"Good of you to join us, Lucian," the earl drawled with forbearance, his left brow arching imperceptibly, as a tall, young man with a stormy countenance emerged into view.

I was instantly fascinated and repelled all at once for he was both handsome and cruel-looking. He stood even taller than Godwin, if that was possible. However, Lucian, though nearly six foot five, had not the bulk his father possessed. He was lean where his father was stalwart and brawny and I could not fathom his brazen demeanor; he glared openly at his father, but said naught for an uncomfortable length of time.

At last Lucian began speaking to his father, albeit in rapid-fire Norn — which I, obviously, could not follow. A thousand different thoughts and emotions were congesting my brain at the very same instant as I watched his lips move angrily the while he spoke. They were slightly fuller than was average — even pursed in anger as they were — and the bottom lip more so than its counterpart.

Just above the left corner of his mouth sat an intriguing, dark, little freckle which stood out more so because the rest of the golden skin of his face was devoid of them; or any blemishes for that matter. His might have been a beautiful mouth had it not been snarling the way it did now. The rest of his face was also pleasing for he had fine, masculine bone structure to compliment his symmetrical features: his nose was straight and chiseled, and his jaw squared along stubborn counters before converging into a noticeable cleft that was carved into his chin. But for all his male beauty, it was his eyes that arrested me most.

They were light brown...no, amber in hue and were framed by heavy, straight brows and thick black lashes. The overall effect might have left a lesser maid swooning, but for the potent anger in his gaze and the cruel twist of his mouth.

I was ripped from my scrutiny as Lucian's father brought a heavy fist down on his armrest with a resounding crash.

"Speak Gaeldic, Lucian!" thundered the earl. Having momentarily loosed his temper, he seemed to collect himself the next instant. He sighed and introduced me forthwith to Lucian in a much controlled and almost facetious tone.

"Ariana, this pleasant young man before you is my son, Lucian," he said through clenched, uncanny teeth.

I might have replied that it was a pleasure to meet him, but since I had been so effectively dissuaded from uttering falsehoods, I merely nodded. Lucian studied me distastefully for what seemed an awkward age in which his expression seemed to sour exponentially. Having taken my measure, and obviously finding me severely lacking, he dismissed me completely and addressed his sire.

"So, I am to marry a toddler, then? Where shall we have our wedding night? In the nursery perhaps?!"

"Lucian...!" The earl sounded exasperated, but his son continued heedlessly.

"How old is she, eight?"

"I am ten, My Lord." My answer, spoken demurely, seemed to give Lucian pause. He pinned me once again with his fierce golden eyes that were now narrowed balefully. "Today is my b-birthday..." I stuttered.

His glare was far too potent, and I too inexperienced to hold it, therefore I looked instead to the floor for answers; willing it, with dismal resignation, to open up and swallow me whole.

"Then you are old enough to know not to speak to adults unless you are spoken to."

"God's teeth, Lucian!" His father rose threateningly from his seat. "Enough! If you cannot keep a civil tongue in that surly mouth of yours, then I shall ask you to leave!"

"All the better!" Lucian's glare was combative.

The elder merely held his ground and folded his arms with a dark frown, as if to say, 'Now who's being the infant?' At his father's continued, silent glare, Lucian finally gave a frustrated sigh and clasped the back of his neck in agitation.

"I know you plan to return to Skådrokk after..." The earl seemed to catch himself, as though he had forgotten my presence entirely, and so, consequently, both men cast their gazes to where I sat quietly watching them. "That is, after you've seen to your sine qua non," he quirked his lip meaningfully. "But I must speak with you before you depart," he sighed as he beckoned his squire over again. "Take the young lady to her chamber and see that Astrid is summoned to her."

"At once, my Lord," replied Frederick; his voice cracking into a high pitched squeal which caused me to flinch in sympathy. Adolescence was hard enough, I was sure, without also having to retain ones composure and simultaneously talk to the likes of these two intimidating giants. Poor Frederick.

"Good night, Ariana." The earl nodded for me to follow Frederick.

"And you, My Lord," I replied timidly.

"You may call me Godwin, child."

I bid Godwin adieu again and glanced in Lucian's direction, eager to be away from my hostile fiancé, and not altogether comfortable with turning my back to him; but I was at once arrested by those odd yellow eyes as he studied me with apathy. I swallowed loudly and he quirked the corner of his lips in a paradoxical smile — a sneer that revealed his unnaturally large canines. I froze, sure my eyes were ready to pop out of my skull, until his teeth disappeared back behind his, once again, inscrutable mouth.

"Go!" Lucian all but barked at me and it took all my courage to focus on exiting sedately and not to sprint after the squire in terror — as I was wont to do.

I had not ventured far when Lucian began to argue with his father in earnest, some of the words carrying far enough that I was privy to what was said and I made a mental note to have a servant, or Carac, translate them for me later:

"Úlfurinn ... kanínu." I carefully memorized the phrase Lucian spat at his sire, his menacing growls hastening my flight; however, not before I heard Godwin's outburst.

"Hálfrblód, Lucian!" said he testily. The rest was garbled Norn, however, I thought I heard him say 'Handfeste' as well; and that word seemed somehow familiar to me, as though I should understand its meaning, but I was too tired now to strain my mind.

Finally, I could decipher no more; partly because I had moved out of earshot, but primarily because he too reverted back to Norn, so I focused my ears instead to the darkened corridor surrounding me, where the sound of tiny, scuttling feet secured my notice. The presence of rats neither impressed nor reviled me — they were as ubiquitous in most, if not all, castles as the cold that permeated the stones.

My torchbearer awaited patiently for me to catch up to him, his lamp light guiding me to his side. Once I reached him, he led me through the gloomy passageway, up another winding staircase and along yet another endless corridor before he finally stopped at, presumably, my bedchamber door.

He strained as he pushed it open and the door gave an almighty groan in protest. Frederick, or Freddie — an appellation I would later learn he despised, motioned me into the musty chamber which I did hesitantly. He then walked past me and over towards the bed where he lit the candle affixed to a spike on the bed frame.

"Astrid will be here anon, My Lady." I acknowledged him with a dip of my head, I was quite unused to that title, and he quit the space directly; leaving me to my dark thoughts in the equally dark, cold room. I searched the shadows as far as the taper light would reach.

The bed was the largest and most conspicuous piece of furniture in my chamber, therefore I inspected it first — an ancient-looking four poster monstrosity hewn from oak. The dusty flax curtains, that hung limply form its horizontal beams, matched the deep red of the woolen counterpane that was spread neatly over a lumpy, feather mattress and pair of downy pillows that beckoned me forth with their ostensible softness. I transferred my gaze to the two large black furs that were piled on the end of the bed; which I fully intended to cocoon myself in as soon as I had my bath. The rest of the room was austere and sparsely furnished.

Apart from my large bed, and that of the servant's cot beside it, there was a chest of linens at the foot, a door next to the window leading to the garderobe and a cupboard in the wall where I might keep my possessions — the few I had, anyway. A round, empty bath tub and a little stool were currently positioned beneath the window and I dragged the two items to the cold hearth, hoping to use the tub the moment a fire was started there.

Only one decorative fur occupied the floor in front of the fireplace: it was a vast, shaggy pelt attached to the frozen, snarling head of a large bear; replete with gleaming, white fangs and yellow, glassy eyes; which disturbed me all the more because the flaxen hue of those uncanny eyes reminded me so of Lucian's.

My door opened suddenly and I jumped with fright, my heart now embedded in my throat, as a pretty young maid entered; my chamber maid it would seem. She smiled sweetly, unaware of my plight, and I returned a tremulous one of my own as my heart collapsed back into place.

"I make a fire?" The girl asked, in a strong, lyrical accent, as she indicated the cold hearth with a dirty finger.

She was a head taller than I and looked to be around Lucian's age, albeit a little younger — perhaps sixteen. Her wheat-colored hair was tucked into a wimple which only made her cornflower blue eyes stand out more prominently against her rosy cheeks.

"Yes, please do! May I ask your name?"

"Astrid, miss," she smiled shyly and turned to begin the task of building my fire.

Once the flames were crackling heartily beneath the rustic mantlepiece, which was utilitarian and nothing more than a larger slab of stone jutting out from the inglenook's stone palate, I was afforded better light with which to study my new home.

I cast my eyes around, taking in the grey stone walls and faded tapestries. One of the pictures in particular caught my eye: it depicted a large, grey wolf standing over two male babies. I frowned at the odd image, its embroidered weft dulled by dust and age, and I could not decide whether or not the wolf was poised to strike or merely protecting the children.

Odd.

I found the scene not a little morbid and turned my gaze away; somewhat disturbed by the image. I turned to find Astrid placing hot coals into bed warmers.

"I should like a bath please, Astrid."

When she looked confused by my request, I pointed at the tub and then indicated my soiled skirts with a grubby palm splayed out as I shrugged.

"Ah yes!" She nodded her understanding and left directly.

Before long, three burly ewerers entered my chamber, each man carrying two large buckets of steaming water, one in each hand. Soon my tub was full and my room empty save Astrid, myself and a welcoming, noisy fire that did its very best to warm the large bleak room.

As I sat soaking in the lavender suds, Astrid came up behind me to gently massage lavender oil into my hair. She whispered something in Norn as she continued to brush out the skeins of my long, dark tresses.

"What does that mean," I asked, enjoying the feel of her gentle fingers.

"Beautiful," she answered in her soft lilting accent, "you have beautiful hair."

I mulled this thought over. I had always disliked my soot colored hair. It had always been called witch's hair and the memory of the taunting voices of the village children contorted my brow and pulled the corners of my mouth into a troubled, cheerless moue.

I would think on that no longer; my tormentors could affect me no more. Lucian and his father possessed the same strange accent as Astrid, but very imperceptible indeed and, by comparison, not nearly as strong as that of their vassals and servants.

"Oh! I meant to ask you to translate something for me please, Astrid."

"Of course," said she, though I thought I detected a wariness in her tone.

"Úlfurinn hvílist ei með kanínu." I blinked at her expectantly, but she remained silent. "What does that mean?" I prompted. Her delicate features were drawn into a pensive deliberation, but still she said naught. "Please?" I nudged.

"The wolf does not lay with the rabbit," said she.

"Pardon me?"

"That is what it means, Miss." She got up and fetched the bed warmers which she placed under my blankets and at the foot of my bed beneath the furs.

I sat thoughtfully, chewing my lower lip, when Astrid brought a bath sheet over to me so that I could leave the tepid water. I wrapped myself in the linen and stood by the fire contemplating the translation.

Am I the rabbit? Lucian could very well have been referring to a completely different matter, but somehow I believed he had spoken of me.

At last, I could ponder the strangers around me no longer for my eyelids grew leaden and my head began to ache with exhaustion. Astrid removed the bed warmers and I practically collapsed into the mattress, still wrapped in my slightly damp sheet.

She gathered the woolen covers and furs, placing them atop me before quietly stoking the fire and then settling down on her pallet for the evening.

I awoke only once that night. I thought I had heard a menacing growl at my door and sat up instantly, stunned and trembling with dread. My ears were instantly alert, perking rigidly as they sought out the cause of my night terror, but when all remained disturbingly quiet, and Astrid continued her gentle snoring, I soon drifted back to sleep, despite my futile attempts not to, and convinced myself 'twas only my tenuous nerves that had conjured the noise.

However, the last thing I remember pondering, ere thoughts gave way to dreams, was that the nighttime seemed so foreign and hushed in the north. The moorland had always erupted into the night music of nocturnal beasts and insects, once the sun set, but it seemed that no creature stirred under the dark veil of the Nordrlund sky, especially not here in Nørrdragor — where all seemed as silent as a crypt.



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