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knight of the riddle house
You turn around in the courtyard, your skirts flowing in the wind. As always, your mother had sent you to the Riddle's castle, like she has every year to make you get to know Tom III better. Frankly, you don't like him very well. While he is certainly handsome and intelligent, he lacks the wildness and tinge of carelessness you value in a partner. Alas, your mother is intent on having you marry into the Riddle family, and upon hearing that Lord Riddle's younger son is now an available bachelor, you've been sent to court with the both of them.
The light, breezy, crimson dress your maid has picked out for you flutters in the wind that managed to dip over the top of the walls, and you pass along the cobble, careful to not trip in your small heels. You're a drop of blood in a sea of poison ivy, absolutely everything covered in a rich, poisonous green. Some horses clad in the emerald velvet trot by, massive hooves striking an impressive sound on the ground, and knights jostle around on top of the steeds, metal encrusted arms shoving as they laugh freely into the air. This is the kind of man you would be looking for. While influencing marriages as a woman is hard, if you were to have any say, you'd want a husband who can fight, laugh, have fun.
Right as you have that thought, there's the sound of a clang from outside the wide open gate. Commotion bursts out like a menacing cloud, and from the winding crowd of grooms, maids, and knights alike, a huge, unbound black horse charges out.
The knights on their steeds form a loose, uncontrolled line, at least attempting to block the horse; they don't seem to realise that you're the weakest link in this unprepared defence, while the horse is entirely aware of the fact.
It changes its course, neck arched and nostrils flared as it stampedes towards you. You find yourself twisting on the spot, panicked mind unable to decide whether to go left or right. As soon as you push off to evade, your ankle twists on the uneven cobble, and you sprawl in your skirts, palms sliding across the rough stone.
A weak hiss tears from your lips, and you don't stop to inspect the crimson pooling in the crevices of the scrapes, eyes back up on the charging steed.
Suddenly, a figure jumps out in front of you, clad in silver and crimson and gleaming in the cold sunlight. You cower behind your potential saviour, and he throws out both hands, squaring his shoulders to look bigger than he already is. The horse skids to a stop, and you watch as it strikes out a hoof, intent to kick the knight to death.
