John knocked once at the sturdy solar door at the end of a long gallery and pushed the door open after receiving a booming, "Enter!" called from within. He held it open for me to precede him, but made no move to follow.

The room I entered seemed a sort of well lit, private living room with a library — the shelves along the walls stacked with parchment scrolls and manuscripts — from which three additional archways and doors led, presumably to the wardrobe, the lady's boudoir, and the master's chamber. Here another fire snapped and licked at the logs in the hearth beside which the earl reclined against the cushions of a tall, high-backed chair; a large hunting falcon perched on a rail next to him.

Both creatures sat quiescently, one pair of eyes a beady golden hue and the other a chilling ice-blue, as they watched my painstaking approach with unnerving coolness. I endeavored to take in the splendid wall hangings and artful tapestries, or the excellently crafted woodwork of the support beams, shelves, chairs and tables, but I was far too aware of the master of Nørrdragor's keen stare.

"Come a little closer, Ariana."

The Lord of Drakkentörn's voice was like granite and utterly devoid of warmth: much like the flagstones beneath me that were slowly conducting the heat, or what little I yet contained, away from my soaked feet and travel-worn boots.

I clutched my cloak tighter about my shoulders and did as he bade me, moving tentatively forward despite every instinct urging me to flee. He watched me silently, his preternatural stillness disquieting, and when I finally stood mere inches from him I thought I noticed him sniff the air delicately as if to catch my scent; but that was ludicrous! What high lord goes about sniffing his subordinates?

I might have laughed at the notion, but for my nerves: they were painfully taut and it was all I could do to keep from becoming unraveled.

"I see your face has healed nicely." He leaned back ever so slightly, satisfied by what he saw.

I concentrated on slowing my ragged breathing and calming myself, but the man before me incited such an irrational terror that I soon gave up and watched him keenly — ready to bolt should he move a fraction closer.

He must have sensed my agitation for he transferred those eyes instead to John who remained poised at the door. He instructed his chamberlain briefly in clipped Norn, before the man inclined his head and closed the door, his light foot falls disappearing in his wake as the silence once again gathered thickly around us.

"You are no doubt famished," he intoned. I nodded my assent. "I have arranged for some wine and broth to be brought hence."

He motioned for me to sit. I chose the seat furthest from him and he smiled humorlessly, steepling his hands so that he scrutinized me carefully over his fingers while my own hands were clasped together nervously, the knuckles turning white. His motionless state was that of a waiting spider. It was an interminable length of time before he spoke again, so suddenly that I visibly started and I might have screamed had not my throat been so constricted with dread.

"You know why you are here, Ariana." It was not a question and I nodded woodenly.

I disliked the way he continued to use my full name instead of the shortened version, Aria, that most everyone else had thus far adopted: it made me feel all the more an outsider; an unfamiliar guest. Lord Drakkentörn waited expectantly for my verbal affirmation with his head slightly cocked.

"Yes, my lord." He motioned for me to continue. "Father said I was to be married to the Earl of Drakkentörn...to a Greyback." I gulped a mouthful of frigid air and commenced. "You, my lord."

My voice seemed to fade into a whisper by the last word; as if it would break had I continued. The thought of marriage, least of all to him, was so dreadful to me that I could barely breathe. The air seemed unable to pass the large lump lodged painfully in my chest. The Earl frowned. He seemed surprised by something.

"And this displeases you?" I shook my head no, but my trembling lip assured him otherwise. "Careful, my girl. We do not abide liars here."

I nodded again, my eyes wide with alarm. I was doing that a great deal lately: nodding and bobbing my head when my tongue refused to move. A young squire then appeared, so light of foot that I had not heard the door opening, with a mug of warm, mulled wine and a steaming bowl of stew. Wrapping cold, numb fingers around my tankard, I whispered my thanks. The boy deposited my stew on a table beside me and hastily moved away, lingering no longer than was necessary.

"Where the devil is Lucian?" The master of Nørrdragor directed his vexation to his little, freckled squire who apparently spoke my stunted — as Carac adamantly referred to it — southern tongue.

"In t-the g-great hall, my lord! With Carac," came the squeaky, stammering and heavily accented reply. I was grateful to the earl for speaking Gaeldic in my presence.

"Fetch him here at once, Frederick!"

"Aye, my lord." With that said, he withdrew; almost tripping over his oversized feet in his rush to attend to his quest.

I had never felt less like eating, sure the meal would get no further than that awful lump still in my breast. I forced down what I could, lest I offend my host any further. Once the bowl was empty I set it away from me and again grabbed the tankard; more so to continue doing something with my hands than to warm them.

"Fortunately for you," the earl continued as if the arrival of my supper had not just interrupted our conversation, "I find the thought of marrying an infant just as distasteful as you undoubtably do." My eyes were nonplussed as I raised them immediately to his, but they were too intense, almost glowing cyan, that and I quickly averted my gaze again.

"No, indeed. I have many odd tastes; but little girls are not one of them." He smirked as if the thought struck him satirically, but for all his irony he did at least seem appalled; which assured me that he was certainly, and appropriately, adverse to the idea. I relaxed not even a fraction for the thought of him tasting little girls caused my heart to wither in it's frozen cage; I had seen the flash of sharp teeth when he had grinned dispassionately. "On the contrary, you are here to learn."

Startled from my grim speculation, I glanced up at him again and managed to maintain contact as he continued.

"You will be immersed in our culture and customs and you will learn to speak our language. Can you read and write?"

"A little, my lord."

He stroked his stubbled jaw pensively, weighing my answer. My brows drew together of their own volition and, sensing my confusion, he raised a single heavy brow curiously.

"You have a question," he stated emphatically.

"T-to what end, sir?" I stumbled over my words awkwardly.

"Can you not guess, child?" came the terse reply.

"If not to marry then... no, my lord, the reason is yet unclear."

"I did not say you would not marry-"

"But earlier you said-" Shocked by this contradiction, I interrupted him heedlessly and without thought to the consequences. My own father would have beaten me for less.

He spoke over me as if I had not just disrupted him. "I merely assured you that tis not I to whom you are betrothed." Godwin eyed me coolly for my breach in etiquette, but did not address my insolence directly.

I flinched instinctively, despite that he had not moved, and squeezed my eyes shut, expecting him to fly out of his chair and beat me soundly. I had not even assimilated the colossal revelation he had just divulged, too busy averted my face for good measure. But when only silence ensued, I realized that he would not strike me and thence looked up.

"Bear up, girl, I will not touch you." This he said with impatience, withal it was contemplative too. "Do you understand me? No one has that right."

"But my father..."

"You are under my protection now," he growled. "Unlike the south," he went on, the corners of his mouth dropping in disgust, "we do not hold our women in contempt. I tell you again, no one has the right to harm you. You are a Greyback now..."

"Y-yes, my lord." It had been my experience that a man's words were not always in accordance with his actions. Life had taught me that my faith in people should always be carefully invested; and, thus far, no one here had earned my trust.

My eyes flickered about like a nervous flame. The fidgets had beset me as I bore the weight of his eyes.

I convinced myself that he was no doubt disgusted by my pitiful reaction. I groaned inwardly and thought that he appeared far too pensive. The realization that I had now needlessly flinched twice in his presence, utterly mortified me.

Of a sudden, I recalled Carac's stern warning: to conceal my fear and to always appear strong...at least outwardly. Thus, I squared my shoulders and wiped my damp palms on the large, woolen cloak that had been provided for me.

"I understand, my lord."

"Very good. Let us continue. You are, in fact, to marry Lucian — my eldest son."

The earl pursed his lips before stating the obvious, "Your father seems to have misunderstood the arrangement entirely." He shook his head in distaste. "Perhaps I should have ensured his sobriety afore disclosing my intentions, but I had been delayed in Heathersea as it was," he said with a sigh, "and then I met you and was delayed further."

Why have you chosen me?! I screamed inwardly, longing desperately for him to disclose his reasoning behind my being decided upon for his lofty son. However, I lacked the backbone to speak the words aloud and lost my chance to question the man some more for he continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

"I apologize for my hasty departure when last I saw you, but I can never be long away from Nørrdragor..."

How mysterious that sounded!

"Now that you are a daughter of Nørrdragor, you shall have a tutor appointed to you. He will instruct you to speak and read Norn. By Spring I, as well as every inmate here, shall converse with you in naught but that language. Gaeldic will no longer be allowed to pass your lips. I expect you to apply yourself and excel. Do I make myself clear, Ariana?"

"Quite clear," I whispered.

"You will divide your time between your schoolwork and accompanying my wife, Lady Anne, throughout the remainder of the day. She too shall instruct you, especially as it pertains to the daily running of this household."

Seeing my surprise, which he interpreted correctly, he narrowed his gaze and said, "I see now your father could not have informed you of that lady's existence. I apologize for the anxiety this must have caused you." He certainly did look somewhat contrite.

"Perhaps I should appraise you of any other details Edwyn might have omitted thus far. Anne is my wife, as you are now aware, and she likely would have welcomed you properly tonight, were it not for my youngest's rambunctious capering." He rolled his eyes heavenward. "The boy managed to injure himself earlier and so has need of his mother's...sewing skills. So you see, I have another son besides Lucian. Caine's age is halfway between yours and his brother."

He considered me thoughtfully. "By the by, it may interest you to know that Lucian is not yet eighteen." He chuckled ironically and added, "There now, not altogether an undesirable difference in age, do not you agree?" Albeit he did not wait for my reply.

"He is home for the moment, but will be returning to Skådrokk Keep, his uncle's estate, two days hence; my sister and nephew will also be returning with them. I had hoped he'd be here longer, but apparently his uncle is unable to spare him just now. Caine goes with him," he suspired loudly. "It shall, therefore, be rather a dull winter at Nørrdragor this year; and perhaps the next."

"They are returning to...?" I did not even attempt the odd-sounding moniker of what I assumed was the name of a castle. Godwin's lips twitched, somehow diverted — although not unkindly — by my difficulty, and he took pity on my twisted tongue.

"Skoh," he anunciantes for me, "droak."

I tried again and my pronunciation evidently pleased him the second time, for his smile became a little less cold. "Very good, child. And yes, both my sons will soon be once more in their uncle's custody."

"Forgive me, sir, but I do not understand why that should be." Not that I had any care either way.

"In the north — and I presume tis also the common practice in most noble houses in the south — the sons of great families are often, if not always, fostered by powerful men of the aristocracy; mostly for political reasons." He regarded me carefully, his eyes narrowing marginally. "I see you are unfamiliar with the idea; let me explain. When Lucian was eight, he was sent away and fostered by my brother-in-law, the duke, where he trained first as a page, and then a squire, but has not as yet achieved knighthood — that will not be for another two or three years, I daresay.

"It is all done in the name of strengthening familial bonds and training boys in any and all skills — warfare being chief among those lessons — that will benefit them as men." The earl seemed to find his own words distasteful, for his nose appeared to flare imperceptibly and his voice cooled by degrees. "Caine's experience has been no different, but he is only just attained squirehood."

"Then Lucian will not be free to remain here until three years hence?" The notion caused in me no end of excitement.

"Aye. I had thought they might stay on till after Christmas at least, but the duke has seen fit to...keep them both occupied far more than is generally required." He gave no sign that this angered him, but I was nonetheless chilled by his gaze and sought to change the subject a little.

"Does the duke have more than one son?" I knew his wife, Godwin's sister, was currently residing here with her son, but perhaps that exalted personage had more than just the one heir. It was then a fair assessment on my part that any brood of his would then, in turn, be fostered here with the earl.

"Two boys, but the eldest, Ross, is at present being fostered with King Haakon."

"The king!" How very impressive. I was clearly marrying into a very powerful family.

The earl's eyes seemed to harden into icy quartz. "Yes, tis all a game of politics in the end." He himself looked the royal, perched atop his high-backed throne, as he slowly turned his august head and, with an imperceptible gesture, summoned his lanky squire as he continued to address me. "And I cannot discount that tis a desirable connection to have the ear of the king."

He instructed the boy, with a flick of his regal wrist, to top off my tankard. I thanked the page again before he backed away.

"Do you have any more queries, Ariana? Now that you have thawed your bones I find you to be quite a precocious child," said he, amused, "and surprisingly articulate for a girl of mean education."

"Thank you, my lord." I blinked uncertainly, for I found the endorsement savored a little of a left-handed compliment, no matter how inadvertent it might have been.

"Questions," he prompted me.

I pondered a moment before answering. "What day do you anticipate the wedding, my lord?" I wanted no more talk of incidentals. Well, that was not exactly true, for I should much rather disregard my fate entirely, but 'twas better we had get to the point at hand — my future here at Nørrdragor.

"Ahh! A worthy question indeed, but I cannot reward it with an equally satisfying answer. You are now but ten, far too tender an age, and my son, as you will no doubt see, is ... rather headstrong." The earl seemed at first unable to find the right word before settling on 'headstrong'. "I think it best to grant you a number of years to...mature so that you are better able to match wits with him — you will need that time, believe me," he smirked.

How obscure he sounds, I thought.

"Hence I have planned, tentatively mind, to have him wed you by your sixteenth year."

Before he could explicate further, he glanced behind me expectantly, his mouth pursed in disapprobation, as if searching the shadows for someone.

Confused, I too looked over my shoulder to inspect the entrance. Nothing. Still, Godwin waited; perhaps hearing what I could not. But finally I did hear it. Heavy, almost impatient, footfalls approaching the solar.

"Good of you to join us, Lucian."



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