How many nights what this dreary French castle held within it haunted him, he did not know. Though there was a certainty within him that he would never truly be able to count the horrid memories that it had offered him; the foul stench of the woman he once loved lingered around the outskirts as though it was a fog, thus he had spent as much time away from court as he possibly could. But now his services were needed, and he was called upon by the King himself. It was not often that he was invited to court, as he had no true titles, therefore he knew the royalty living within the stone walls must be very desparate.
Reluctantly he walked up the castle steps, his hands shoved deep within the pockets of the suit he had so recently acquired. Frederic would no longer look as though he was a peasant, he didn't wish to display such a fact any longer; despite being somewhat proud that he wasn't truly one of these power hungry monsters. Though he had left a large chunk of his previous self behind him, he still held a trick match between the fingers of his right hand; his stories would never leave him- nor would his desire to tell them - but that wasn't to say he would be so bold in displaying his talents at court this time. Not only due to the judging eyes of those around him, but he didn't feel much like it anymore. He saw no real point in bringing joy to others when it was such an unreachable thing to him. How cruel God had been to him, dangling false hope before his eyes like candy before a child.
Once inside the castle, he found his eyes roaming the stained glass windows and paintings littering the stone above him, but unlike his first visit here, it no longer brought awe to him. Whatever magic this castle once held for him had drained from it the minute Amphelice had crushed his heart. Now he merely wished to finish his business and get back to his secluded house on the outskirts of France. How he longed to be left alone in his sorrows, to think only of his lost daughter and grieve the life he was never to have.
Approaching footsteps caused his brown eyes to shift intensely towards the source, his mouth making no move to greet the person approaching. Formalities meant little to him before and now they meant hardly nothing. However important these people thought they were, without his revenue and war supplies, they were nothing; rather they would be nothing within a few months.
