The smell of the hay and manure was a welcome scent. Somehow, this scent was something she could remember from her childhood; she always found it strange that she never had any memories before the accident. But the smell of the stables and horses warmed her heart if only she could remember why. Bibby whined in her stall and clapped her hoof against the floor. It had been a few days since she had the luxury of riding her horse, and unfortunately, she would not be able to ride Bibby for a long time. Sadness filled her heart at the thought of leaving her beloved horse behind.
"Shhh…quiet, my girl", she whispered, rubbing Bibby's snout lovingly. The horse huffed and pressed itself against Alaina's hand.
"I will be away for a while, Bibbs. Please be good. I will miss you." She put her cheek against the horse's face, feeling its soft hair. She walked away, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but she sniffed and held her headstrong. She had to do this; she knew it was right, even though her father would be extremely angered. Looking around the stables, squinting her eyes in the dim light, she found the carriage that would be used for the journey. Underneath the bulk of the carriage was a large compartment rarely used for trips like this - it was primarily used to hide gold and precious merchandise. She crawled under the carriage to inspect her hiding spot, getting down on all fours. It seems large enough for me… she thought. She tugged at it to test its durability. It looks strong enough, too… She heaved her satchel into the lower space. As she was about to climb in, she heard a commotion from the entrance of the stables. Servants bustled in, carrying provisions and armaments to stock the carriage. Another distinct voice reached her ears, causing them to widen in recognition. With all the silence she could muster, Alaina climbed into her hiding spot so she would not be seen.
"I don't understand why Rainald would need reinforcements for such a small attack…" a gruff man's voice said. She instantly recognised him as Duke Godefroy of Helum. "Has Rainald's lax on his kingdom finally reared its ugly head?" he chuckled.
Alaina gasped. Why was he speaking ill of her father like that? Did her father grow lax in his leadership?
"My Lord, we can only send over 50 men to aid Dunkeld," another male voice said. She did not recognise his voice, but he seemed much younger than Godefroy. "Most of our men are still on their expedition in the north."
Godefroy retorted with a dismissive huff. "Or we do not need to send any at all. We need to stay in Gareth's good graces for the sake of our alliance."
"Yes, my Lord."
"And besides, doesn't Rainald owe us at least two years' worth of crops and produce?" Godefroy laughed. Alaina frowned at his comment, confused by what he meant.
"The northerners have given us at least five years' worth of crops in such a short span of time, and their allyship is much too beneficial for Helum compared to Dunkeld." Godefroy continued, his voice thick with arrogance and satisfaction. Alaina's heart sank, a pool of dread spreading through her. What was this alliance with Gareth that Lord Godefroy was talking about? Was her home at risk of becoming an insignificant player amidst powerful alliances? The questions multiplied, each one gnawing at her peace.
More footsteps were around the carriage, and she heard the servants loading it up. The carriage was bumped around as the heavy items were loaded inside. After a few minutes, she stopped hearing any movement or footsteps. She eased down and peeped under the carriage to ensure the coast was clear. Plopping down on the floor, she crawled back out, digging around in the ration stash, picking out some bread, berries, and cured meat strips. She found a filled waterskin and took that before crawling back under the carriage to load the rations into her satchel. Pulling out a woollen scarf, she rolled it up to make a makeshift pillow and propped it under her head as she settled into her confined space. All the anxiety from the day's goings-on finally bore down on her like a heavyweight. Her eyes fluttered close as the fatigue washed over her; she allowed her mind to drift to what she saw with Prince Sanson. She was confused as to why he referred to the lady as Alaina. Did this happen all the time? As much as she resented him, her heart softened. Did he have genuine feelings for her? Shaking her head in disbelief at the outrageousness of that thought, she covered her eyes with her slim arm and gradually drifted off to sleep.
The sound of the rooster crowing nearby woke her from her uncomfortable slumber. Her neck was already starting to ache. The usual quiet of dawn was made noisy by the commotion of the footsteps and conversations of knights and infantry. The carriage was jostled as more things were loaded onto it, shaking Alaina, who was lying in her hidden spot.
"Are all preparations for our journey complete?" Duke Rainald's authoritative voice cut through the stable's ambient noise, clearly reaching Alaina's ears.
"Indeed, Lord Rainald. I shall fetch your steed immediately."
"So, Lord Godefroy of Helum has chosen to retract his pledged support?" Duke Rainald's inquiry hung in the air like a storm cloud.
"It would appear so, my lord. Early this morning, one of Godefroy's minions delivered the message before he took his leave."
Rainald's brows furrowed into a deep scowl of discontent. The withdrawal from Godefroy, a longtime friend and ally, was uncharacteristic and a cause for concern. Could Godefroy be ridiculing his inability to counter a mere handful of invaders?
Rainald's thoughts raced as he considered the implications. He wondered if the hand of Gareth was guiding Godefroy's actions. Perhaps their alliance was stronger than he'd previously suspected. This unexpected treachery stung, pulling at the edges of his trust and gnawing at his confidence. The seeds of doubt were planted, leaving Rainald questioning the loyalties of those he considered friends.
A large frown spread across his face. Sighing, he straddled his horse and urged it out of the stables. Shortly after Rainald left, the carriage started moving. Alaina's head thudded and knocked against the walls of her tiny compartment. Her face contorted with discomfort; seven days of this torturous transit would prove daunting.
After an eternity, she felt the carriage slow to a halt. The convoy was most likely stopping for a meal and to water the horses. Alaina peeped from under the carriage. The sun was low in the sky, so it would probably be dusk soon. She heard a flurry of hoof steps and mutterings of men.
"Your Highness, some water and cured meat for you", she heard a servant say. The potent aroma of Prince Sanson's distinctive cologne wafted into Alaina's confines, prompting a shiver of unease.
"Curious…" mused the Prince, stationed near the carriage. "Lady Alaina isn't accompanying us on this expedition, is she?"
"No, your Highness."
"Hmm, strange indeed."
Alaina recoiled into her hiding spot; did he know? How could he know? She remembered his declaration about recognising her perfume scent. Instinctively, she sniffed herself; she had not bathed after last night's events, and the fragrance of perfumed oil lingered on her skin and hair. Digging into her satchel, she took out the waterskin and hastily used handfuls of water to wash her skin and pat her hair, hoping to remove any hint of the oil's scent. The carriage started moving again, so Alaina tried to get herself comfortable for the journey before they were bound to stop for the night.
But they did not stop for the night, much to Alaina's dismay, as she had to ease herself. Clenching her thighs together, she tried to hold in the urgent need and forced herself to sleep instead.
The convoy only stopped at nightfall the following day. Waiting until all the men had slept in their sacks, she slowly and carefully climbed down from her hiding spot. Alaina peeked under the carriage, and since it was all clear, she hurriedly crawled out, grateful that the night was very dark. Hiding behind a tree, she relieved herself. As she returned to the carriage, she kept a keen eye out in case anyone saw her. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, so she decided to dig into the rations for a small bite to curb her appetite. She loathed how her clothes stuck to her clammy body, but she knew she had to persevere in her decision.
The days were long and painful, being stuck in her confined space. She always had to wait till nightfall when the convoy stopped to ease herself or eat her fill of rations. She let her mind wander while hidden in her hole during the day. She thought about Esme and wondered if she had realised her absence. Would they send word to her father? She thought about Dunkeld, wondering if it had changed much since she left ten years ago, whether anyone remembered her. However, it saddened her that she could not remember anyone. It always annoyed her that her mind was a black abyss of her childhood days. She wondered if she had a good childhood or many friends. She wondered what her bed chamber looked like.
Her mind drifted to the words Lord Godefroy spoke, and she wondered if Dunkeld was indeed in debt to Helum and their supply of produce had dwindled over the years. She had also wondered if Helum was indeed working hand-in-hand with the northern invaders. With a loud sigh, she rubbed her throbbing temples. All her time away from her duchy had made her naive and disillusioned with the choppy undercurrents of politics.
"We will be arriving at daybreak!" came a voice, sharp and distinct amidst the gentle rock of the carriage. "His Highness has ordered a brief half."
"Do we really need to stop now? We're nearly at our destination!" The familiar tone of her father's voice carried an edge of irritation. She heard his drawn-out, exasperated exhale, followed by the perceptible slowing of hooves and the creak of the carriage coming to a standstill.
The sun's golden rays still penetrated the thin cracks in her hidden compartment, indicating it wasn't safe for her to emergy yet. Nevertheless, she was secretly grateful for a momentary reprieve from the jostling and jolting journey. Her once-fair skin now bore the stains of travel - her limbs speckled with splotches of blue and black. She dared not to think about the state of her face.
Bone-tired, her eyelids heavy with weariness and her stomach gnawing from hunger, she tried to find a comfortable position. Pulling her knees close, she nestled herself into a tight curl. Yet, in her exhaustion, a miscalculated shuffle sent her tumbling. The wooden floor of her secret hideaway gave way, and with a startled yelp, she found herself sprawled on the ground.
"What in the blazes?" The incredulity in her father's voice was evident. The moment stretched, her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears as she saw him squatting, eyes widening in surprise as they met hers under the carriage.
Alaina's heart sank. Of all the possible outcomes she had considered, being discovered this way wasn't on the list. As a knight's hand clamped around her wrist, she winced, the pressure sending fresh spikes of pain through her already tired body.
"What do we have here?" the knight mused, surprise in his tone as he tugged her free. "It's no mere stowaway, my lord."
Alaina, now in full view, was a pitiable sight. Her once pristine clothes were a mess of stains, and her face was a canvas of mud and travel weariness. The cloying scent of her confined journey clung to her, and she almost choked on her own stench. The bun atop her head was a wild bird's nest, entangled with bits of straw and debris.
Trying to regain some semblance of dignity, she straightened up, her chin raised defiantly. But her facade crumbled a little when she locked eyes with her father, the weight of her choices pressing down on her.
"Alaina?" her father said, his voice ridden with shock and concern. "Dear heavens, what are you doing here?" Alaina remained silent; she quietly dusted her trousers and shirt. Prince Sanson hurried over upon hearing the fuss.
"Did my future wife miss me so much that she decided to join us on this journey?" he grinned, stepping up to her. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. Alaina recoiled in disgust. His grin turned into a disappointed frown.
"Look at you. You are a mess! Mangus, fetch her some water and food!" her father called out. He pressed his fingers to his eyebrows in annoyance.
She caught a brief glimpse of sympathy in her father's eyes and quickly veiled behind his usual stern facade. The weight of his disappointment felt heavier than any physical reprimand, and Alaina kept her gaze flowered, struggling to maintain her composure.
"I…" she began, her voice shaky but earnest, "I had to come with you." She looked up, meeting her father's eyes, seeking some understanding, some connection.
He paused, about to mount his horse, and turned his gaze back to her. A silence stretched between them, charged with unsaid words and emotions.
"You're so much like your mother," he finally said, his voice softer, tinged with a hint of regret. "She too had a spirit that couldn't be tamed."
Alaina blinked, surprised by the comparison. Before she could respond, Mangus interjected.
"My Lady, we did not pack any…women's clothes for this journey…." Mangus said quietly to her, his eyes sheepishly looking at Alaina and back to Rainald.
"I have a change of clothes. Please bring me a washcloth and some water. I will clean myself up behind the bushes," said Alaina, her voice cracked. She did not expect her father to walk away without reprimanding her. He must be so worried about Dunkeld that he did not have the energy to reprove her even more. She went under the carriage to take her satchel and unpacked her change of clothes, another set of riding trousers and a loose tunic. In her rush, she must have forgotten to pack extra undergarments. The servant followed her to the nearby bushes, placed the water barrel on the floor and hung the towel on a branch. Alaina cleared her throat, signalling the servant to turn his back towards her to give her privacy. He blanched almost white and hurriedly turned around, muttering an apology.
She removed her trousers and tunic, soaked the towel in the barrel of icy water and scrubbed her arms and legs. Washing away the dirt, grime, and smell accumulated after six long travel days. She removed her undergarments and hung them on another branch. Hearing footsteps approaching, she stilled and covered her intimate areas in shock. Prince Sanson sauntered over; his eyes burned into her. She felt her cheeks flush from embarrassment.
"Leave us," the prince said curtly to the servant. Nodding his head, the servant ran back to the carriage. The prince's eyes darted over her naked body. She used the washcloth to cover her intimate area while her arm hugged her breasts, trying to conceal herself. The flush on her cheeks radiated down her chest.
"Some privacy, please, Sanson," she said meekly. Her fatigue and extremely vulnerable position made her lose confidence as she stood naked in front of her betrothed. Annoyance grew within her; she did not need this right now. He approached her slowly, like a predator with eyes on his prey. She tried to flee, but he gripped her arm painfully. Just as she was about to turn around and slap him across his face, he pulled out a small, golden dagger and held it to her throat. She gasped as she felt the cold blade against her neck. Her body trembled uncontrollably with fear.
"Continue," he said. She heard the enjoyment in his voice as he circled her, still pointing the dagger. She felt his hungry eyes wash over her as though she were an object.
"Sanson, please."
"Entertain me", he grinned. His tone was sinister, perverse. Although she wanted to escape, she feared for her life.
When he sheathed the dagger into his belt loop, she realised that the bulge in his trousers was growing larger, almost throbbing against the fabric. Not wanting to anger him further, she continued to wash herself, avoiding his eye contact at all costs. She soaked the towel again and scrubbed her shoulders and down her arms. Soaking it again, this time washing over and under her breasts. She heard the prince let out a low moan. She peeked at him from under her lashes and saw him unbuckling his belt and untying his trousers. She felt her stomach drop, but he stayed where he was—taking out his considerable, hard length. He stroked it slowly up and down, his eyes burning with hunger and desire as he stared in wanton. His bottom lip quivered as he gaped his mouth, moaning softly. Heat radiated from her cheeks; she loathed him for what he did but felt helpless. She willed with all her might for her father to come and save her from this situation, but he was nowhere to be seen. She continued to wash her mound above her thighs, up her taut stomach and down her back. Although she did not look at him, she heard his strokes get faster and more intense. The buckle of his belt hit against his muscular thigh in a rhythm.
"You don't know what you do to me, woman", he murmured under his breath. "Look at me," he said.
But Alaina continued to look down.
"Look at me, damn it!" he demanded. The hunger and urgency in his voice caused her to look at him instinctively, afraid to anger him. As soon as she did, he released, convulsing through his climax. Hot, white liquid exploded from his manhood, splattering on the grass and bushes before him.
"Fuck…" he panted, dropping his head. She quickly used this opportunity to put her new clothes back on. Timidly, she gathered her old clothes and wrung the washcloth dry. Prince Sanson was already fastening his belt and trousers, an evil grin still plastered on his smug face. Alaina walked past him quickly, but he gripped her arm so tight that it ached under the pressure and bent into her ear. He breathed her in, causing the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand.
"We need to head back", she breathed, trying to pull her arm away. He tightened his grip and nibbled her ear.
"I knew I smelled you." She ignored his statement and tried to steady herself.
"Unhand me, Sanson!" her voice was icy.
"Will you ever have feelings for me, Alaina?" he whispered, almost longingly, in her ear. Resentment simmered within her, fueling her disdain for how she was being treated. She despised his brazen, voyeuristic gaze, exploiting her vulnerability. Her jaw clenched in defiance as she yanked her arm forward, breaking free at last. She wouldn't let him or his vile behaviour control her. How could she wed a man whose sole pursuit was carnal desire?
Her throat tightened at the thought of a grim future with him, one in which she would be coerced into fulfilling his wishes—allowing him to utilise her body as he did to the woman on the staircase and those in the brothels. He selfishly satisfied his lustful appetites without a second thought for anyone else's well-being. Her existence would be relegated to serving his pleasures and bearing his future heirs.
"I would rather die," she spat, briskly walking away from him and back to the carriage.
Instead of lying in her uncomfortable hole below the carriage, she was allowed to sit on a horse this time. The knight that the horse belonged to gladly allowed her to ride in his stead while he stood at the back of the carriage, holding on to the railings. Alaina felt happiest when she was on a horse. Her confidence brimmed and showed on her smiling face. She kept pace behind her father, who was on his large, faithful warhorse, Shello. Every time her father looked back at her, she shot him a large, victorious grin, but he ignored her and continued to ride ahead.
On the other hand, the prince stayed at the back of the convoy, which was not usual for high nobility. She only gazed at him once, and his face looked forlorn, quite different from his usual over-confident demeanour. Had she upset him? She laughed at herself for even beginning to think that. This was the man who terrorised and bullied her all her life.
A few weeks after the accident, Alaina was forced to be on bed rest. Her servants and handmaids had to feed and bathe her, for she was forbidden to walk or move. The physicians instructed her that their medicine and operations needed time to heal her broken body. Three times a week, a physician would come to her room to massage her legs and back. He would then cycle her legs and make her do essential exercises to improve her strength. During this time, Prince Sanson would come into her room and make fun of her, calling her an invalid. Spurting hurtful things to her dashed her confidence and resolve. When she finally graduated from bed rest, she had to be assisted with a brace whenever she walked. Alaina lost count of the number of times that the prince tripped her while she attempted to walk, making her fall flat on her face. When she could finally walk normally and started to attend events in the great hall that the King hosted, the prince would constantly bring up her past of being bedridden to new acquaintances. She hated him, even in her youth.
Only recently, in the last three to four years, the prince started making advances on her. He would reach out and grope her if she were to walk past him in the hallway.
The walls of Hann Aisle castle had seen much in their time. Yet, they stood silent to Alaina's anguish. The prince's shadow seemed to lurk behind every tapestry, and each echoing footstep felt like it could be his, tracing her steps. Every surreptitious touch, every stolen glance from him, was a cruel reminder of her position - a mere pawn amidst the games of the court.
The bystanders, bound by their loyalty and fear of the crown, turned blind eyes and deaf ears. They became ghosts in her world, mere shadows that witnessed by never acted. The anguish of it all was not the violation itself, but the systemic silence that followed. The knowledge that the courtiers and servants, who once celebrated her birthdays and cheered her achievements, could stand mutely while her dignity was stolen piece by piece, was a wound that cut deeper than any physical touch.
The very idea that he presumed his advances might have kindled any affection within her was beyond comprehension. It was an insult to her spirit, an egregious offence to her person. Each memory was like acid, and she could taste its bitterness every time she remembered.
"Alaina, come here."
Alaina's eyes traced the silhouette of Dunkeld's sprawling citadel against the horizon. As its stone towers pieced the blue sky, memories she thought she'd lost stirred within her. An inexplicable warmth spread through her heart, even though the landscape before seemed untouched by any siege. The ivy-clad walls, the market bustling with merchants - everything appeared serene, just as it would any other day.
"Papa, where are the intruders?" she asked quietly, looking intently at her father.
Distracted by her surroundings, she almost missed her father's words. Meeting his gaze, she could see the same uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. "The very absence of the invaders alarms me more," he muttered, almost to himself.
"Sir James, rally five other knights and escort her ladyship through the back entrance. Bring her directly into the castle and barricade her in her room."
"Yes, my Lord," said the muscular knight, pulling his horse's reins.
"Come with me, my Lady. I will keep you safe."
The forest around them was dense, a cloak of greenery wrapping itself around Dunkeld's stone walls. The path they took was narrow and winding, shielded by tall whispering trees and an underbrush that rustled with the passage of unseen creatures. Every so often, a ray of sunlight would pierce through the canopy, casting shimmering patterns on the leaf-strewn trail.
Sir James navigated the path effortlessly. His horse, a large black steed with a silvery mane, moved gracefully despite its size, its hooves barely making a sound on the soft earth. The other knights followed his lead, their armour glinting whenever the crossed patches of sunlight. They were silent, their eyes ever watchful, scanning the depths of the woods for any hint of danger.
But despite the beauty around her and the protection afforded by her escorts, her mind raced. The absence of any visible invaders gnawed at her. What were they planning? And where were they now?
Suddenly, a shrill cry echoed through the trees. Birds took flight, their wings flapping noisily against the still air. Sir James raised his hand, signalling the group to halt. Alaina's heart raced, her grip on her reins tightening. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the faint rustling of leaves and the distant murmurs of the convoy following her father.
After what felt like an eternity, Sir James nodded and gestured to proceed. "Just a forest creature, my Lady," he said quietly, though the sharpness in his gaze suggested he remained on high alert.
The castle's back entrance soon came into view, a discreet, arched doorway nestled between two tall towers. Sir James signalled to the knights at her side, and they swiftly dismounted, helping Alaina down from her horse.
"No one knows about this entrance except knights or the duke himself, my Lady."
"Thank you for your reassurance, Sir James", smiled Alaina, relief spread over her face. Her heart still thumped anxiously in her chest; she did not know what to expect. The castle seemed awfully quiet; no one would have considered a recent invasion. Sir James dismounted his horse and tied it to the nearby tree. Approaching the gate, the knights unsheathed their swords while Sir James unlocked the gate and opened it carefully.
The gate creaked open to reveal a tunnel, as if the maw of some ancient creature, where the very walls seemed to weep, the droplets' lonely pitter-patter echoing through the dense blackness. The ground, damp and treacherous, whispered with the wet squelch of their steps. Alaina gagged slightly at the pungent, mouldy aroma that hung thick in the air. The sparse, ghostly luminescence of torchlight danced erratically, casting fleeting glimmers upon the polished steel of the knights' weaponry and plate armour.
As they moved carefully, they reached a crossroads deep within this subterranean maze. Out of nowhere, like wraiths birthed by the darkness itself, seven menacing figures with faces obscured in black war paint lunged forward. Dressed in a mix of rugged furs and worn leathers, they swung their razor-sharp axes with wild abandon. Two knights, caught off-guard, were swiftly and mercilessly cut down.
Blood spattered in all directions, even reaching Alaina's face. The horrific sight prompted her to scream; her eyes clenched shut against the dreadful scene as warm blood dripped down her cheeks.
The remaining trio of knights fought bravely, but their armour proved restrictive within the cramped confines of the tunnel. Meanwhile, the assailants moved with agility, nimbly evading every attack the knights made. Despite their intimidating size, they exhibited cat-like grace and fluidity.
"Going somewhere, lads?" snarled one of the barbarians. His voice was low and gruff; the accent sounded unfamiliar to Alaina. Is this what northern men sounded like? She pried her eyes open to see the assailants. She whimpered in fear when she noticed one of the men approaching her. He was at least two heads taller, his hair slicked back and tied with a rope. His long beard was braided to a point and was laden with dirt and grime. His blue eyes contrasted the black paint on his face, blue eyes that looked frightening as they pierced right through Alaina's soul. She shuddered, crouching on the ground, hugging her knees. A rough hand gripped her arm painfully, causing her to yelp.
"Unhand her!" shouted Sir James, followed by a loud clang of steel against steel. She heard him grunt; the attacker removed the knight's helmet and smashed his face against the tunnel wall. The sound of his skull breaking upon impact made Alaina scream in terror. With her eyes still sealed shut out of fear, the rough arm gripping her arm painfully tight pulled her through the tunnel. As she stumbled, trying not to slip on the slick floor, she heard the painful cries of the knights as they met their deaths. Moments later, the tunnel grew silent except for her footsteps and her assailants.
"By the gods," murmured a voice tinged with a primal growl, one of the barbarians pointing towards her. A second figure, muscles bulging, snatched her closer to the flickering amber light of a nearby torch. Rough fingers, weathered and battle-hardened, seized her chin, tilting her face into the flame's embrace. With deliberate scrutiny, he moved her face from side to side, seeking confirmation in her features.
"She's the one," the second raider declared with unsettling certainty. "She's Alaina."
Panic threatened to overpower her senses. How could these brutes possibly know her name? Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and an uneasy churning in her gut made her feel as if she was being consumed from within.
"Who are you? How is my name known to you?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, sounding more like a croak. Desperately, she searched their grim faces for a hint of recognition, a memory, anything. Yet, their identities remained unknown to her. The hand that held her began to slacken, just enough to give her strained skin a brief respite. She could almost feel the imprint his fingers would leave behind. The two men exchanged a weighted glance, seemingly torn over revealing their secret. The one who had first named her locked eyes with hers, depths filled with unreadable intent.
"Gareth will explain," the larger raider intoned with an underlying growl. Before Alaina could press for answers, they ushered her further into the labyrinthine depths, towards a corridor culminating in a stone stairwell. The flickering glow from sporadic wall torches painted the surroundings in an eerie light, permitting Alaina a clearer glimpse of her two escorts.
Their paint-adorned faces bore gruesome marks, a combination of fresh blood and battle stains. These were men who wore their battle scars with pride. The soil of the battlefields, caked with sweat and blood, had left their bronzed torsos looking as though they'd been smeared in muddied war paint. Strikingly, their features were unlike any she'd seen in the West. Despite the slight sun-kissed tan of their skins, a lighter undertone suggested their northern origin.
One had a beard intricately braided, a sign of patience and perhaps even status, while the other sported a wilder, unbridled mane. Beneath the layers of filth and blood, golden hair shimmered, and piercing blue eyes studied her intently. Their sinewy silhouettes seemed as though they were carved from the very stones of the earth.
"Listen well," the one with the woven beard began, his voice authoritative yet not unkind, "I will release your arm now, but you must follow me. Gareth instructed that we do not harm you, but if you resist, I will have no choice."
Alaina's gaze darted between the two, fear evident. Escape seemed impossible. Their mastery of the castle's maze-like innards was evident, and they moved with the agility of winter wolves. Reluctantly, she gave a slow, fearful nod.
"Come," he commanded, his voice as cold as the stone beneath their feet, sheathing his axe at his side. Alaina trailed him, her gaze fixed on the ground, ensuring each footstep was sure amidst the haunting half-light. The ascent spanned three curling staircases, each more daunting than the last. Veering left into an even darker corridor, they were met with an unassuming wooden door. The braided barbarian rapped on it four times. The man on the other side of the door grunted something in a language that Alaina did not understand.
"Erf hafhans vif", the barbarian beside Alaina replied; seconds later, the small door unlocked, and her captor nudged Alaina through the small door. The room was brightly lit; her eyes had to take a moment to adjust to the change. She knew in an instant that she was finally inside the main castle. The walls were adorned with Dunkeld colours and tapestries. There was an older barbarian man on her left, and she assumed it was the one guarding the door. Despite his age, he, too, was very muscular. His face was wrinkled, and his hair was peppered with grey and white hair. He gave Alaina a warm smile, showing a mouthful of unclean teeth.
"Sva pac's pu," he said to her, nodding his head. She blinked, not understanding his language; her captor addressed his friend.
"Sem leio til hanroomr?"
The older man pointed to the right with his axe; her captor nodded and nudged Alaina in that direction.
"Quickly, our other guests will arrive soon," he grunted. She sensed that he was annoyed by her slow pace as if she was deliberately wasting his time. Trying to match his brisk pace, Alaina's eyes darted around the corridor, taking in the ornate paintings adorning the walls. Their lavish depictions stood as jarring reminders; this was meant to be her home, yet she felt an outside within its walls.
"Who are these others you speak of?" she ventured. "Is my father…is he alright?" Vulnerability tinted her words.
"Your father was to be kept unscathed." Her captor's voice reeked of annoyance at her petulant questions.
"And the others? What of them?" she persisted. His only concession was a dismissive shrug. They continued their journey, bypassing two stately doors until they halted in front of a third. The door was imposing in stature, with intricate metalwork in floral patterns embedded into its grain.
"This is your room. Have a bath. There are some clothes on the bed ready for you," his voice, rough like coarse sandpaper, declared as he thrust the door open. Tentatively, Alaina stepped in, her gaze expanding in wonder. The chamber was an opulent masterpiece, dwarfing her quarters back in Hann Aisle. Dominating its space was a grand four-poster bed, its posts intricately carved. Nestled in one corner was a finely crafted ceramic bathtub, tendrils of steam curling up from the inviting water.
"Be quick," he admonished. "I will stand guard outside." And with that, the door was shut, leaving Alaina in a sanctuary of unexpected luxury.