Hector let his long fingers run along a few spines of the older books in the back corner, debating which to pluck for the prince. “Heroes are praised. As they should be. Ones long dead, or recent woes. Either way, a drink to a man is never one too many if for a man of great honor.” He shrugged a bit. “I think that’s just what the drunks say to feel better about themselves.” He pulled one larger book from the shelf with one hand. It was leather bound, black colored and the pages old and yellow.

“Cussing the crown comes with everyone. I doubt you praise the very crown you were born beneath each day.” Hectors hands opened the pages. “Don’t you ever see common children. Playing so freely, never having to sit inside, studying, reading in the warm weather. Perhaps a common man, taking a common girl for a walk among the village streets. Just the pair of them, whispering whatever they wish to one another, laughing…” Hector prosed. “A luxury a noble man or woman will never know. They will be chaperoned and followed until they are man and wife.” Hector pointed out.

“We do have the luxury of books.” Hector lifted the piece slightly, “Living the life of any man we please, common, noble, myth, through the pages of a book.” Hector finally closed the book and handed it to the Prince, “Those are the most well known stories of anyone of the North. A good start.” Hector shrugged finally.

“Now I must ask you, your grace,” He offered a slight smile. “What are the common gossips of the South?”

 

[peritwinkle]

It had been a few days since arriving at White Hall, but Aiyda still did not feel at ease walking through it. Even with Ethon by her side, who offered slight solace in the way he held her pressed to his own, it was difficult to not feel the weight of the eerie air which floated about its corridors. It had only dissipated by a sliver ever since first stepping through its doors; otherwise, it was still dark and cold, not only a consequence of winter, but perhaps the circumstances the past days had brought along.

It had not taken her long to learn her way around the castle, at the very least from her chamber to the kitchens or to the Great Hall and back. The path Ethon pulled her through was more familiar as they left the tower wing and came closer to the sound of jolly chatter and clinks of steel. For a moment, a shiver ran through her spine at the thought of bumping into the King and Queen of Armath yet again, but was relieved when their stride turned out to be rather uneventful.

As soon as Ethon lead her through the archway and into the kitchens, loud voices rung in her ears and a plethora of delicious smells tickled her nostrils. The cold ought to have made her hungry, for even the half baked bread one of the servants was poking at looked ready to eat in that very moment. The boy saw the desire in her eyes and, before any of the other servants could react, he handed her a still steaming roll, which the girl took gratefully before the older woman could yank it out of Ethon’s hand.

She did not bother with explaining Lord Lyram’s hospitality to the servants, happy enough with the roll she had been given, and took a ravenous bite into it as she listened to the short exchange between the two. The peace - if one could call it that - only lasted until a wave of servants flushed into the kitchens, and Aiyda’s eyes met Lehna, who gave her a playful smirk before slipping through the small crowd and disappearing with her basket of old sheets.

It seemed that one of those who had arrived for an early supper was the ‘Leon’ Ethon had been looking for, and strangely enough, Aiyda felt as though she recognised the man. A small simper played at the corners of her lips as she huffed her roll, before lowering it to give the man a nod of acknowledgement. “I believe I have seen you before, haven’t I?” she wondered. “Have you ever been to Northcross?”

Before she could ask more questions, she was quickly pulled towards one of the two tables reserved for servants, and she almost bashfully took a seat by Ethon’s side, across from Leon. Her dark eyes scoured him for more clues, but as soon as he addressed her, a wave of defeat washed over her. ‘The word of a madwoman has spread,’ Aiyda thought briefly. ‘If even a city drunkard recognizes my name.’

But as he began to unravel his own story, Aiyda could not help but doubt the honesty of his words or, at the very least, their veracity. Hypocritical of her, she thought, but could she be blamed for not trusting a man who had been drinking his brains away since early morning? Her gaze flickered to Ethon, doubtfully; had he truly seen them, he would have been far gone, not there to tell them the story. Or, perhaps he had gotten lucky, yet Aiyda knew it had not been luck that had saved her from the Wild Hunt. They had, for one reason or another, let her go.

She flinched as he took her hand, but his grasp around her wrist was stronger than her own pull. “I will,” she said. “I will, I promise.” When he finally let go, Aiyda straightened her back and wrapped her finger tightly around her cup of ale. Her eyes followed him as he rose from their table, before lowering back to Ethon, still sitting by her side. “Do you believe him as well?” she asked. “Is his story why you believed me in the first place?” As plausible as it could be coming from a man in Leon’s state.

She brought the ale to her nose and gave it a whiff, before taking a small sip. It was sweeter than expected, but thankfully contained less alcohol than the wine she had had the night before. “I do know men like him,” she added. “They come to our inns and retell stories they heard from more glorious men... Fun to listen to, if you care for such things. I did. But they were never amusing to Mathys or our mother.”

A breath left Aiyda’s nose before she continued. “Before each Hunt, Mathys had nightmares. He dreamt of armed riders of black horses... Of the Wild Hunt... My mother would go to his side, burn a few plants and herbs with strange names and have him whiff them. She would say a few blessings... I can’t remember, she whispered them in his ear. I think she has made me breathe them in once or twice, as well, but I never believed in such things.”

Until then, at least. Aiyda closed her eyes and took a big gulp of her ale, emptying half of the cup, then placed it down with a loud clink against the wood. “I think my sleep will be restless as well tonight,” she murmured as she looked back to Ethon. “I cannot help but wonder what we will find there, in the meadow... I see it when I close my eyes, or when my mind is empty.” It did help when he spoke to her; it filled up the emptiness, or overshadowed the darker thoughts. She would take the momentary solace, as brief as it was, so long as such images did not plague her mind for a short second.

*

Roddrick did not care as much for the richest library in the North as much as he did for Hector’s nonchalant chatter. The Prince followed quietly, his eyes flickering to the endless bookshelves and isles for mere moments before returning back to the young Sterling.

He was not surprised to hear that the North rumbled with legends and myths. People who lived there were more superstitious than those in the South, although no great city or village lacked in its own bedtime stories and lunatic believers. Some were halfway believable, while others sounded downright foolish to Roddrick’s ears; his father would chastise him for even bothering his ears with listening such madmen talk.

A sly smirk crossed his lips at Hector’s blunt observation. Indeed, there were times when he envied the freedom of those not chained by gold. There was much that people expected from him, which he often wondered if he could ever meet to the required standards. “I envy their right to marry as they wish,” he voiced his thoughts with a sigh, “to love as they wish, to behave as they wish, knowing not one would care for what they did, for more than a day.”

A commoner’s life could end in a second, and the world would go as it had before, whilst each of a noble’s choices dictated the fate of many others. “But there are advantages,” he continued and cocked his brow slightly, looking Hector up and down. “What surrounds you is often of great quality. Not only your clothes, your jewels or your meals... Not at all those who kiss your toes for the right to a higher wage.”

He watched Hector’s slender hand graze over the spine of an old book, so downtrodden he could barely make out the flourished letters in the title. The Prince gave him a nod of gratitude and took it from his hand, only to open and take a peek into it for himself. “A good king must know the ways of his people. What drives them... What stories they tell when under the influence of wine.” He have the young Lord a smile and closed the book. “I will make sure to read it before we leave.”

Pressing the old book to his side, he resumed their walk through the empty library. “I think the South is more concerned with real people,” he shrugged. “They wonder if we shit gold and waste their tax money on new jewels. Lately, however, they have been talking of our visit North.” King Corban had made sure to keep his intentions a secret, for which Roddrick was rather grateful; if Victor Sterling had refused their request, it would have been quite a humiliating ride back to Illegard.

“But some have been talking of this one legend,” he added, now deepened in thought. “Of the Heir’s Augury. Of how I should stop a war with a sword made of ice,” he shook his head as if he believed it, before turning back to Hector. “Old Northern tales have made their way down South, it seems. There is no war. Armath will continue to prosper with my reign... And with you by my side.”

 

[pointmango]

Ethon glanced to her as Leon was gone now, her eyes were now on him and he shrugged some now. “No.” Ethon spoke simply, “I don’t believe most of the things he says. No one does.” He pointed out. “Your story…” Ethon trailed off some, he didn’t know why he believed it, he just did, her words, her face when he found her, he just believed her. “You’re a hunter, from a credible background and a good family. Leon’s a drunk. Doesn’t mean everything he says is rubbish, just means the grain of salt we take it all with is thicker.” Ethon decided to put it.

His brow cocked slightly as she smelt the ale, not a big notion here in the North. No one savored the ale, just drank themselves silly. “They are fun stories. But they are just stories.” He told her quietly. He listened to her speak of her brother, of nightmares of the Hunt. The idea wasn’t foreign, tales of the Wild Hunt plagued bars and inns every night.

He remembered his own mother, when he was very small, she would whisper things to him in the night when he had trouble sleeping. His jaw clenched slightly and he reached for her hand again, squeezing lightly. “Mine will be as well.” He commented, his own gaze meeting hers. His leg touched the side of hers as they were sitting, “Then perhaps you shouldn’t close your eyes, or have an empty mind for that matter.” His tone was a bit softer as his thumb grazed over the back of her hand. “I can get some supper for us, we can eat in my room, my desk is larger.” He offered a small smile. “It’s the last one on the right.” He told her the location of his room, “I’ll meet you.”

He now stood up, and began preparing a tray of food, making sure to pick pieces that the chefs weren’t using. He couldn’t manage too much, but he thought it was enough for her. Some meat from lunch, a good loaf of bread and some winter berries picked either that morning or the previous day. He was carrying the tray back towards his room, passing Lehna in the hall who seemed to cock a brow at him, “Hold your tongue.” Ethon said to her and the girl seemed to just chuckle.

Ethon opened his door, bringing the food to the table and sighing some as he now wanted his day clothes off. “Could I get you something more comfortable?” He asked her, touching his own clothes now. “I can never wait to get out of these.” He muttered, “Especially the damned boots.” He added untying the leather laces.

*

Hector listened to the Prince’s comments on what he was saying, he thought those more important than his hollow words. He saw the advantages, good, he was no pretender, nor a romantic. He didn’t know many nobles who were, but he knew Conrad was lustful and arrogant. Lyram was calculated, but his heart was too heavy. In Hector’s opinion, Lyram better find himself a wife he doesn’t love. As for Ethon, Hector always thought him smart, but this little crush he had for the huntress was leading him to believe otherwise.

“A good King does know his people.” Hector agreed as the Prince seemed concerned with being knowledgeable about his people, good. The Prince was checking out so far, but Hector still had his reserves. But now Roddrick spoke of the Augury, Hector had heard it. He was never one to believe such prophecies. Besides, like the Prince said, there was no war. But this Prince seemed to think if anything were to happen, Hector would be his ice-born weapon. “By your side?” Hector asked, his brow cocked. “No official terms have been made, my Prince?” He commented, although the light smile on his lips informed the Prince what the terms were going to be.

“My father is reluctant. As we all were at first. But it makes sense, bind us all, North and South. Your betrothed is from the West? Is she not?” Hector asked. The West was a bit more… sultry, than other locations in the Kingdom. He betrothed was from a far western city, he wondered what her values were, her formalities must’ve been quite different from the rest of the traditional Armath. The Prince also seemed ill-concerned with his betrothed. Something Hector had taken note on early on. Another tell that led him to believe the Prince were much like the Stewards he fooled around with.

Hector was bold though, no one was around, his guards on the other side of the walls, and one man’s words meant little against another when both were in powerful positions. Hector took a step towards the Prince, “I will be your ice ridden sword, my Prince.” Hector whispered, his tone deeper. His hand moving to the book in the Prince’s hand, his fingers just centimeters from the royal mans, “With me by your side, Armath will prosper, and the South and the North will hold stronger ties than ever. Your reign… will remain powerful and strong, you will be know, Roddrick… the Great.” Hector whispered.

 

[peritwinkle]

Ethon’s touches were oddly warm and comforting, enough to ease some of the tension that had built up within her from the brief conversation with the drunkard. She knew that he felt for her in a sense; after all, he was the only one who believed her truly, who had seen the terror in her eyes and feared what was to come as well. One could not assume the same about Lord Sterling, for he had sent his eldest to deal with the unfortunate events easily, knowing there was no true danger his precious son would face in the northern woods.

She was content with the idea of wasting the remainder of the day with him. His room was close enough to the kitchens to offer a short passage for whenever they grew peckish, if they ever did through the night. A part of her knew she would not be sleeping well, and she doubted he would keep his eye shut if she were to move about the room.

At his bidding, Aiyda rose from her chair and floated through the archway back into the corridor leading to both she and Ethon’s chambers. She could tell his door apart from the others, or at the very least recognized the patterns of scratches and wear from the first time he had brought her inside. With a light push, she was able to pry the door open and step inside, leaving it cracked just enough for him to slip in if both of his hands were busy holding a tray or cups of ale.

It was not much different from what she remembered, but considerably brighter now, after not having spent the morning surrounded by the pallor of winter snow. The fireplace was still aglow, although barely breathing against the wind peeking in from a crack in one of the windows. Before he could return, Aiyda took one of the candles on the table, almost melted into a pool of wax, and threw it inbetween the logs to stir the flames. The breeze blew again, and this time just enough to kindle the fire and cause it to engulf the entirety of the tight hollow.

Soon enough, she heard the door creak open, and Ethon stepped inside with a tray filled with pieces from that day’s lunch. Some still seemed to be steaming slightly – or, perhaps it was the cold in the room, which her frozen fingers were now numb to. The thought of something warmer than a thin dress appealed to her, although she doubted anything from his own stash would fit. “Something thicker, perhaps,” she suggested with a smile, bending to take a couple of pillows from the bed and throwing them before the fire. “I assume you have nothing from when you were a boy?” She teased.

As he pulled at his clothes, Aiyda moved over to the table and took the tray in her hands to place it down inbetween the pillows. She forced her gaze away from him, to offer some privacy, although the slight desire to peek – even for a second – tickled the back of her mind. “The best meals are eaten before the fire,” she smiled faintly, quoting her father. It was not often that their mother agreed to making such a mess, but on the coldest winter nights, it was the most enjoyable way to dine.

When she lifted her gaze, it flickered to him for a moment, then to his trunk. “I will take what I can get,” she said, “but you will have to turn around...” She was used to men looking her up and down, more often than they disregarded her, yet there was something about Ethon, a sort of intimacy which made up a boundary she did not wish to cross. It was, perhaps, the memory of the night before, the closeness between the two of them which she had tried to ignore, but denying herself of the pillar he offered would be cruel.

No. She was too selfish for that.

*

‘The terms are official,’ Roddrick was tempted to protest, but he quickly decided against it. He knew that Victor Sterling’s boys were honourable; whether Hector made an exception to the rule, he could not tell, but he did not wish to take risks disrespecting his father’s decision. There was, however, no other way but to take him along, for he knew that the proud Lord would not give away his eldest and be left with two incompletes to rule in his stead.

“My betrothed’s agreement was not as difficult to obtain as your own father’s,” the Prince sighed and canted his head. “I suppose the West is different from the North. Less steadfast, but stubborn in their own way.” They could, however, not deny the opportunity of a marriage to the future King of Armath. As potent as it was, the West was not self sufficient, and it depended on House Kilgour in many ways than one. Their army, after all, had been built with the financial help of his family.

A smirk played on his lips at Hector’s boldness, but he did not shy away from his touch. His hand gripped his wrist almost forcefully, and he canted his head as his eyes narrowed even more. “I had no doubt to begin with, my Lord,” the man said. “This,” he said as he looked down to his hand, “is only the beginning of a great union. We are dependent on eachother... But defeatable together. Whatever prophetic war is to be thrown at us.” It was nothing he truly believed, but liked the idea of having the North beneath his foot; it was for the first time in decades that a Sterling came down to Illegard to stay. They would be talking of his success for years to come.

When he lifted his eyes to meet his gaze again, they were burning cunningly, as they would if he were provoking a sparring opponent. He let go of his hand, and came to touch his chin, bringing it up just slightly so his eyes fixated his own. “Not only will you be by my side... We will lead together.” No matter who his betrothed was, or what would become of her after their official marriage. A man’s mind was always sharper, and Hector’s was in the glow of its youth.

“But that is to be seen, isn’t it?” the man smiled almost theatrically. “After all, no official terms have been made.” With that, he twirled around the young Lord and gave him a formal nod of acknowledgement. “I am looking forward to your father’s decision, Hector. I have many curiosities of my own which I could only sate if you accompanied me down to the Capital.” He motioned towards the old book in his hand, but it was clear that was not truly what he had meant by curiosities. There was much, much more that he wished to know about the Northern boy.