An Oath Of Lords And Ladies (ARTK, Book 1)

Chapter 1

Ocono 1st, 3327 A.G

    "Lord Renard-" A young servant boy let himself into the High lord of Vraemore's chambers, then immediately looked away upon seeing what he was doing. "A scroll from House Ashhand arrived for you."

Renard sighed, annoyed by the boy. He grunted as he pulled himself out of the woman underneath him; the butcher's or his cook's daughter, he couldn't remember. They looked the same.

He pulled the covers up over his chest and raised an eyebrow, gesturing for the boy to give him the scroll. He felt the woman's hands on his left shoulder, and then her head resting against it seconds later. He tore the scroll's seal open as soon as it touched his palms, then waved the boy off. He began reading aloud when the door closed:

To the High Lord Vraemore,

  It is my great displeasure to inform you that Commanding Lord Drace Ashhand, ruler of Kroba, has moved on to his next life. By the time you are reading this, Lady Nara Ashhand, his daughter- will have taken her oath and thus her father's title.

Best Regards,
Thorne Farbrew

  Renard remembered the one encounter he had with her nearly twelve years ago. Just months before their deaths, he and his family were invited to house Ashhand on a diplomatic trip.At the time she was four and he was twelve, so he hadn't paid much attention other than to look on in disgust as she had a tantrum- but he felt for her now.

He understood how much pressure she must be under; as he too felt that pressure after his parents died and he became the only living member of house Vraemore. Despite how young he was, his advisors immediately begged him to marry. He never did find someone tolerable enough to spend his life with, so they left him alone after a while.

He could only imagine how she, a woman who happed to be the last of her name, felt. He had a good sixty years left to produce heirs if he were lucky enough to live that long, but she would have just twenty five. He found it quite unfair.

"What are you thinking of?" The butcher or head cook's daughter asked.

"Nothing important-" he shrugged, stood up, and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She squealed, then was silenced almost immediately by Renard's lips. His hands traveled down and lingered near her cunt, just out of reach. She was already out of breath because of the way she moved her hips before they were interrupted. When she looked into his eyes though, she didn't see the same longing as before.

  She wouldn't have considered them friends, but they were close enough that she understood when their sessions were over.

"It isn't nothing-" She said and sat up. "You'd be inside of me if it was. So what's wrong?"

  He scooted up until he was beside her again, resting  his chin on his knees.

  "Lady Nara is alone." He uttered. "She has no living parents, no siblings. Any friends she might think she has are only with her because of her title- I would know. The months immediately after my family died were some of the worst of my life. I'd imagine it's the same for her."

  "Maybe not. Everybody doesn't have the perfect relationship with their parents that you did." The butcher or cook's daughter shrugged. "She may be celebrating. I did last year when my mother passed."

  "I didn't know-"

  "Of course you didn't. Why would you?" The butcher or cook's daughter sighed, looking him up and down. "She was a horrible woman. Cruel to my father and I, always had something to say about how many lemon cakes I ate when my father made them- and I've always been too crude, according to her. She struck me so many times I stopped counting."

  Cook's, he decided. The lemon trees hadn't done well the past decade, limiting those who'd taste them to the servants who worked in the main kitchen, him and his council of advisors. If it were up to them servants who tasted more than two or three bites of the food would loose their tongues, but as long as he was in charge he wouldn't allow that.

  "Then... I'm glad she's dead." He finally replied. "I'd stay but...."

  "You have duties to attend to." The cook's daughter finished his sentence. "Go, my lord."

  He flinched.

"You know you don't have to call me that, not in here-"

  "I know. Habit." She pushed him, gesturing for him to get going before they sent another servant.

  He yanked his undershirt over his head first and didn't bother with the outer layers. It was hot enough in the bedroom, so he knew layers would be unnecessary with the great hall's proximity to the kitchen. He stepped into his braies and pulled them up, struggling when it came just below his buttocks. He made a mental note to put in a request with the tailor, but knew he forget as he'd done for so many weeks. When he finally managed to bring them over his hips, he rubbed a spot on his side there would be an indent in later.

  He pulled his breeches up and slipped his feet into his boots as quickly as possible, having worked up quite the appetite. He would have invited the girl to breakfast in the great hall, but he knew his advisors would disapprove of actively encouraging a servant to eat their food.

  He glanced back at her for a second, and she had just begun putting on the same dress she wore to bed last night. He would have at least said goodbye if he weren't late already; but instead he left and the door accidentally slammed behind him.

  When he entered the great hall, his advisors all stood and stopped eating. Lord Vraemore rolled his eyes. No matter how many times he insisted that wasn't necessary, they continued the habit. It became annoying days after his parents death, but now it made him want to pull his hair out.

They relaxed and sat back down when he did. His eyes immediately drifted to the day's breakfast: Eggs and sliced cheese on bread, roasted apples and almonds.

  A few members of his council poured wine in their cups but he wasn't a fan. The stuff made him feel strange and he liked to be in full control of his mind and actions.

He grabbed three slices of the bread and stuffed bites in his mouth, trying to avoid the conversation he knew would come sooner or later. Then one advisor coughed and he knew he wouldn't be able to.

"My lord-" Amery Willcock started. "I know you don't want to hear this but... Lady Nara is nearing her childbearing years. An alliance of house Ashhand and Vraemore would be-"

"She would never agree to marry me." Lord Vraemore interrupted. "I live too far away from her home and... it'd be too strange."

  He shook his head, thinking of the age difference. It was quite common for men his age or sometimes older to marry girls her age, but he'd always found the practice strange.

  "He is right-" another advisor said. "Our lord would have to move there anyways since she is of higher status."

  He rolled his eyes again. House Vraemore was a major house of Kroba until four hundred years ago when his ancestors decided to move to the island to escape the ice giants during a particularity bad freezing period. As the story went, they discovered that the island's climate was perfect for growing most produce and raising most animals, so they decided to stay. Fucking morons, he thought. The food may thrive, but in the "cold months" it was always in the upper sixties. He'd only been to the continent Ebon twice but he missed it's snow every time he thought of it. He'd never seen one, so to him, the chance of being attacked by a creature three times his size was well worth it.

"Here is what I will do-" Lord Vraemore finally responded, wiping his mouth. "I will travel to House Ashhand as a diplomatic gesture. I am not marrying a sixteen year old girl."