30 November, 1253 After Parretoa

The courtyard was decorated with streamers and flags in red and white. Above the gatehouse, the flag of Arnallan was raised — a red cross on a white field with four golden roses, one in each quarter. Above the main entrance of the castle hung two banners: one of Arnallan, and one of the ducal family. The sun was already low and began to disappear behind the west wing of the castle. The shadow covered the west side of the courtyard and steadily crept toward the east wing.

In the courtyard, all the important members of the court had gathered. In the shadow on the west side stood Adelhart, the captain of the castle guard, along with his commanders. Adelhart was dressed in a gleaming hauberk, over which he wore a red tunic. A golden helmet was depicted on the tunic. His commanders wore similar gear, though without the golden helmet on their tunics. Next to them stood guards arranged in impeccable uniforms. Beside them stood Ronsgard, the castellan of Caer Twyrif. His hair was grayer than it should have been for a man his age. He was surrounded by members of the staff, and rumor had it he blamed their incompetence for his gray hair. He was constantly giving orders. He had just instructed a chambermaid to change clothes because her outfit was not satisfactory. When she returned, he barely glanced at her before sending her back to change into her previous dress. In between, he was busy ensuring everyone was in the right place — and it seemed that the right place changed every minute. Mistress Merinda was also among the staff. She seemed just as concerned about the arrangement of the staff as Ronsgard himself. Nevertheless, she frequently cast glances toward Elda.

Elda was on the sunny side of the courtyard, near the gatehouse. All day she had avoided mistress Merinda, and now that everyone had gathered in the courtyard, the lady had other things on her mind. Elda had been assigned a place near the ducal family. To her left stood Mortain, the duke’s son. Elda liked Mortain. Now and then, he would glance back at her with his bright blue eyes and smile. Mortain was a handsome boy and looked very much like his father. He wore his chestnut hair combed back, held in place by a red ribbon as a headband.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked with a warm smile.

Mortain was fifteen, three years older than Elda, and always kind to her. During the moments they spent together, he always managed to make her feel at ease — even when they were subjected to the judging eyes of the other members of the court.

“Oh yes, I’m perfectly fine.” Elda tried to return his smile with an equally natural expression, but didn’t quite manage. It was only half true. She was tense today. After the confrontation with the court girls, she had wandered through the gardens and the castle for a long time. Suddenly, she had missed her parents and brothers terribly. She wished she were home again, in Asterfyld. In that little castle, she had felt she had more space than in all the corridors, halls, and gardens of Caer Twyrif combined.

She hadn’t spoken to mistress Merinda again for the rest of the day and had only left her room again for dinner. All day she had been preoccupied with the words mistress Merinda had shared. And even more with the words she hadn’t said. Merinda had considered telling Elda something — before changing her mind. Although Elda couldn’t imagine what it might have been, she was convinced it had something to do with the duke. Not only had mistress Merinda gone quiet when the conversation turned to him, the women in the hallway had also been talking about him. The last words they had said before being startled by Elda stuck in her mind:

“And do you know what he’s planning to do with her?”

Caelin had said it was about her. What was the duke planning to do with her? She would find out soon, the girls had told her. Today, the duke was coming home. Could this be the moment?

“Are you sure?” Mortain’s voice startled her from her thoughts. “You seem a little distracted.”

Elda reinforced her smile slightly, then let out a short sigh. “I’m just nervous about what’s coming. There are more people here than I expected, and it’s a bit overwhelming.”

“Did you hear that, Mortain? Your betrothed isn’t feeling at ease. Offer her your arm.”

It was Karyn, Mortain’s mother, who had been watching them over his shoulder. She had her long blonde hair tied up in an elegant style, with ribbons woven gracefully through it. She wore a red dress made of thick wool and a dark blue cloak with a fur collar. Her outfit matched well with Mortain’s red tunic and blue trousers.

Suddenly, Elda felt even more out of place among the others. She was wearing her green dress again today and thought she should’ve worn a red one instead. If she hadn’t avoided mistress Merinda, she would no doubt have been advised on that.

Mortain obediently extended his arm to Elda, and she took it with a friendly grasp. She took a deep breath and exhaled her nerves. Then she looked sideways at Mortain and his mother standing beside him. Karyn seemed satisfied and resumed her conversation with Chaplain Valderic.

“You only have to hold my arm if you want to,” Mortain whispered as he looked straight ahead.
“I know,” Elda whispered back, gripping his arm a little tighter.

At that moment, a trumpet fanfare sounded across the courtyard. The duke had arrived.

The murmur that had just filled the courtyard instantly died down. Everyone stood still. The only ones still moving were those who hadn’t yet reached their designated places.

The gates were opened. Duke Deiniol of Arnallan was the first to enter the courtyard. His long brown hair was combed back, revealing his sharp features. Despite the long journey, there was an unwearied look in his dark eyes. The duke wore a travel tunic and a heavy, ebony-brown cloak. His clothing was richly adorned with floral patterns and a golden hem. He sat upright on a large, powerful steed draped in a white caparison, upon which the red cross and golden roses of Arnallan were displayed.

Directly behind the duke came his personal guard of Golden Bascinets, led by Commander Fedryc Fyld. The knights were mounted and dressed in gleaming armor with red-and-white checkered surcoats. Each knight wore a helmet — a bascinet with a golden visor. The leading riders carried the duke’s banners.

Following the knights was a procession of councillors and close confidants, and the procession was closed off by a small contingent of cavalry and infantry. It was an impressive and intimidating sight, and the courtyard suddenly no longer seemed quite so spacious.

The duke guided his horse toward his family, dismounted in one fluid motion, and approached the duchess. He gently took her gloved hand, made a graceful yet subtle bow, and kissed her glove softly. Elda saw how Karyn smiled at him — warmly and proudly. The duke did not smile back, but Elda did not miss the glint in his eyes. They exchanged no words.

Then the duke turned to their son. Mortain stood tall, shoulders back, chin raised.

As if you own the world.

Elda suddenly became aware of her own posture, and her eyes instinctively darted toward her mistress. The woman was staring at her with wide eyes and pursed lips. Elda immediately straightened her back and pulled her shoulders back — farther than felt natural. Mistress Merinda exhaled with relief.

Beside her, the duke placed a hand on Mortain’s shoulder.

“Mortain,” he said firmly. “Did you do as I instructed?”

“Yes, Father.” Mortain gave a quick nod and looked his father directly in the eye.

“Good. I expected nothing less.”

For a moment, their gazes held, until a subtle smile flickered across the duke’s face. Not a second later, it vanished again as he turned his gaze to Elda.

“Eldryssa.”

“Greetings, my lord,” Elda began nervously. “I hope your journey went smoothly.”

The duke’s gaze was fixed firmly on her. His ice-blue eyes pierced into hers, and it felt as though he were trying to look deep into her thoughts. Elda felt herself shrinking under his stare and had to make a great effort to maintain her posture.

For a few seconds, the duke didn’t respond. Then he asked her a question.
“Do you feel at home here, Eldryssa?”

He had asked her a question.

Mistress Merinda had specifically instructed Elda to ask him three questions. They had rehearsed them, and the mistress had answered them as though she were the duke himself. She had said the duke would respond almost word for word as rehearsed. Not only had he not done so — he had ignored her question and asked one of his own.

Elda cast another quick glance in mistress Merinda’s direction. The woman gave her an encouraging nod. Elda swallowed and turned her eyes back to the duke.

“Yes, my lord,” was all she could manage to say. She was trembling with tension.
Why was she trembling like this? She had lived at Duke Deiniol’s court for nearly eighteen months. She had seen and spoken to him countless times. He had never struck her as particularly kind, and his interest in her had always seemed superficial. Their interactions had been mostly formal and rehearsed.

It was the whole situation.

Ever since the news came that the duke was returning, she had felt like a stranger. Now, standing here among dozens of people, she had never felt more alone.

“I’m glad to hear it. You will need to remain here for quite some time. Your well-being is of the utmost importance. I would not want you to feel uncomfortable.”

He let his eyes rest on Elda for a moment longer. Then he moved on.

Elda exhaled tensely and let her shoulders drop. The duke’s words had felt strange and foreboding. She tightened her grip on Mortain’s arm, which she still held. Across the courtyard, she once again sought out the gaze of her mistress, and Merinda nodded at her approvingly. That gave Elda a measure of reassurance, though the knot in her stomach didn’t fully go away. Then Merinda straightened her back, as the duke was approaching the castellan.

“Don’t worry about my father,” Mortain said softly. “He’s been traveling a long time and probably isn’t in the mood for long conversations.”

“I’m not worried about your father. I—”

Elda glanced sideways, and Mortain met her eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but his gaze was kind.

“What did your father mean when he said that about me? That my well-being is of the utmost importance?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Later, when my father is no longer here, I’ll become duke. And then you’ll be my duchess. Every duke needs a duchess — that’s how it’s supposed to be. Otherwise we can’t—”
Mortain’s cheeks flushed red, and he looked straight ahead.
“Then there wouldn’t be a duke after me.”

Across the courtyard, the duke was speaking with Adelhart. The sovereign seemed satisfied with what the captain of the guard had to report.

“But that’s all still so far off. You’re not even old enough to marry yet, and I’m even younger than you.”

“That doesn’t make it any less important.” Mortain shifted on his feet. Then he was silent for a moment before continuing hesitantly,
“It’s good to think about the future.”

Elda found it an unconvincing answer and wasn’t satisfied.

“I’ve been living here for over a year. Your father has never said anything like that to me before. Why is it important enough to say now?”

“I can’t tell you,” Mortain said, a bit more sharply than before. He inhaled briefly and then exhaled calmly after a moment.

Couldn’t he tell her, or wasn’t he allowed to?

“I’ll talk to my father about it the next time I speak with him.” Mortain’s tone was warm and kind again, though his arm still felt tense.

Elda tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes, hoping to read the meaning behind his words, but Mortain kept his gaze firmly forward. She thought perhaps she had asked too many questions — questions he might not know the answers to either.

Meanwhile, the duke seemed to have spoken with everyone who had something to say, and he marched into the castle with long strides.

“Thank you,” she said to Mortain at last. Suddenly, Elda felt cold. She realized the shadow now covered the entire courtyard. The sun had disappeared behind the castle, and the sky had turned pink. The afternoon was drawing to a close.

Mistress Merinda came hurrying toward her, her face tight, her steps short but brisk.

“Elda, my dear, I’ve been looking for you all day. I had a red dress laid out for you this morning — it would match so beautifully with the duchess and young Lord Mortain’s clothing. Ah, but this dress looks lovely on you too. Still, why aren’t you wearing a cloak? You must be terribly cold. No matter. It doesn’t matter now. In an hour, you’re expected to dine with the duke and his family. Let’s freshen you up quickly. Then you can still put on the red dress. Come now, come along!”

Elda followed her mistress.