Marianne Newhook stood within the crowd of noble dignitaries beneath the walls of the inner fortress of Castle Greyrook, capital of the Kingdom of Gandora. She wore a simple but elegant blue sleeveless dress that was trimmed and encrusted with golden squares that wrapped around her shoulders, and the modest neckline. It was a garment that befit her station and wealth, but there was nobody here she meant to impress. She’d only found herself in this crowd, awaiting a victorious army, at the behest of her older sister. Farelia Newhook was five years Marianne’s senior, and had been wed last year to the boring and severe Lord Clement Braughtley. But Marianne always considered Farelia to be a guiding element in her life. So when Marianne wrote to her older sister about her tribulations catching her man abed with a serving girl, she insisted she had to join her in Gandora City as her handmaiden.
And so, the brunette from far-off Ralmeere had joined Farelia and taken up residence in the expansive courts and apartments of Castle Greyrook. Over the past several weeks, she’d ingrained herself in Farelia’s circle of friends, especially the girls that were of an age with the twenty year old Marianne. Namely, mischievous Nyrene Pryce, who never met a boy she didn’t like. And of course, there was the brash and honest Sharra Darly, the charming redhead from the far-off Bonecoast who wanted nothing more than to ensure the best of lives for her friends in the city.
Marianne hadn’t yet decided if her sister had been right. Certainly, a change of scenery, being far from the locale of Sir Victor’s betrayal had done quite a lot for her emotional state. But still, the memories remained. She and Victor, a retainer of her father’s, had been engaged in the sweetest of courtships, characterized by long summer strolls on the walls of Ralmeere Fortress and warm winter nights abed under layers of passionate sweat.
Yet that crashed to pieces months ago, when Marianne paid a visit to Sir Victor’s meagre chambers. She wanted to bring him his favorite vintage of wine from her fathers’ stores, a sweet treat that they were to share together like they had so many times before. However, when the dark wooded door crept open at her touch, he saw the slender knight atop a serving girl. Zelsra was her name, Marianne thought, or perhaps it was Zeeta. She wasn’t sure of the girl’s name, but her face was burned into her memory. Watching as it shifted from bliss to horror as her brown eyes met Marianne’s. Victor took no notice at first, and the taut muscles of his ass flexed as he drove into the lithe servant twice more, before he looked over his shoulder and issued Marianne a horrified look of his own.
The subsequent conversations between the two had been brief and cold, nothing like the year of courtship that preceded that day. Things were over between the two. Marianne had not mentioned anything regarding the infidelity to her father, the Lord Andrew Newhook, but Victor took a different assignment guarding a shrine in the country outside Ralmeere. Marianne was unsure what happened to Zelsra. Perhaps she followed him? Perhaps they were married, even. Perhaps she was round with child, and their days were full of warm smiles and long walks and passionate nights, similar to what she had with Victor at one point. Oh, Victor. Sweet, shaggy haired, smirking Victor.
Marianne loved children. She knew she wanted one, or two, even, when the time came. Women who had children out of wedlock were pitied and chastised. Many of those girls visited fallen doctors or forest clerics to rid them of the child prior to birth, but if Victor had gotten her with child, she would have kept the babe. She wondered what their son would have looked like. Would it look like Victor, with the same sad and darkened face? Or would he have looked like her, and her lord father?
Painful visions of what transpired and what might have been eroded at the edges of Marianne’s vision until the lazy rumble of trotting horses brought her back to the present. The army had returned.
Or rather, the noble elements of the army. Much like the neighboring kingdoms, the Gandoran forces were primarily lead by an intermixing of educated nobles and veteran generals, and it was the nobleman who poured into the castle courtyard to strut for the audience of proud and cheering nobles that congregated here.
These men had been off for some time, nearly a year, bringing a smattering of unorganized tribes into the realm through a series of decisive victories. After their conquest had completed, they turned right back around to return to the Gandoran capital, eager to return home.
Nyrene elbowed Marianne. “Well. Look at that.” she said, her voice coiling with interest. The black haired girl wore a white set of fitted pants that was studded with silver, and a simple blouse with a flattering neckline, criss crossed with grey laces that provided tiny windows to her pale skin. “Pour that in a wineglass.” she said with a nod to the man at the head of the arriving procession.
His large and muscular frame dropped off his horse, a huge charger that was as dark as the man’s armor. He was young, with a righteous mane of black, slightly curled hair that he slicked back with a hand bejeweled with rings. Prince Jason Algrave.
The Prince’s set of jet-black ornate armor made Jason look gigantic, a dominating black obelisk against the colorful array of lace and silk that characterized the crowd of nobles and courtiers that ringed the returning warriors. Yet the prince looked not like a man who’d just recently in battle, in fact he just as easily could have been a man returning from an extensive vacation from the way he issued confident smiles and relaxed gazes to those who’d gathered to welcome him.
He embraced the old castellan of Castle Greyrook, Sir Harrion, and exchanged a few brief words with him. Sir Harrion looked like a proud father, witnessing his son’s wedding. He’d likely known the prince since birth – Farelia told Marianne that he’d been the castellan here for nigh on thirty years. He was a kind man, but Marianne’s chestnut eyes didn’t rest on Harrion long.
Prince Jason was the picture of a maiden’s dream, Marianne had to admit. As she grew into her teens, Marianne had acquired a taste for tales involving intelligent, beautiful ladies and their knightly suitors. Even her new apartment with her fellow debutantes in Greyrook held shelves and shelves of novels, including ones like Elrita’s Love and Gail & Benfred. They were guilty pleasures, certainly, but pleasures nonetheless. When Marianne wasn’t reading news reports and histories, she could drift away into romantic worlds where powerful and handsome men were the picture of chivalry. Where they were faithful.
If she had to guess, that’s where Marianne acquired an interest in knights. She certainly wasn’t unique in that regard – Nyrene was currently quite fond of Sir Kent Bragg, a skinny and mop-headed blonde who was part of the Gandora City’s defensive garrison, but he had scarcely seen a battle. Marianne had to wonder if the knightly moniker itself was enough to earn him the right to occupy Nyrene’s bedroom from time to time. Kent reminded her of Victor, funnily enough. Somehow, Marianne figured that the comparison wouldn’t bother Nyrene much.
Prince Jason’s eyes were so blue that Marianne felt as though she could see them dance from across the yard. Immaculate black feathers ringed the collar of the knight’s armor. If Marianne hadn’t known any better, she’d have guessed he intended to show up for a funeral. Oh, but he was a dream. His black hair flowed elegantly down the back of his head and seemed to melt into his very being, his shadowy, dark stature.
From the edges of her vision, someone threw down a huge chest that busted open with a crash, allowing jewels and gold coins and trinkets to spill out into the manicured grass of Castle Greyrook. Jason let out a laugh, an engaging song to Marianne’s ears. Jason was twenty-five years old, but his voice had the depth of a grizzled hedge knight who fought in a hundred battles. However, the tone in which he spoke was jovial, kind, and confident. It flowed from his mouth like a million fluttering raven-wings. Calm, cool, decisive.
“And here are the spoils.” Jason chuckled, gesturing to the chest and smiling widely at the nobles standing nearby. “Well, some of it, anyway. Derrick’s stopped in Norshire to live it up, it seems. The sod.” he finished, and his disembarked fellow soldiers regarded the comment with a hearty roar of laughter. They were all finely dressed, befitting their station. They were mostly fair haired youths, Marianne noted. These were the “Young Bulls”, known for their rampaging approach to the campaign trail. The swathes of soldiers that these young men commanded were ruthlessly sweeping through the rugged Dragonstake Mountains deep in the southern reaches, destroying tribal armies and subduing countless villages just months ago. If memories of war plagued them, they did not let it show. They were cajoling and laughing with their handsome Prince, seemingly content with the world. They probably were.
Marianne noted how unlike these men were from the men in Ralmeere. How unlike Victor. Victor was a sensitive soul, and one could see that in his demeanor. When a madwoman broke into her father’s manse and swiped at a servant with long, sharp nails, Victor was among the guards who cut her down. She still remembered consoling him after that as he spent several dark nights staring into hearths, seeming to murmur to himself. But that was long ago. That was before Zelsra. Before he left. Before she left.
Prince Jason and his compatriots seemed not to be concerned about whatever death and destruction they left south. They made confident strides across the yard, past where Marianne and Nyrene were standing. He didn’t look at her as he strode past, but she was able to take in every detail. She marveled at how he was able to carry the massive black plate that covered every inch of his body with apparent ease. His deft steps were accompanied by metallic clinks that announced his pace. Marianne had heard that Jason had a rage about him, that he’d once fought a foreign prince who’d made a bawdy joke about his sister to a bloody standstill. Yet now, Jason wore a seeming-perpetual smile. His full lips were coiled into a smokey smile that caused light tingles all over Marianne’s skin. His chest was broad, belied by the black plate.
The steel was largely unadorned, save for the Algrave sigil – the polished silver head of a bull – that was fastened to the chestpiece. The armor gave way to a smokey dark chain that was perfectly cured, roaming over the chiseled form of Jason’s body. Marianne could see the curve of his muscular thighs and arms. Even under the chainmail, it was apparent how his toned frame flexed with just about every movement. He smelled of oak and seemed to tower over her as he strolled by. It was obvious from the beginning that he was tall, but when he was next to her as she stood in the crowd, Marianne felt as though he could pick her up with one hand without ever moving his head upward. Those blue eyes looked even bluer from this vantage, and they danced with amusement. He was so happy to be home, so happy to see the huge walls of Greyrook once again. It was clear on his pretty face. Marianne’s breath hitched with the hints of interest. Yes, Prince Jason was quite the dream.
In a moment, though, he was gone. As he passed, the crowd crumpled together like a mass of discarded, colorful parchment, the dark prince melting into the mass of courtiers as he led them into the main doors of Castle Greyrook, where a welcoming feast had been prepared.
“I would do unspeakable things to that man.” Nyrene’s voice said. The crowd had melted away from them, and they were now alone in the vast courtyard of Greyrook, save for a few conversing stragglers.
Marianne responded with a sad smile. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Shall we go to the party?” Nyrene said with a playful smile. Her green eyes flickered with mischief. Nyrene Pryce, seemingly, could not get enough of the courtly life. She loved the feasts, parties, dramas and infidelities all the same. Marianne considered herself quite different from the roguish raven-haired handmaiden, but Nyrene was a good friend all the same.
“No, I don’t think so.” Marianne replied softly. Her voice was soft and shy, even when she wasn’t. “I’m not hungry.” Marianne thought of all the feasts that she and Victor would sneak out of, with wines and cheeses in their bags, to ride off to have moonlit forest picnics.
“It’s not about being hungry.” Nyrene exclaimed, but her face belied that she expected Marianne to decline. Marianne spent most of her time in her room reading, truth be told, and her friends had gotten used to her skipping out on most parties occurring throughout the spacious halls of Greyrook. “It’s about fun.” Nyrene finished. “And you haven’t had half as much fun as you’ve needed since you got here. What’s the point of living in the capital if you’re going to sulk in your room the entire time? Plus, Mari, you look fucking incredible.”
Marianne smiled at her friend’s compliment. She’d dressed up to be a part of the welcoming committee, with a new dress and her hair in an elegant bob that she knew was fashionable here. She’d read about it in one of the newsletters she received a year ago, and proudly showed Victor how easily she could pull it off. She felt much more beautiful wearing it then, than she did now. Truth be told, she only agreed to come to this because she knew it would be brief, and she’d be in bed before late. Marianne figured that agreeing to go to one part of the festivities would be enough to get Nyrene off of her back about never attending anything.
“Really, Nyrene. I think I’d much rather just stay in Lotus.” the Lotus room was a standard courtier’s apartment, with multiple bedrooms joined by a common area. Nyrene, Sharra, and Marianne all made their residence there.
Nyrene frowned, her polished lips mockingly exaggerating the expression. She was disappointed, but unsurprised, Marianne knew. “Okay. I’ll be back before late!”
Marianne knew that likely wasn’t going to be true, but smiled nonetheless as her friend walked speedily toward the dissipating crowd at the doors of the castle. A faint pang of regret flowed through her body, and Prince Jason’s handsome face flashed in her mind.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then set off for bed.