The servants here dress like nobility.
I haven’t seen this man before. The servants that have attended to me have all been young men; discreet, efficient, and with impeccable manners.
Tight-lipped, too, despite my attempts to make conversation.
This one… he’s a bit different. Older. Slender, with a full head of silver hair, his face etched with fine lines. There’s a commanding air about him.
“My lady, my name is Gerent.” He executes a perfectly smooth bow. His accent is pure cultured Rahavan. “How may I be of service?”
Part of me feels like I should be the one asking him for guidance.
“I’d like to take a walk around the castle grounds,” I declare, trying to sound like I’m used to ordering people around. “Please arrange some suitable attire for me. I’d rather not be dragging skirts around in the muddy snow. I’ll need trousers, a shirt, and enough layers to keep me warm. A warm overcoat would be preferable. A pair of good boots would be even better.”
Gerent’s expression is as calm and cool as a deep lake on a summer day. “You may explore the internal grounds with an escort, but you can’t go outside the castle walls.”
“Would my escort happen to be the archduke, by any chance?”
“I’m afraid not, my lady. One of his men will take you around the grounds.”
“Still indisposed, is he?” I offer him an acid-saccharine smile. “I’m almost starting to think that he’s going out of his way to avoid me.”
“His Highness will see you as soon as he is able.” Now there’s just a hint of irritation in Gerent’s voice.
“I’d tell you that I understand,” I say sweetly, “but I’d be lying. In any case, I can see that you’re loyal to your master, and I don’t intend to torture you with incessant questions.”
Gerent gives me a very pointed look. “You’re not wrong in your assessment of my loyalties.”
It’s almost a rebuke.
From a servant.
Ha.
“Well, it’s reassuring to know that Archduke Duthriss can inspire such sentiment in his people.”
The servant tips his head in acknowledgement. The sharpness melts from his expression. Whatever it was, the moment has passed. “I shall fetch you some attire that is suitable for this weather. Trousers, shirt, coat, woolen layers. It won’t be easy to source something in your size, but I’ll do my best.” He frowns. “The dressmaker will need to pay you a visit as soon as possible.”
“Tailor,” I correct.
“Both,” Gerent insists.
“I don’t need custom made clothing just for going outside. Isn’t there any woman in this castle with similar proportions to mine? I would gladly borrow and return. I’m really not that fussy, Gerent.”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single woman since I entered this castle. The servants, cooks, housekeepers… they’re all men.
The servant gives me a strange look. “A moment if you please, my lady.”
Then he disappears, leaving me wondering about the strangeness of it all; about what really lies between the silent walls of this cold, vast, immovable castle.
Corvan Duthriss, what is wrong with you? Why are you avoiding me?
Father, you miserable, conniving bastard. What did you get me into?
Really, this is all starting to get a little bit tiresome.
14
FINLEY
The cobblestone courtyard is dusted with a delicate layer of undisturbed snow; pale, icy powder that crunches beneath my ill-fitting boots. They’re a size too big for me, as are the soft woolen trousers and the knitted tunic and the fur-lined overcoat, but they’re warm and functional, and that’s all I need.
For borrowed clothes, they aren’t bad at all, especially the men’s shirt I’m wearing as an under-layer. It’s made of fine silk, and it’s softer and more luxurious than any garment I’ve worn in my life.
It smells of pine and fresh, woody herbs and a hint of something else… that I can’t quite put my finger on. The only part of my outfit that’s slightly feminine is the soft woolen scarf wrapped around my neck.
It’s the purest shade of delicate sky-blue, and it’s wonderfully warm.
I’d almost feel comfortable right now, if not for the intimidating figure walking by my side.
My escort, as Gerent promised.
To my disappointment, he isn’t the elusive Archduke Duthriss. But he’s probably the next best thing; a big, hulking weapon of a man who simply calls himself Kaithar.
That was how he introduced himself. There was no mention of rank or station.
There’s just a very obvious sense that this man is a warrior.
With that physique, he can’t be anything but.
He isn’t wearing any sort of armor or official garb—just a simple black shirt that’s rolled up at the sleeves, a grey fur vest, and a pair of leather trousers tucked into worn black boots.
His legs are like tree trunks; thighs thick and muscular, his tight-fitting trousers leaving little to the imagination.
Isn’t he cold?
Evidently not.
His hair is black and tightly coiled, shaved on both sides of his head and arranged in long, neat dreadlocks that are loosely braided together and tied back. His distinctive hairstyle and dark complexion clearly mark him as a Vikurian.
“Did you want to see the inner gardens?” Kaithar’s voice is deep and gravelly, like the rumble of thunder. “There’s a pond with a statue. It’s frozen over now, but it’s still pleasant to look at. I like it better in winter, actually.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Kaithar is the kind of man that most Rahavan women would swoon over. The sort that the noble court ladies would dream about while they act content with their arranged marriages.
But when I look at him, I feel nothing but a mild sense of trepidation.
The Vikurian seems affable on the surface, but there’s a watchfulness about him; a thinly veiled hardness that sets me on edge.
And just now, when I look at him, trying to get a sense of him, I don’t feel even an inkling of a swoon coming on, even though I might have lusted after him once upon a time.
That’s because another man has completely invaded my thoughts.
I remember…
The feeling of his warm lips against my neck. They were unexpectedly soft. Tender, almost. Even though he was restraining my wrists with cold, savage force.
The memory is seared into my mind.
It was so wrong.
Yet it felt good.
A shudder courses down my spine. Kaithar’s dark gaze bores into me.
I try to compose myself. “The frozen pond sounds pleasant enough, but I would much prefer to see the stables. Can you show me the horses, Kaithar?”
“You sure, my lady? The stables are hardly the most interesting place in the citadel. Full of bad-tempered war horses, and the smell isn’t exactly—”