"Commander! On your right!"
The warning cry of a knight reached him, as his large great sword cleaved a beast in two, tearing it clean from the neck down to it's side, guts and blood spilling everywhere.
The warning was unnecessary, he'd already sensed the feral animal long before any of his men did.
It had been stalking the trees since the fight began, prepared to pounce on any unsuspecting target.
Now that it finally did, it chose the wrong one.
Another precise swing of his blade, sent another beast flying backwards, it's dismembered head lopping off to an opposite angle.
The headless carcass hadn't touched the ground, when Claude sensed a presence behind him, with a sharp side-sweep, he sent the length of his sword towards the unsuspecting enemy.
SSSHHHHING!
"ITS ME!"
Screamed the young, brown haired squire.
He was a shivering mess, with blood dripping down his armour. His unsteady breathing saved him from the onslaught of Claude's weapon, which had stopped mere inches from his neck.
"You'd best watch your head Raulf,"
The young duke warned, his eyes scanning the area for other signs of danger.
"Or you'll be leaving the forest without it."
"Go easy on him commander,"
Captain Reiner interrupted, his usually stoic expression held a fond smile as he looked at the squire who tried to control his trembling hands.
"He's still wet behind the ears." He added.
"If you wish to nanny the boy, then that is your problem."
With a deft side slash, the thick, oozing blood on his weapon splashed unto the teeming forest bed, he motioned to the accompanying knights for his horse, then proceeded to swiftly mount it.
"But don't let him get in the way."
"Understood commander."
Captain Reiner said, pressing his right fist to his chest in greeting.
"Stay behind, access the nest with the squadron."
Claude gave the order in a loud and clear voice, as the knights of the 3rd regiment drew near to him.
They'd seen him fighting moments ago, they'd seen how he'd been completely surrounded by the beasts, and how, he'd cut through every last one of them on his own.
It was perturbing.
Despite the untoward rumors that had recently began to spread about him in the north, the knights respected him, he was both fearless and strong, every single one of them could attest to one truth.
"All those still mounted come with me, we'll purge every one of these scum out of the Efer before nightfall."
He absolutely despised monsters.
* * *
Sitric the old castle master, moved at a steady pace. His footfalls were much heavier than the princess' who calmly walked behind him, her expression a mask in itself. The master steward glanced back at her, his wrinkly eyes studying the face of the woman who would become the new mistress of Chamlan castle.
He wondered if she remembered him, it was ages ago afterall.
Ophelia could feel the stewards eyes on her. He seemed as curious as she was anxious, but they chose to keep their interests and questions in check.
Sitric, robed in a long black coat and wielding a polished cane, navigated through the expansive corridors of the castle, walking several steps ahead of the quiet lady.
Vilda who trailed behind her, remained uncharacteristically quiet, though anyone could tell that she was lost in the grandeur of their new home. Unlike her poised mistress, Vilda's head whipped left and right curiously, taking in the new atmosphere that unrolled before them.
Ophelia had read about the unusual architectural styles of the north, now that she had the chance to see it firsthand, it was more awe-inspiring than strange, a complete contrast to her former home; the imperial palace.
The architecture of the northern castle was gothic but incredible. It housed towering stone walls decorated with intricate carvings and imposing statues that seemed to tell of the long history behind them.
The princess found herself admiring the castles aesthetics just like her maid. Through one of the many wide open windows, she caught sight of the castles extended wings and her eyes widened in wonder at the sheer magnificence of the place.
Black stone walls rose to the skies in long pointed arches, flying exterior buttresses and large pillars held the weight of the imposing structures, stained-glass that stretched taller than she thought possible adorned a number of the wide arched windows.
Tall spires glided upward, casting long shadows on the grounds below..
"My lady."
Came the gentle voice of the steward who'd paused as the young mistress stopped following after him. The genuine astonishment that marked her features brought a smile to the old man.
"What you see before you is the heart of Chamlan itself. These aged halls have stood for centuries, a witness to the Vladimir lineage."
The pride in his grave tone could not be any more evident. Ophelia found herself wondering if she would ever be worthy of being counted amongst such a formidable household.
"The north is powerful indeed." She whispered.
They resumed their journey to the western wing where the duke resided.
Every corner of the castles interior was richly adorned. Ornate chandeliers hung from the intricate ribbed vaults above their heads, casting a warm glow over the large corridors. Grand colourful tapestries adorned the stone walls, depicting the long history of Duslan.
Rich paintings, fine carpets and antique furnitures filled rooms as well as halls, and spiral staircases lined the castle at different angles.
Sentries in black cloaks and light armor, stood guard at doorposts, offering curt greetings to the guests who followed the old castle master.
Despite the architectural standards that defined the castle, there was a surprising warmth inside. Careful insulation had been added to the imposing designs, ensuring that the gusty winds of spring and the biting cold of winter never intruded.
The broad wheel windows allowed streams of daylight to flood the spacious interior, while clever methods of heat retention kept the chill at bay. The castle seemed to defy her every expectation.
They reached the western wing and the princess felt a pang of apprehension. She was about to meet the duke himself, a man who now had held her fate in his hands.
Her fingers grew sweaty, as guards stationed outside the dukes chambers greeted them. The old steward went ahead of her, informing of her arrival, soon after, half a dozen servants exited the room, bowing respectfully then walking past her.
"My lady, his grace is waiting for you."
Sitric informed her, a warm smile lighting up his wrinkled face.
Vilda remained at the butlers side, as the princess dissapeared behind the large double doors.
The Duke's chamber was large, and a stark contrast to it's grand exterior. Ash coloured carpets as well as tapestries, grey chaises, defined antique furniture and a fireplace gave the familiar air of simplicity.
Heavy curtains hung over the tall windows, which allowed soft streams of sunlight to filter in, and the scent of lavender and incense wafted through the air.
Ophelia's gaze was immediately drawn to a large, canopied bed, where the Duke sat. A woman who stood by his bedside curtsied to the princess, who could only assume that she was the Duke's closest maid.
He appeared frail and unwell, a complete opposite to the rugged and powerful image she had of him. Yet, when he saw her, his face lit up with warmth, the kind of genuine affection.
"Ophelia,"
he called, his voice though loud and a bit hoarse, was awfully kind.
"Come near child, let me see you."
The princess crossed the room in small steps, anxiety forming a heavy knot in her throat as she thought of how she would greet the duke.
'Would a curtsy suffice? Or should I regard him as my father in-law instead?'
To her great surprise, he pushed aside the covers and, with surprising strength got up from the bed. Despite his obvious ailment, he reached the startled princess in a few strides and engulfed her in a warm hug, leaving her even more dumbfounded.
"Welcome to Chamlan castle," he said, his words filled with sincerity.
"Adlad, you'll terrify the girl."
The woman chided, pulling a surprised Ophelia from his arms.
"Let me be Shira," he said. Still spotting a happy demeanor, It was as though she were his daughter who'd only returned from a long journey.
"Pardon my forwardness dear child," added the duke who now held her by the shoulders.
"I am only too overjoyed to see you."
"It is quite alright, your grace," came Ophelia's albeit unsure response.
He smiled at her, a warm smile that lit up his hearded face. Ophelia smiled back, before moving to curtsey in greeting, but was promptly stopped by the woman, whose name was Shira.
Despite his illness, the duke was a bear of a man and his speckled blue eyes shone with delight.
'If Claude really is his son, then it is clear where he gets his looks from... and his size.' Thought the princess.
"You look just like your father."
He stated, snapping Ophelia from her array of thoughts.
"You knew my father?"
She questioned. Ophelia didn't remember her father well, only that he'd been kind and warm, she'd heard that her parents were close to the northern rulers during their lifetime. Spending years ostracized from the nobility made it nearly impossible to find someone who knew her father and was willing to tell her about him.
"Indeed. Indeed."
"Please have a sit young mistress, this old man can't stand for too long you see."
Lady Shira said, pointing to a set of chaises that surrounded a intricately carved tea-table.
"I'm not that old," he huffed as the maid walked past him.
"Yes, yes...come this way."
The interaction between the two, showed how close they were to each other. Ophelia was more concerned however, with hearing of her father from the duke that now sat across from her.
"Before we speak of Nicolan, peace keep him. I would to thank you Ophelia,"
Lady Shira poured tea for the both of them, carefully setting different snacks before the lady who patiently listened to the duke's words.
"I know your union with my son is---unexpected, and certainly not what you want. Still I thank you for going through with the arrangements, despite the uncertainties."
The princess had expected many things from her first meeting with the infamous northern ruler. However nothing prepared her for all that now unfolded, she was struck speechless.
When was the last time someone cared about her desires?
When was the last time someone thanked her?
There was an authenticity about the Duke and his every action that was completely disarming, it left her feeling that he genuinely cared for her well-being.
'Maybe I didn't make a bad choice Afterall.'