#medieval!ghost

He would lavish in the way the candlelight danced on her skin. The steam of the water coming off her skin like she crawled right out of hell just to torment him, to fill his mind with carnal sin. But he stood still just on the other side of a sheer curtain, leaving little to the imagination. The steam warming his armor and in turn himself. Sweat dripping on his skin within the metal, chainmail growing uncomfortable, but he could bear it.

The multitude of candles strewn around the room illuminated her in a godly way, he was tempted to get down on his knees and worship her as she was. But he was sworn to protect, lest the King calls for his head. His eyes are veiled by the helmet, making him appear more as a statue than a man.

She yearns to tempt him, see how much he can endure before that knightly training is cracked and thrown out her tower window. To pull the armor piece by piece until he’s revealed to him as she is to him now would rival any romance poetry or gossip she's ever heard. A fantasy is what it is. 

His touch was original sin, tongue gracing the side of your neck like hellfire. That’s where you were going right? For indulging in awful terrible fantasies of a man who could never be betrothed to you. One so near yet far. He was unlike others. Standing guard day and night, still as a shadow unless he was walking behind you, eyes forever scanning for danger, for an opportunity to pay the ultimate price and lay down his life for yours, the most noble sacrifice.

A firm knock on the door of your chambers distracts you from the scene, causing you to fill with panic again. Remembering what Sir Riley had told you the night before, you were to have an audience with the lord of the castle. Your heart rattles in its cage of ribs, lungs expanding painfully with each breath as you cross the floor, your steps echo off the walls and each breath sounds louder in your ears. Any attempt to calm yourself falters as you unbolt the door and push open the heavy oak. 

On the outside, in simple leather armor, another knight of the castle stands at attention. He’s new to you, an unfamiliar bronze face with golden eyes. A foreigner, you wonder whilst looking at him. There was a memory of the merchants from afar who traveled through your father’s lands, their skin hadn’t quite been as dark as his, but just as curious to you. 

“My apologies, ma’am. But Lord Price requests your presence.” He tells you, bowing his head and crossing his chest with one arm. 

“Of course,” Swallowing hard, you step over the threshold and into the narrow hallway. Morning light streams through the few windows as he escorts you, speaking little except for directing you as to whether to turn. As you walk, servant girls in the castle greet the knight as he passes by, often giggling though the knight, who was called Sir Garrick, pays them little attention. Instead, he was focused on the task of bringing you to the lord’s study. 

Down narrow passages, up winding stairs into a high turret was where the lord of the castle worked and rested. When Sir Garrick brings you into the study, there is no one waiting for you. Just high shelves full of books, statues, and trinkets from wars and plunders. A tall tapestry with the crest hung down behind the desk, the embroidered skull and sword causing you to shiver. 

“Lord Price will be with you in a moment. Don’t touch anything.” Sir Garrick advises you before stepping out of the room and shutting the door. 

You startle when it slams shut, leaving you alone in the unwelcoming study. Glancing over at the bookshelves, you find yourself wanting to read over the title and run your fingers down the leather spines. Reading had never particularly been a hobby of yours, though your mother and tutor had taught you Latin and French, made you read pages upon pages, it bored you. Until now. There was a growing curiosity to view the collection that was grander than your father’s. How had you never known about a lord with a castle this grand? Surely your father knew the man, yet you’d never heard of Lord Price nor Castle Tharn. 

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” You startle at the sudden intrusion, not even having heard the door open. Quickly turning on your heel, you see the lord of the castle standing in the doorway. Tall in stature, broad shoulders hidden under his dark green shirt. He had the appearance of a warrior, the pride of a king in his gait. 

“Quite the collection, m’Lord.” You stutter out as he walks past, settling behind his desk. 

“My father started them to appease my mother. She was very unhappy in this castle and saw it as her prison, so my father began to gather them as they were the only thing that brought comfort to her short life.” He tells you, his light eyes narrowing to study your reaction, that the way you held yourself was different from a commoner. Even with the state of humility that you were in. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You tilt your head, remembering the string of jewels and pearls the prince had sent to you during the engagement. A sick feeling bubbles in your stomach, a frown crossing your face. A question lingers in your head though you do not chase it for an answer. “That was very kind of him.” 

“Hmph. A captor trying to please the captured.” Lord Price hums, his chest rumbling with his words as he sits straight up in his velvet chair. “Foolish, is it not?” 

“I’m not sure, m’Lord.” 

“It’s as foolish as my servants trying to console you.” The frown on your face grows more visible at his words, the riddles he spoke confusing you. His steely, cold eyes sliced like knives through your resolve. “My knights have told me of the misfortunes that befell your company on the highway. A highway which they were not supposed to travel on.” 

“Pardon me?” Your hands grip the fabric of your borrowed dress, wrinkling the gray fabric in your fists. The accusations stung, though you had no defense to his words. What did you know about the plans for traveling your father had forged? 

“The House of Cain, galloping about through the Queen’s land. It’s by God’s graciousness alone and the will of my knights that a single soul survived the night.” Lord Price stands from his seat, his figure eclipsing the silver of light from the lone window. Cloaking you and the room in darkness. The Queen’s land? Your mind swelled from his words, lacking any understanding. 

Lord Price pulls a scroll of paper from a shelf, laying it out on the desk you wearily approach. A map of your father’s lands is etched out in red ink, and the harsh words traitor’s lands are written over the valleys and mountains he governed. In black ink, you saw Castle Tharn with its rivers and surrounding villages. It was different from the maps you’d seen growing up, glimpsing into the rooms where your father and his advisors plotted. You were sure there was more land of which your father governed. But it looked small in comparison to Lord Price’s lands and the land of another lord, a name of which you did not recognize. Where were the allies your father boasted about? Was he really that desperate, closed off from those who would aid him in battle? 

“Was this not the road you traveled?” He asked, his gloved hand pointed to a thick line that ran through the heart of Lord Price’s land. Yes, they were. 

Your blood runs cold, a feeling of faintness passing over you like a ghostly breeze. Reaching for the arm of a nearby chair, you try to steady yourself. This was not what you’d been told. How much more could your world be shattered in such short days? 

“No, no. My father is a respected man. Highly praised and honored. He has allies, he has the favor of the prince.” You respond, trying to defend your family name. The House of Cain demanded respect and you would not let that fall. 

But he scoffs at your declaration, shaking his head in amusement. “The prince?” 

“Yes. Have you no respect for the royal family?” You ask, your voice quivering in fear. Never had you seen a man speak in such a way, so brash and crude in attitude and tone. It made you quiver, a present dread in your bones. He reminded you of a commoner you’d once seen on the gallows, awaiting his death for the crime of treason; he still would not recant the words he’d spoken about your father and the prince. Now, you wondered who had truly committed that crime. 

“That man is royalty by blood alone, I do not bow to him nor do I recognize those who follow him like sheep.” Lord Price looks at you with harshness, sitting down again with his hands flat against the wooden desk. “Your father gave you an illusion of prosperity and power.” 

You’d known that your father had begun to grow weary, that was the reason for your arranged marriage. But you had no idea it was so dire and fearful. The brutes your father spoke of fighting against the borders were the very ones that’d pulled you out of the mud. 

Lord Price watches as you sink into the chair, your lip trembling and eyes beginning to burn though no tears would spill. Not after the long hours you’d spent last night, curled up in the unfamiliar bed praying to wake up from the never-ending nightmare that’d grown longer and colder. 

“I’ve sent a messenger to your father, to tell him of what has happened to his wife and daughter. It will be up to him whether or not he agrees to my negotiations for your freedom.” He says, continuing to watch you like a wolf on its prowl. You were the rabbit being hunted after, small, frail, and unable to defend yourself from the whims of men. 

“My freedom? Am I your prisoner?” So, this was why he’d asked you that question before. From the beginning, he’d made it clear what his intentions for you were. A pawn in a long drawn-out game of chess that Lord Price had captured for his play. His expressive face shows as much, there’s almost an expression of pity that is quickly hidden away the longer you stare. 

“My quarrel is not with you, girl. Your mother was a good woman, it grieves me that she was forced into the marriage she was. For her sake, you will be looked after well. Fed, clothed, and free to do as you wish. Were you just your father’s daughter, I’d keep you in the dungeon.” He says, still speaking to you firmly despite the mercy he’s extended. Yes, it was better than the rat-infested dark dungeons the castle had, but it was not freedom. A castle whose walls confine you, no matter how lavish it is, when the sun sets is still your prison. 

“Were you my own daughter, I wouldn’t waste a moment in your retrieval. For your dignity and sake, I pray your father is the same.” His large hand is gentle when placed on your shoulder. The urge to cry in humility is strong, but the numbing truth of your fate is stronger. Would your father be so kind? For all the affection he used to shower you in, your father had sent you on roads that he knew were unsafe. How much he really cared was yet another question you did not want to answer. 

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The small chapel sat in the west corner of the castle walls, as you walked down the stone path to seek refuge and pray for your mother, the feeling of being watched did not leave you. Though Lord Price had not explicitly said that you would be escorted by a knight, you knew better than to assume you were alone. But, in the church, you were given a glimpse of freedom.

Inside, it was cool. The stained glass windows depicting images of biblical stories left colorful lights dancing over the floor and walls. Somewhere, you assumed there was a monk who served to bless the lord and his keep. But no one bothered you as you slumped down to kneel and pray for your mother. Believing in higher beings had always seemed silly to you, but for her, you’d pray that she’d safely travel to the heavens that she read of. 

But prayer felt foolish. Her fate had already been decided, what would simple, dumb words do? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I would be alone at this hour.” You rise from kneeling, turning to see a woman dressed in deep velvets, her hair pulled up out of her fair face. Like a divine being, she smiled softly at you seeing the distress in your appearance. How you seemed to shrink under her gaze. 

“No, it’s my apologies. I only wanted a moment to mourn.” You respond, smoothing down your dress and keeping your head turned to the stone floor. Hadn’t you once refused to look down when speaking to anyone? Weren’t they the ones who were to cower? 

“You must be our guest. I, again, must apologize for not coming to your chambers and introducing myself. My youngest child has been in bed with a fever, and I did not want to leave his bedside until it broke.” She continued to speak softly, stepping forward and offering a hand. “I’m the lady of the castle. Lady Price. Though, I’d prefer it if you just called me by my name, Eden.” 

Eden, a fitting name for the woman. She seemed to radiate the same aura your mother had once had, one of grace and goodwill. Someone you wanted to offer respect to. In the daylight of the chapel, she was strikingly different from her husband. More so than you ever thought your mother was compared to your father. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady. And do not apologize, your child’s health is more important than a guest. And I was not in the state of mind to visit with anyone.” You curtsy to her as you were taught, humbling yourself like your mother would’ve liked. 

“Yes, I am sorry to hear of what happened to your mother and company. It grieves me to know such tragedies happen within our borders.” She settles down onto a pew, muttering a quick prayer before glancing back at you. “I would also like to apologize for my husband and his ploy. I cannot excuse his behavior and whims, though I assure you he is a good man. There’s no one else in the world I’d want to be the father of my children.” 

Frowning, you still nod at her words and you couldn’t shake the truth from them. Even though you were bound behind the cobblestone walls, there was care offered to you. And you could not decide if you even wished to return home, unable to form a consensus about how you felt towards what you’d been told. Your father, a traitor to the crowned ruler? Exile seemed so much less cruel than accepting that truth.

 Four days and three nights you will travel with your mother and escort. A long trek to your betrothed and his lands. But it is necessary, every day you overhear the rumblings of your father’s enemies encroaching on farmlands and forests, raiding villages, and terrorizing peasants. This marriage of convenience will strengthen the lands and riches, providing allies from raiders and wars. It is your duty as the only child to ensure the peace of your people and to continue the family line.

 “Mistress, you mustn’t be falling asleep now. We still have much to do before your journey.” The head maid scolds you as your head bows while she brushes out your hair. “You can sleep in the carriage.” 

 “But I’m tired!” You whine, reminding the head maid that you are still treated like a girl. Allowed to do as you please and act out as you want. No one dares to scold the lone daughter, your happiness is of the utmost importance.

 “Ach, we all are, Mistress. But you are to be married and become a wife. You must start acting as such and put your childish behaviors behind you.” She reprimands you, tilting your head up right before picking up the ornate silver brush and pulling the bristles through your locks.

 Instinctually, your lip pushes out in a pout. A frown forms as the oak door of your bed chambers pushes open and your mother, the Lady of the castle, strides in. Her garments and hair are simple and plain compared to her normal daily wear, she is dressed for the travel and looks over at your dress of choice disapproving. 

 “Don’t you think it’s a little much for traveling, my dear?” She frowns at the red velvet dress, a gift from your father when merchants from afar visited the castle. It’s your favorite dress, beautiful with fine embroidery. “Shouldn’t you save this for when we arrive at Darenby Castle?”

 “No, I want to wear it today. This is my wedding week, and the bride shall wear what the bride wants.” You announce, lifting your chin with a proud smile. Your mother shakes her head but does not pester you further, placing a kiss on your cheek before giving final instructions to the maids and manservants. She departs from the room with one last lingering glance, you are her shining star. The only one of her offspring who’d lived past childhood, she’s been trying hard to hide her grief for your sake. But you’d heard the whispers, her pleading with your father not to send you so far away, and chose to hide away the feeling it left you with.

 When your hair is done up, out of your face, and lying beautifully, the chambermaids help you into the dress, lacing it up and tying it closed. You catch your reflection in the looking glass, letting out a satisfied hum, so young and fair to the eyes. It was no wonder that when the Prince first laid eyes on you, he joined the long line of suitors.

 “I don’t know how you’ll manage to be even prettier on the day of your wedding. But you will, Mistress.” One of the maids says sheepishly, looking up at you with wide eyes. She is younger than you, only having served in the castle for one year and still learning how to properly behave and address you. But her compliment kept you from scolding her and making sure the head maid put her in her place.

 “Yes, I will. Won’t I?” She shakes her head vigorously at your question, before returning to her work and allowing you a moment to take a final good look at your room. Many years had you spent in here: sleeping, learning, playing, and growing. It’s your fortress of refuge from everything, a place you can run to. And you will never return. Even if the Prince allows you to visit, they will room you in the dreadful East Wing where your horrid aunt stayed for so long.

 Eventually, as the sun begins to paint the early morning sky shades of pale blue, orange, pink, and purple you journey through the halls of the castle. Down stone steps and over wooden floors to the bailey where the carriage, cart, and horses are loaded and preparing for departure. Your father is talking with the escort, giving instructions for the journey as you approach him. 

 “Ah, my dear! What a beautiful rose you are this morning.” He beams, approving of your appearance which took after your mother. “And a bride you shall be. I received a letter from the Prince just last night, he is looking forward to your arrival with much anticipation.” 

 “As am I.” You reply cheeks tinged pink from praise. Though you will miss your home, the gardens, and the grand hall, you are anxious to begin the new journey. To receive a new title, one far greater than you would’ve inherited from your parents. Princess has such a beautiful ring to it– like you were born for it. 

 As the carriage begins to drive away, all of heaven seems to shine for you as you and the escort depart from the castle. The colorful songbirds singing your farewell, the flowers blooming alive for the spring, the world was awake for you.

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Thunder drums out, the noise exploding in your ears as you startle awake. Heart racing as wind howls and tears at the curtains of the carriage, rain beginning to pelt out. Your eyes shift around the interior of the carriage as you try to compose yourself as your mother had, but fear of the storm holds onto you.

 The escort is yelling amongst themselves, one of the knights speaking to your mother about what must be done. For the past two days, the journey was passing well. Besides being jostled around on bumpy dirt roads and having to listen to your mother read passages of Latin, you hadn’t minded. And the growing excitement of seeing your fiance made everything fade away.

 But the sun has hidden, dark clouds bursting open as all of heaven’s floods fall to the earth. Another clap of thunder scares you, lightning cracking along the blackened sky as the escort pushes through the weather. The choice had been made to push through, you’re told there’s an abbey not too far away that will provide safety from the storm.

 Rain continues to soak into the carriage as you move to your mother’s side, clinging to her for warmth and security. She stays calm, praying the entire time and holding you close as the carriage drives on slowly, bumping through the mud and puddles. The horses fighting against their handlers, every time thunder sounds and lightning strikes, you can hear the creatures neigh in protest. 

 For a moment, you close your eyes and cover your ears. Trying to block out all the noise and chaos hoping it will all pass. But it only gets louder, violent shouts muffled by the storm, the sound of metal clanging and snapping as swords battle. When you open your eyes, an arrow cuts through the curtains of the carriage. In fear, you scream as it pierces into the wood. 

 Your mother’s prayers fall on deaf ears from God as the door is thrown open, and a man in a torn brown cloak and scarf wrapped around his face sneers down at you. In his hands, a silver blade is still covered in scarlet blood.

 “Please, we’ll give you whatever you ask for. Gold, silver, merchant goods!” Your mother offers as he steps into the carriage, towering over you. 

 “Oh, I know what I want.” He looks down at you, pulling the scarf from his face. In the dim light from the lanterns, his yellowed teeth glint as his eyes trail over you, his face littered with scars and marks from the years.

 Another scream rips from your throat as he lunges at you. But your mother pushes you aside, causing you to tumble out of the carriage landing in a puddle of sludge with a painful thud. The cold water seeps through your dress and undergarments as you stay frozen. Around you the troop of bandits are slaying your escort, men falling lifelessly into the mire. All you can see are the silhouettes struggling in the carriage before the lantern is knocked down. 

 With horror, stuck in the mud, you listen to the blood-curdling scream as your mother is murdered. The sound of the blade piercing through her dress, skin, and bones haunting you before the bandit turns out of the carriage to find you. 

 In vain, you try to crawl away and out of the mud. But you let out a cry when you put your palm down on the road, snapping your wrist close to your chest as you rub the skin. Everything hurts, everything. Your heart, your hips, and your hands all sing with pain as the bandit grabs at your hair and yanks you back. A sharp cry leaves your lips from the pain as he drags you close with a sick look on his pasty face, his blade pushed against your throat. One slice and you’d be done for.

 “Please! Please! I’m too young!” You cry, begging at the final chance of life. Tears fall from your eyes, mixing with rain on your cheeks. And you wonder if maybe you should perish, joining your mother in the afterlife. Even hell sounds better than this misery as you wait for him to inflict pain. 

 But it doesn’t come, instead, something squelches and cracks. Warm liquid spray onto your face before the bandit drops you, his body crumpling to the ground beside you. Finally, peeling your eyes open another scream tears from your throat as you look at the headless body, his blood being washed from your face with the rain.

 You do not look at your savior as you stare at the bandit. Another scream threatens to spill out when the head is dropped mere feet from you. Whatever nightmare this is, you hope and pray you will wake from it soon. Back with your mother alive and the sun shining down on you. 

Lightning dances across the sky again, the light strikes and blinds your eyes. The deep red velvet of your dress is ruined by the rain and mud. Your cries are drowned out by the roar of the thunder as you shake from the cold. 

 In a mere moment, all you had known, the world that had been promised for you had been torn from your trembling hands. God had abandoned you as quickly as the sun had abandoned the sky. You are plagued by the darkness as your mother and escort are delivered from this life to the next. 

 Then warmth floods in your arm as a man in black armor sinks to your level, his knee digging into the mire. You cannot see his face, the intricate design of his helmet somehow scares you more than you already are. The skull helmet shines as lightning brightens the sky momentarily before he pulls up his visor and stares at you with concern. His nose and mouth are covered with a black cloth, but his eyes are aflame in the darkness. Only softening when they see how helpless you are as you shrink away from him.

Your savior.

 “Can you stand?” He asks over the wind. You shake your head, still frozen in place as he stands. You do not know this man, this knight is not one of your own. In this moment, you can only hope he is truly an ally and not a foe.

 The knight towers above you, his stature tall and broad, calling to his companion for aid. Another knight in the same dark armor joins you with the reins of a horse in his hand. You catch sight of a crest on the shaffron of the creature, but you do not recognize the marks. 

 “Help her on while I set the beasts free.” The knight orders his companion. You tremble as the smaller knight wraps an arm around your back and another on your stomach before pulling you up from the mud. It splashes when you stand and struggle to walk, your knees threatening to buckle as he leads you to the mare. 

 Slowly, you use what strength you have left to mount the horse. Wincing when he pushes you up and your dress tears along the side seams. It’s ornate, not meant for riding a horse, especially since you are not sitting side-saddle. If you were not in such a ruined state of mind, you would’ve been humiliated by your stockings and underskirt showing. But you can only think of how you were still breathing, damp air still clinging to your lungs. 

 You turn your head and watch as your horses that had not been killed are set loose, turning and running into the deep, wild forest before the tall knight returns to you and his horse. In his hand, he holds a torn piece of the carriage curtain and throws it over your lap to warm you, your cloak doing nothing to fight against the rain and cold. 

 When he mounts the horse, saddling behind you, reality finally dawns on you. They’re taking you away. You’re being taken away by strangers, away from your escort, your mother, your life! 

 “No, no. Please, I can’t leave her! Don’t take me away from her!” You twist to look at the knight, pounding your fists into the metal of his chest plate. Wincing with every hit as your right wrist continues to sting. “Please! She’s my mother! She’s a baroness, a lady, a woman of God, she deserves a burial!” 

 “There is nothing we can do for her.” He states, flipping his visor down to cover his face again. And when you try to push off the horse, his arms cage you in as he picks up the reigns. “And if I leave you here, you’ll meet the same fate as her. There’s nothing around for miles. You’ll starve, or be eaten by wolves, or killed when the rest of the bandits come looking for their brothers.” 

 “I won’t leave her!” You cry again, but your pleas fall on deaf ears as he orders the horse to move. “Mother! Mother!” 

 With grief, you watch as the carriage, cart, and bodies disappear behind you. The forest surrounds you and blocks your view as the knight and his companion abandon the road. With a steady pace, they traveled through the dark thicket, relying on the silvers of lightning as their only source of light. 

 When the rain ceases, night has fallen over the land. And with the full moon peeking out of the clouds over you, the horses tread to a halt. Your body is aching when the knight dismounts, his boots heavily stomping against the damp grass. He offers a gauntlet hand out for you to take, and just as slowly as you mounted the horse, you dismount. 

 “We’ll camp here for the night. By twilight tomorrow we’ll reach Tharn Castle.” You blink and furrow your brows. How far had your escort strayed from the main road and their destination while you had slept? The castle's name doesn’t even sound familiar to you as the knight unloads his horse, and to your right, his companion does the same. 

 “John, find some wood. This one’s teeth were chattering the whole ride.” He remarks, pointing to you. You had concluded that this knight was the leader, he’d only given orders to the shorter one and had directed the party through the forest. Whoever he is, he demands respect and attention from his presence alone. 

 You stand unsure, your face numb from crying as they set up camp. The tall knight unrolls his bundle, laying the ragged blanket down on the grass.  “Sit,” He orders you, before turning to sift through his pack. You sink onto the thick fabric, still shivering as John prepares a fire for your camp. Slowly, your senses calm down, grief numb in your veins as you watch the two work. 

 When the fire is crackling happily, embers sparking and jumping, John begins to pull off his helmet and gauntlets. He shakes out his hair and you note how peculiar the cut is. You wonder if you had completely fallen into a crueler, strange world that is steeped with death and knights in black armor. 

 “So, you gonna tell us your name, lassie?” John speaks up as the other knight prepares food. “Or say anything to us?”

 “John, she just witnessed a horrid tragedy.” The knight says warningly, glancing over at you. “I don’t think she’ll say much unless we force her.” 

 “Aye, you’re probably right, Simon. Sorry, lassie.” Simon, that was the name of your savior and captor. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream at him or thank him. 

A wolf howls deep in the woods and startles you back into attention. They both notice how you jerk back to caution, watching as you wince. The sharp pain in your wrist has only gotten worse with time. 

 “Let me see it,” Simon orders you, pulling bandages from his pack. When you hesitate, he rolls his dark eyes. “I won’t bite.” 

 You relent, stretching out your wrist for him to see in the gleam of the firelight. Deep, purple bruises have bloomed along your skin and are burrowing deep below, aching to the bone. 

 “It’s not broken, it’ll mend soon.” He tells you, his gloved thumb runs over the skin and pushes your sleeve up further. You watch as he slowly wraps the bandage around, pulling it tight and firm before tying it. “Try not to put pressure on it until the bruises fade.” 

 You nod, still unable to speak to either of them as he moves away and back to the rations of food. He offers you a slice of bread, but after the horrors you’d witnessed in the hours prior, your appetite is gone. Buried deep in the pits of your stomach that bubbled with sick.

 “If you’re not going to eat, try and rest. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us and you need all your strength after today.” Simon encourages as he stands, wrapping up the remaining bread and putting it back into his pack. 

 “What about the wolves?” You quietly ask, your voice wavering as the sound of distant howls fills the night. John snorts from his side of the campfire, quickly glancing down when Simon glares at him. 

 “They don’t like fire.” He tells you, but his sword stays in its sheath on his hip for a quick draw. “And after this afternoon, you should know that you’re safe with us. No harm will come to you in our care.” 

 Cautiously your eyes wander over the camp as you shift down onto the blanket. Simon has stalked to the edge of the camp, looking out into the forest and John is watching you as if you might spring away. The rough fabric digs into your skin and dress as you lay down, but it is better than the cold grass. You are too tired to complain about how uncomfortable you are, and it scares you that just a day before you would have. 

 It’s cruel how time works. How quickly the sun rising and setting destroys one’s whole world. This morning you had awoke a lady with the world offered on a silver platter, you were ready to be married to the Prince, and to give a proper farewell to your mother. 

 Now your fate was in the hands of the men who’d found you and whatever waited behind the stone walls of Tharn Castle.

The gnawing realization that you’ve fallen from grace, ripped from your place as a lady haunts you every time your eyes close and your stomach twists. A lady of your stature is not supposed to witness horrors you’ve seen, they were not supposed to show the face of humiliation as they arrive in a foreign land. But you fret knowing these knights are leading you to a foreign land and a castle with a lord you do not serve. 

Around the company, the pines begin to thin and the hooves fall on a dirt path. Your eyes shutter close and your brows tighten against the gray light of the morning. Even with the sun hidden from your sight, it rivals the dark shadows of the forest. The horse slows along a cliff edge and you cower away from the plunge with its roaring waters and rocks below. 

 “There she is, Castle Tharn.” Simon directs you, his arm stretched out to the north. Set above the valley of rivers, marshes, and wild green, you can see the dark structure silhouetted. Turrets reach the sky behind fortified walls, and a deep river isolates the castle from the valley. It causes you to shiver in your seat, an unwelcoming sight built like a fort to keep out any unwanted visitors and keep in any prisoners. 

Full of excitement to return to their grazing grounds, the horses make haste as they’re led down the cliff path and trot into the valley. Over streams and babbling brooks, past hamlets and homesteads where the people stop and watch the knights return. You exhale as you catch a sense of familiarity in their architecture and clothes, so similar to the servants who filled your home and the villagers you met when you were allowed out of the castle.

There’s a jolt of relief when the hooves fall onto a cobbled road, it leads over a wide river that roars as it splits over stones and falls under the bridge. You glimpse your wavering image in the wild waters, before looking up at the flagpoles, flying high with vibrant dark greens and reds. It feels cold compared to the one of your home, you miss the warm yellows and oranges.

Guards in the watchtower shout at your arrival, raising the portcullis as news spreads through the walls and rooms of the return. You pass under the heavy iron gate, looking back disheartened as you watch it lower and shut you off from the rest of the world. Left to the mercy of those who run the grand estate with its ivy-covered walls, blooming bushes of roses, tall stained glass windows, and faded banners. The whole castle’s alive, bursting at the seams with pride as servants and soldiers move through the bailey. 

 Simon dismounts from the horse, offering his hand to help you down. He’s careful of your sprained wrist and makes sure your feet are steady before dropping his hands to the sides of his armor. You wrap your arms around your chest and tug your cloak closer in an attempt to cover yourself as people join the knights. A stable boy takes the mares away and you listen as John begins to loudly boast about the bandits they’d slain. Women and men alike peer at you when John makes your presence known, and you shrink away almost bumping into Simon in your cowering.

 “Come, let’s get you settled for the night,” Simon orders, gesturing you to follow him. Together, you ascend a side set of stairs into the castle. In the dim interior of the castle, servants stare and whisper amongst themselves. Girls who must be no older than you giggle at your disheveled appearance and what little pride you have left makes your cheeks burn with shame.

 You enter into a large kitchen, busy and filled with an air of urgency as food is prepared. Barrels of grains and fruits are stacked along the wall, a goose turns on a spit in the fire that crackles happily in a large hearth. Women bustle around, taking orders from a plump and rosy-cheeked woman whose eyes flash when she spots intruders in her kitchen. 

“Ach! What have I told you dirty boys about coming into my kitchen while I’m working, Sir Riley?” The woman berates the knight as she comes up to him, swatting at him with a cloth. But upon seeing you in such a state, wide-eyed and ashamed, she lets out a sigh. “What have you done to the poor girl?” 

 “I’d tell you if you’d let me speak,” Simon says, plucking up a plum from a bowl and shining it. “Found her while out on patrol with John, Mrs. MacTavish. She needs to be looked after, she’ll see Lord Price in the morning.” 

“Well, anything for the poor lamb.” The woman takes your arm and offers you a smile. Warm and inviting compared to the stares you’ve received upon entering the castle. “But, Sir Riley, you tell my son that he is in trouble with his father, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, turning to leave you and the kitchen without another thought.

“You’re leaving me?” You call out, naively thinking the knight would stay by your side. Afraid to be left alone in the presence of another stranger, a shyness you’ve never known dawning on you. 

 “I’m a knight, not a nursemaid. I have duties to attend to.” Simon responds with a firm tone, like a father scolding a child. The knight bows his head to you before returning down the hall you’d just walked through, leaving you in Mrs. MacTavish’s care.

 “Let’s get you cleaned up, Lamb.” She says, walking you out of the kitchen after she finishes instructing the women for dinner preparation. “Have you got a name, or should I give you one?”

Mumbling your words together, you tell her your name. With hesitation, you hide your status as a lady from her, feeling wrong to address yourself with the name and title that had belonged to your mother. Even if you consider the treatment you might receive brandishing the name. 

“Well, you must have had quite the journey, no? I’m sure you’re more than ready to rest.” She asks, slowing her pace and stopping in front of an oak door. The keys on the wrought iron ring jingle as Mrs. MacTavish picks through them, finding the right one and twisting it in the lock.

You follow into the room which is decorated lavishly, a guest room prepared for only the most prestigious of company. Slowly turning to look over the room, you’re horrified by your appearance when you see yourself in the looking glass. Hair in a tangle, dirt and blood clinging to your skin, and your favorite dress shredded into scraps. Unable to look away, the woman hums a tune as she sets to work making a fire in the hearth. When you finally tear your eyes away, she’s left to fetch water for the bath and you slump onto a creaking stool and sit in the unwelcome silence. 

Your mind feels at war with grief and fear fighting against the rage as you question why this happened to you. Why had you been stricken down and left to drown in a sea of loss? Such a divine punishment that made you feel like Job, abandoned by God with no money and no prospects. Everything you held dear, your future and dreams are unraveling like a beautiful tapestry torn through, destroying the foolish hopes you had for bliss. After all, what peace could come from this? 

 The door opens and you startle up, like a deer hearing a hunter. But your shoulders slump again when Mrs. MacTavish returns with buckets of steaming water. She tells you of the castle and its Lord and Lady whilst preparing your bath, singing praises for those who govern the lands. It’s so endearing that you wince remembering the bleak mutters of those who served under your father, the endless strings of complaints when they thought that no nobles were listening in. 

“So, lamb, do you want to tell me how you ended up in the care of our knights?” She asks once the bath is drawn and you’re sinking into the hot water. You let it sting and spill over your skin as her calloused hands massage soap into your hair. Mrs. MacTavish works with care, making sure the soap doesn’t spill into your eyes and that you’re comfortable, just like your mother had done with you were a child. 

 Bloodshot eyes begin to sting with tears at her question and kindness. A sob quakes through your ribs as you bury your face in your damp hands, the hot water suddenly feeling like ice to you. Like a child who’s fallen from a tree and hurt themselves, you’re wailing for your mother but she cannot save you from this. 

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By the time you’ve stopped crying, you are alone in the room dressed in a warm, brown flock. There’s a longing to be dressed in black, wishing you could partake in the mourning ritual for your mother though there will be no burial. In vein, you try to recount what the church instructed upon the death of a righteous person. But you feel foolish and disrespectful knowing you cannot give your mother the courtesy she deserves. 

You wonder when your father will hear the news, and when he will come and comfort you in this time. The hope of a reunion seems foolish, the idea of grieving alongside the only living member of your bloodline is folly as the confines of the castle are chaining you in. A fear blooms in your chest that you’ll never find the sun again. 

The sounds of the fire dying in your idleness fill the room, playing a pitiful song along with your hollow breaths and your nails digging into the plush quilt and animal pelts on top of the bed. The soft feather mattress is a welcome relief from the nights tossed to and fro in the carriage or the dirt under the open sky. And finely woven drapes shield your face from the fading light of the fire as you curl up like a kitten. 

As sleep begins to invade your mind, quiet knocks startle you out of the daze. Lazily you rub at your eyes as another knock sounds against the oak door. Finding the strength to stand and covering yourself with a robe Mrs. MacTavish had left, you force yourself out of the warm comfort and find the door in the fading light, the oil lamp in the room having been ignored.

Creaking on its hinges, you blink up at the masked face of Simon. Curiously you wonder if he ever removes the black cloth as you let him into the room and he steps in with a word. In his hand, Simon carries a plate of food covered by a linen towel. Moving through the room, he sets it down on the tea table next to the stool. 

Still silent, he directs you to sit down on the stool. And not having the strength to argue, you listen and sit down, smoothing the rough fabric of your smock. “Mrs. MacTavish said you declined dinner.” 

With a nod, you glance over at the covered dinner as the smell wafts through the room and causes your mouth to water and tickle your nose. But your mind is refuses to give in, willing your tongue to dry and throat tighten. Painfully stubborn even in a time like this. 

“It’s not poisoned. Eat.” Simon orders, uncovering the wooden plate and setting the lcloth aside. Your eyes gleam at the sight of ham, steamed vegetables, fresh slices of bread, and a ripe, red apple that shines even in the dull light. But you make no move to eat, hesitating under the watchful eye of the knight. “You shouldn’t starve yourself. What would your mother think to see you depriving yourself?” 

 His words feel like an infliction, striking like a whip and pulling at your flesh with a sting. It enrages you even if you know his words are true. She would be grievanced at the sight of you in such a state, eyes dried red, cheeks stained and skin gaunt. You feel as close to a corpse with a beating heart. But still his statement drives you mad, making your mouth sour in distaste.

“Do not speak of my mother! You know nothing about her, nothing about the loss I’ve witnessed!” You speak out, jumping from the stool to glare at the knight despite his intimidating stature. For a moment, his eyes flash with anger and his hands tighten into fists. But Simon does not rebuke your nor does he strike like you anticipate. 

Instead, he takes his place on the stool, reaching over for the beautiful, fresh apple from the plate. A sliver knife is brought into the light, no longer hidden away in his garments, and he begins to cut at the fruit. So ripe, the juices run down the blade and into his gloved palm, appeitizing to the eyes as you watch. 

 “You’re right, I did not know your mother. But I’m well acquainted with the loss you’ve come to know.” Simon admits, stretching out his palm with an apple slice to you in offering. “And I know starving yourself won’t ease the grief or guilt. It’ll only make it worse.” 

 Your lip pushes out with a frown, but you steady your hand and accept the fruit. The taste fills your mouth with sweetness, flourishing your senses as you take the fill. He continues to slice up the fruit, precise and neat with each cut until all that remains is the sour core that Simon places on the plate alongside the other foods he allows to grow cold. Never pushing you too far.

 “I’m sorry, I spoke out of place.” You apologize, dropping your gaze to your borrowed slippers. Blaming the hunger, you’re certain thats what made you so erratic, appauled by your abhorrent behavior to the knight. Even if you were in this fortress against your will, they’ve treated you with nothing less than kindness. They’ve fed, bathed, and dressed you, Simon proved to be a man of chivalry, seeing to your wounds and wellness when you did not ask. 

 “Don’t apologize.” He responds, wiping off his gloves and standing from the stool with a grunt. Simon turns to the fire, adding another log and bringing it back to life before turning to leave. “Get some rest, you’ll meet with the Lord in the morning. I’ll make sure breakfast is brought and a knight comes to escort you. Lock the door when I’m gone.” 

 “Of course,” You mutter as he passes by the fire, eclipsing your vision as you watch his silhouette leave you. The door creaks again, shutting heavily behind him. Following his instructions, you bolt it close and rub your hands against the old ironwork that locks you inside. A thin veil of security over in your mind. 

 But your knees still buckle with fear, you sink on the stone floor and pull your knees to your chest. Though there are no tears left to cry, you still grieve. “This shouldn’t have happened, what am I going to do? I know nothing!”

All those years of being coddled and running about the gardens like a fool have left you defenseless and confused. You are not in the state of mind to believe that there is a chance of negotiating your freedom with the Lord of the castle. The arguments you’d had with your mother and nursemaid did not prepare you for a time like this. Not even empty prayers bring you hope as you drag yourself from the ground. Could God himself even save you?