I came awake betimes, earlier than I'd have liked, to the sound of my chamber door opening and a woman's voice murmuring softly from the other side of the linen curtains cocooning my nest of wool and furs.

"Up you get, Ariana!"

A hand appeared betwixt the curtains and gently moved them aside so that I now beheld the angelic face of the lady of the household. She could be nothing less than that noble dame — I should have realized this when first I met her — for she was dressed in a fine, bright blue silk gown, a yellow kirtle visible at her neckline, and a purple, fur-lined, brocade mantle that was clasped at her neck with a brooch which had been excellently crafted to resemble a silver wolf.

Now that the light was streaming in through my window, I took the opportunity to study her striking features. I could see now that she had bequeathed her chin to Lucian, for she too bore a cleft in her chin, but where his seemed only to harden his features, hers seemed to add strength to her jaw. Her smile was utterly contagious and I found myself responding to the dimples either side of her cheeks, wondering if Lucian too possessed that trait — were he of a mind to smile. Alas, I did not think the man knew how.

Overall, her face was a lovely one, but the shape of her nose and thickness of her brows ensured that she did not appear too delicate; on the contrary, she looked as one entirely comfortable and suited to her position beside the master of Nørrdragor, and I might have thought her beauty formidable if not for the softness in her eyes and the dimples that so easily complimented the effervescence of her smile. All this was framed by flaxen hair that was tied into two pale, yellow braids that were coiled to hide her ears, as was proper — like two artfully woven buns on each side of her face. Over this she wore a veil and beaded crespines of fine gold that were linked by a golden, bejeweled fillet forming the top of the gold netting.

"Welcome, my dear! I apologize for not having received you properly last eventide, but I was indisposed. My poor Caine cut open his thigh just afore you arrived and once I'd seen to him, you had already retired." She looked so overwrought that I quickly reassured her.

"Not at all my lady! I was made to feel most welcome, I thank you! I hope Caine is not too seriously injured?"

"Please, call me Anne. I'll not have such formality between us!" She then addressed the circumstances of her son's wound by first waving her hand in a manner that bespoke of the triviality of the affliction. "The fault is all his own. He was playing too roughly with one of the other boys, Frederick, and fell on his own blade. Tis a lesson he shan't soon forget!" She seemed highly vexed by the thought so I kept silent. "Now then! Let us get you dressed for mass."

She opened the curtains all the way, tying each drapery to one of the four posts, and bade Astrid fetch me some bread, cheese and a mug of goat milk so that I might break my fast for she was rather shocked by how scrawny I appeared.

"Heavens, child! What a fragile-looking, little thing you are! This will not do at all!"

I was not offended by any means. On the contrary, I basked contentedly in her maternal cosseting. How could I be offended when she delivered her critique so kindly? In fact, I was becoming very quickly enamored of Lady Anne. She chatted happily all the while I saw to my ablutions. I used the chamber pot and then washed my face and hands in the basin of icy water by my bedside.

When I had finished the last of my breakfast, Anne helped me into a delicate, low-cut, linen chemise, a soft pair of green, woolen hose tied just above my knees by garters, a light green kirtle and, over that, a tight-fitting, yellow, silk gown that laced up the sides beautifully, my kirtle contrasting nicely at the scooped neckline and the long, fashionable sleeves ending in adorable lappets. I had never been clothed in such luxury and thought today perhaps a special occasion I was not aware of. What other reason might there be for such beautiful raiments?

"Are we attending a celebration, Anne?" My ensemble seemed of too fine a quality to be merely commonplace and I wondered if I would always have to dress elegantly for mass?

"Did my husband not explain, my dear?" she frowned, seemingly discomfited by my ignorance. I gave a slight shake of my head, puzzlement creasing my own brow. "Lucian has delayed his return to Skådrokksvall for two reasons, one of which is your handfesta."

"Handfesta?" There was that word again.

"Tis a hand-fasting: a betrothal ceremony, sweeting. You and Lucian shall be effectively as good as married after today."

With that, I burst into tears. It was such an innocuous word, but the meaning of it — the ceremony and all it entailed — would see me permanently bound to Lucian. I had not been prepared to hear this. I thought I would have years yet to become accustomed to the arrangement, and to come to know Lucian a little better.

"Hush, child. Do not mistake me! Today is not your wedding. Think of it as a shaking of hands — a binding agreement that you shall be married some day, that is all." She had, meanwhile, pulled me into her arms and now held me while my sobs abated into hiccups. "You have had a long journey and, had time not been a factor for Lucian, I would have insisted that this little legality be postponed till you have had a chance to familiarize yourself with your new home." She leaned away form me and lifted my chin to wipe at my cheeks with her thumb.

"He is intimidating, I grant you, but you must allow that Lucian feels much the same as you — in that way you share a kinship with him," she explained. "Today is but a formality; in essence, a betrothal contract between Lucian and yourself. Nothing more." She smiled sympathetically and I emulated her expression as much as I was able, albeit with a trembling lip. "We woman are unfortunately not at the helm of our own destiny, best you accept this now and make the best of the situation, little one. There is naught for it, you will be tied to Lucian after today."

I allowed Anne to sit me down upon the only chair in the room as she began styling my hair, my movements torpid and my mind absent of all thought save once again seeing the unnerving and dour young man I'd met last night. She divided the heavy mass into two thick braids, as was done to hers, but left them uncoiled so that they hung forward, over my ears, and down my chest instead. Her happy chatter eventually eased my solemnity somewhat, for I wanted very much for her to distract me. I watched Anne admiringly, thinking it odd that I should engender so much assiduous attention from one such as her, but she seemed happy to dress me, as if I were her own little doll, while my lady's maid stood by watching contently — her duties usurped by the lady of the castle.

"I have always wanted a daughter." Anne smiled sheepishly at me as if she had plucked my thoughts straight from my mind. "But God has seen fit to grant me naught but two strong sons," she confided, placing into my palm an expensive, glass mirror framed in elaborate metalwork so that I might admire her efforts for myself.

I had only rarely seen my own reflection, even then only in polished steel or water, so I was quite distracted by the face reflected back at me. How young and gaunt I looked, but Anne's ministrations had done much to improve my appearance.

"Let's to the chapel first and then...to the solar." Anne took my hand gently in hers and thus we departed as the servants arrived with fresh rushes that would be laid once they'd swept out my room and flushed out my chamber pot.

The chapel was a two story, rectangular building situated close to the great hall and overlooked the inner bailey. As we walked thither, I admired the great hall's windows, as well as the large bay casement projecting out from the wall, for all afforded excellent prospects of the bailey, but none so lofty as the master's solar, whither my presence would next be required. I looked up at the point in the tower above, where I knew his apartments to be, and thought I noticed a shadow move out of view from one for the windows.

The nave of the chapel was divided into two stories, the family's private section was on the upper level of the chapel while the servants gathered on the ground floor below to listen to the priest. We had passed through the oratory, the family's private chapel, to take our seats on the upper level, and I noticed that the gentlemen were noticeably absent this morning. Only four of us occupied the gallery above, Anne, myself, a woman, and a young boy who looked to be no more than six. They were seated a ways from us. The boy had dutifully turned our way, nodded his little head in greeting, and then leaned in to whisper something to, who I assumed to be, his mother, but she said naught and did not once steer her eyes from the priest.

"Who is that?" I asked Anne covertly.

"Shh." She brought her finger to her lips as the young cleric below continued his pontificating. Finally she leaned down to me and said, "That is Godwin's sister, Rose, and her son, Balder. They too will be leaving on the morrow and are also bound for Skådrokksvall, and thence to Skådrokk Castle with the rest of Lucian's company."

I studied Rose's profile and thought her perhaps the loveliest woman I had ever seen, bar none. Her nose was petite and sloped up gently, her cheekbones were high and her full lips — though compressed in stern sobriety — were hued with a dark carmine that contrasted perfectly with her creamy skin. However, for all she was stunning, she was dressed most austerely for a lady of her prominence. She had dark, blond hair which she wore in a severe plait that was coiled at the nape, the hair pulled tightly across her ears, and a white, silk-lined caul placed neatly over her plain coiffure.

She seemed not to move the entire time I observed her and, at length, I grew bored of my scrutiny. I would as fain not sit through another mundane sermon, the priest back home was rather fond of delineating the torments of hell, but on this occasion I willed the cleric to speak all day and therefore postpone what I next would do — abide the heir to Nørrdragor's scathing company.

Alas, even my will could not induce the priest to draw his discourse out even a moment longer. Rose and her son were the first to leave, once the cleric had concluded the service. I filed out after Anne and followed meekly behind her all the way to Godwin's solar, neither of us seeing fit to speak, where I discovered the rest of the family seated about the chamber, including Rose and Balder.

Lucian looked up from his seat beside Carac the very moment I entered and then abruptly turned his head to the window as though he too wished to scale down the walls and escape his fate. I noticed the muscles in his temples pulsing as he clenched and unclenched is jaw with umbrage. I felt almost as sorry for him as I did for myself, but as soon as he returned his baleful glare to me, I reversed my sympathies instantly and decided that he neither wished them nor deserved them.

"Lucian, come stand beside Ariana," Godwin commanded.

His son did not immediately rise from the chair. It was a momentary act of defiance that lasted only long enough to protest the proceedings, but brief enough that his sire did not need to take the matter further. Anne had, in the interim, deposited me before the fire as Caine maneuvered himself into Lucian's now vacated chair. Carac sat watching dispassionately beside the youngest Greyback as Balder watched Carac with something akin to awe.

There would, thus, be only the eight of us present to witness the sealing of the contract. I wondered that the priest did not attend the rite, and said as much aloud.

"This is not a Christian ceremony, therefore, the need of a priest's blessing is neither desired nor does it require his sanctioning," Godwin explained in what I would come to recognize as his usual, perfunctory manner.

Anne seemed to feel, thankfully, that my question deserved further clarification for she added, "Our customs in the north are somewhat different to what you have been used to in the south. The ritual of the Handfesta is an old Nordrlund praxis that is steeped in ancient tradition — it dates back to the time when we still celebrated the old gods, my dear. So you see," she smiled reassuringly, "you will not be married today, after all." But still essentially as good as, I thought as I craned my face up to Lucian's; he had now moved to stand in front of me, his golden eyes staring blankly over the top of my head.

Godwin, it seemed, would be presiding over the rite. He took my cold hands and placed them into Lucian's; they were incredibly warm, but inflexible withal, and for all their heat he was frigid and allowed no pressure between our fingers. My wrists were now crossed over each other, my palms atop Lucians, but I felt no comfort and received no fortitude in his loose grasp as his gaze maintained its distance.

At first I was surprised when Godwin began intoning in Norn, for I could make out not a single word; but on further reflection, I decided that I did not care what was said for it made no difference to me. This was a contract, I had no say in any of what transpired today, and it did not change my fate because I would eventually marry the sullen man before me. In that way, I understood all I needed to.

When Godwin had concluded his unintelligible sermonizing, he produced a long, intricately woven rope of red and gold velvet strips. He continued his incantation as he wound the fabric around our clasped hands. Up, over, down and under; he coiled the threads that bound me to his son, and all I could do was watch helplessly the while he layered the velvet. Once he had reached the end of the delicate rope, he tied a knot and placed his palm atop our joined fingers. The room was as still as hallowed ground, all that seemed missing were specters and ghouls, but for Godwin's strange words and static intonation.

Finally the deed was done and Godwin began to unwind the thread with deliberate care as he, finally speaking in a tongue that was intelligible to me, "Now all that is required is for Lucian to make the Blood Bond."

"And that you cannot force me to do," Lucian replied through gritted teeth.

"I can," said his father, "but I won't. That is for you to decide."

As soon as we were free of each other, and as I still stood nonplussed, pondering what a Blood Bond entailed, Lucian moved off directly, putting a safer distance between us, but the ordeal was not yet over and our relief was only short-lived.

Godwin turned to me. "Since Lucian will be leaving by dawn tomorrow, I feel that you will both benefit from a moment alone," he then pinned Lucian with a warning glare, "seeing as I cannot foresee when next my son will return to Nørrdragor, I fear this will be the last time you have the opportunity to...enjoy each other's company for a while."

"Father-"

"That is quite sufficient, Lucian, I think I've tolerated your protestations long enough. You will do this. I insist," he bit out with peremptory finality. With that he swept out of the room, Anne, Carac, Rose, Balder and lastly Caine succeeding him out the door; although, the latter with an amused smirk on his mischievous face. I hadn't even officially been introduced to the boy and I already disliked him!

The sound of the chamber door slamming shut was tantamount to a thunderclap. I flinched and darted nervous eyes to the only other occupant in the room beside Lucian and I — Godwin's falcon sat atop her perch, head cocked to the side as her yellow eyes bored into me.

You are not making this any less awkward, I sighed as I shook my head at her.

The silence stretched uninterrupted, but Lucian sat as still and pensive as the falcon. He had by this time reclaimed his seat and seemed intent on suffering my company in the exact same manner a marble statue might accomplish the task — except marble statues did not radiate hostility.

"How long is the journey to Skådrokksvall?" I inquired timorously.

I watched as his tawny eyes shifted towards me, though he moved the rest of his body — including his head — not even a fraction, and I found the sight incredibly peculiar, as though he truly was a statue with mobile eyes.

"If I had wished to engage in vapid chatter, I would have invited you to speak, girl. Since I have not, kindly direct your queries inwards," he snapped.

I gasped, retreating a step as my lip began to tremble again, and fled to the door. Just as I was reaching for the latch, a steely hand caught my wrist, branding me with its iron heat, and halted my progress ere my fingers touched the handle. I whirled around warily to see Lucian regarding me with a disgusted look. I had not even heard him give chase.

"Calm down! I had not realized you would be so easily offended," he sneered. "But I see no tears, so perhaps you are at least not as fragile as you appear." He pulled me back towards the heart of the room and pushed me into the seat that Carac had occupied.

"A fortnight," said he, sitting in his chair once more.

"Pardon me, my lord?" I worried nervously at my braid with cold fingers. I noticed that he did not correct my formality or give me leave to use his given name, though we were now officially betrothed and no longer merely strangers. But since he had not uttered my name either, I dismissed the thought completely.

"A fortnight at the very least," he repeated impatiently. "That is how long it shall take us." Still, he did not insist I use his first name as I expected he might, ostensibly enjoying the added distance the oversight offered. I merely nodded, but said nothing more.

I fidgeted some more and bounced my knee as he resumed his stony facade and steely silence, his eyes dwelling thoughtfully over the fire. I might have thought him desirous of my discomfit, but he seemed to have dismissed me entirely. Finally, I could take it no longer. He had let the silence fester far too long, and I now deemed it time to escape his company. I would, however, allow him one last chance to affect some small conversation.

"Wherefore does it take an entire fortnight, my lord?" It had taken me that length of time at least, to travel all the way from the Kingdom of Gaeld, and I bethought his previous statement somewhat exaggerated.

He gave a long suffering sigh, but did not, thankfully, favor me with his awful glare this time; although, I think he might have uttered an expletive under his breath — in Norn of course — before he finally answered me.

"Because, we must first traverse the Drakkentörn Ranges, to the north, before heading west; and even then we have more mountains and fjords between Vargenheim and Skådrokksvall ere we are able to turn southward towards Skådrokk Castle."

"How long will you be gone?" I murmured eyeing the door longingly. He too seemed to grow more agitated. When he did not answer immediately, I tried again. "When will you return, my lord?" I had no sooner uttered the question when Lucian suddenly bolted from his chair and, with a dark frown slashed across his peak, stalked to the door as if a fire were slaking itself through the keep.

"However long it takes for me to forgive my father," he stormed, though more to himself than to me, and without a backward glance, he yanked on the handle and departed in high dudgeon. The sound of the door slamming was still reverberating long after he disappeared into the darkened corridor beyond.





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