DARKHAVEN | "Three Sisters" Book One

Chapter Sixteen

Blodwyn

The new Lord walked with what could only be defined as a swagger. He was somewhere between pirate and prince; a beautiful, beautiful bastardisation of the two. With him he brought a retinue befitting the princely side of him. His stride was not hurried, nor was it languid; it was an intentional saunter. At his side hung a long, slender sword, its hilt inlaid with rubies that complemented the red and yellow of his garb.

Lucien splayed his hands open. "Lord Orvelle," he greeted as the Lord approached.

"Lord Lucien." He was all smiles. "And Lords Aleksander and Novak. It's good to see you all again. You are, after all, our oldest allies." A small smirk twisted on his lips at the word oldest. Orvelle's gaze swept across the courtyard, taking in the assembled crowd of his hosts.

Behind him, a handful of those from his Lordly host followed in his wake and gathered before the castle stairs. Though the Lords were exchanging pleasantries, there was something dark stirring in the energy of the crowd. Blodwyn silenced her senses and tried to listen to the spirits. Her gaze wandered amongst the assembled entourage trying to pinpoint the energy.

She glanced between Gia and Roslin to see if they felt it, too, but Roslin was distracted by trying to stand in front of a crowd without crumbling and Gia was still looking sullen.

"Yes, quite good indeed. Remind me again why we don't have these little trysts more often?" Aleksander's tone was almost mocking and his eyes seemed to silently and subtly challenge the new Lord.

Blodwyn drowned them out again. She had little and less interest in royal formalities and the incessant petty bickering of these overgrown boys.

Moreover, she had small knowledge of the Lords and keeps and histories of her own land, much less Darkhaven and whatever lay beyond. She was not one for history; no, she preferred practicality. Blodwyn was of little use when it came to house shields or words or coats-of-arms. Roslin had always been better at that. Oft they'd laid together in the spring of their lives while Roslin had told stories from age-worn books of history, and more than once Roslin had arrived in the dark of the night with a low-burning lantern and her latest treasure from the library. 

One night Roslin had read from a book of battles. First Blodwyn knelt beside her, then she sat, then she laid down and propped her head up on one hand. She wasn't sure how long she laid like that, but she laid that way until Roslin began to yawn and both of their eyelids grew heavy with a need to sleep in spite of their fun. 

Blodwyn could remember not a thing about that damned book, but it was strange to now think her name could very well end up in such a book one day, lulling a disinterested girl with no interest in houses or their names to sleep.

The blare of a bugle called her back to the present. 

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinised each member of the royal host, marking their faces one by one. There were knights clad in gleaming armour, their swords sheathed at their sides, and courtiers dressed in silks and jewels, their faces obscured by masks of polite indifference and newfound wonder alike. These people in their sunshine gold from a land of warmth and sand were far, far from home in the grey haze of Darkhaven. Blodwyn took note of it all, cataloguing the subtle nuances of their behaviour with the practised eye of a seasoned observer.

Something dark was here, and strangely, it wasn't the swaggering Lord already locking proverbial horns with the Darkhaven Lords.

When she glanced between her sisters again, she saw that they had at last sensed it too. Gia was glaring into the crowd, plainly searching for the same thing, and Roslin was looking at Blodwyn with a knowing expression.