The dim light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains of Astor's room, casting elongated shadows on the cold stone walls. The distant crowing of a rooster marked the start of a new day in Valenford Castle. For others, it would be a day like any other, filled with training, strategies, and political conversations. For Astor, it was another day closer to his escape.
Sitting at the edge of his bed, Astor studied the map spread out on a small table. Trade routes, dense forests, and forgotten villages were meticulously marked. He had spent the entire night analyzing every path, every potential detour that would lead him far from the reach of his mother and brother. He needed a flawless plan, one that left no loose ends.
He knew a simple disappearance wouldn't suffice. Lady Eleonor would not rest until she found him if she suspected he was still alive. She would make sure there were no loose ends. The only way to ensure they wouldn't look for him was to convincingly fake his death.
However, he couldn't abandon his usual act just yet. To maintain appearances, Astor descended to the Valenford training yard, a place he visited every day on purpose. The air there always smelled of sweat, leather, and steel, a scent that permeated every corner. The clash of swords and shields rang in his ears, but he felt no pull toward the weapons so revered by the nobles. His path was different.
He took the bow handed to him by one of the servants, a simple one made of cheap wood—nothing that would draw attention. The men training around him frowned or smirked at him with condescending smiles. Among nobles, the bow was a despised weapon, something used from a distance, a tool for cowards. But Astor never let those comments affect him. He knew the truth, though he always hid it behind a mask.
He began practicing in the field, aiming at the targets set up across the yard. His first shots were deliberately mediocre, arrows that barely grazed the target or veered off to the sides. He made sure every movement appeared clumsy, keeping his facade intact.
"I get that you're no good with a sword, but..." one soldier laughed with a condescending tone, "why not leave this to the hunters? Clearly, archery isn't for you either."
Astor smiled weakly and nodded, lowering his head as if accepting the mockery. The men laughed and returned to their activities, leaving the supposed "useless" one to continue his poor attempts at training. He had planned it this way, every move carefully measured to avoid standing out. Being forgotten, being ignored, was his real strength.
However, the real practice would take place later, when the castle's shadows grew longer and the watchfulness of others waned. That was his moment.
Back in his room before the sun abandoned the sky, Astor approached a small chest tucked into a corner. He opened it carefully to reveal a false bottom. Beneath it lay a collection of items he had discreetly gathered: simple peasant clothing, some gold and silver coins, and his prized dark wooden bow, accompanied by a quiver filled with meticulously crafted arrows.
He took the bow in his hands, feeling the smoothness of the polished wood and the perfect tension of the string. This bow was nothing like the ones he used in the training yard in front of others; this was a precision weapon, an extension of himself. He had acquired it years ago from a traveling craftsman, and since then, had kept it a secret.
It was time to practice. If his plan involved surviving in the outside world, he needed his skills to be at their peak. Besides, training helped clear his mind and think more clearly.
Dressing in simple, dark clothing suitable for blending into the shadows of the nearby forest, Astor left his room quietly, moving through the castle corridors like a ghost. He slipped away with the kind of precision only years of practice could provide. No one noticed his departure.
When he reached the back courtyard, he ensured no one was watching. The night guards had already been relieved, and the incoming ones were not yet fully alert. With agile movements, he crossed the grounds to the edge of the forest bordering the Valenford lands.
The forest was dense and ancient, with towering trees that reached skyward. The sounds of nature enveloped him: the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, the song of birds, and the whisper of the wind through the branches. Here, far from judgmental gazes and his family's schemes, Astor felt truly free.
He found his usual spot, a hidden clearing surrounded by tall trees and thick bushes. He placed several marks on the tree trunks, small signs that only he would recognize as targets. Standing in the center of the clearing, he took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs.
With fluid movements, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and drew the bowstring taut. His eyes locked onto the first target, a small mark at chest height on a tree to his right. He released the string, and the arrow flew with a soft whistle, embedding itself precisely in the center of the mark.
Without hesitation, he pivoted and fired another arrow at a second target behind him, hitting it squarely. He continued this way, moving quickly and accurately, shooting arrows from various angles and positions. Sometimes he shot while moving, other times from difficult stances, challenging himself with every shot.
After a while, he stopped to retrieve the arrows. As he collected them, his thoughts returned to the plan he was crafting. He needed to create a convincing scene of his death, something that left no doubts but didn't raise suspicions of manipulation.
He thought about the rumors he had heard of bandits and raiders along the roads. If he could make it seem like he had fallen victim to an attack with a witness to corroborate, his family would assume he was dead without questioning too much. Even without a body, Edmund and Lady Eleonor would surely believe the useless Astor had perished if a witness claimed to have seen it. At least, that was one possibility.
He returned to the castle before his absence could be noticed. On his way back, he passed some servants who greeted him indifferently, ignoring his strange attire. To them, Astor was a silent, insignificant presence, someone deserving of only the bare minimum of courtesy. This worked to his advantage.
After a bath and a change of clothes, he headed to the great hall, where he found Edmund adjusting pieces of his armor with the help of a squire. His older brother glanced at him and smirked disdainfully.
"Well, look who decided to show up at this hour," Edmund remarked sarcastically. "Lost in your thoughts again, brother?"
Astor lowered his gaze, feigning discomfort.
"I see you're trying on armor. Is it for Lady Selene's visit?" he asked softly.
Edmund laughed heartily.
"Of course. I need the best armor to impress my future wife. Maybe if you were half as clever as I am, you could be of some use to the family."
Astor nodded without replying, maintaining his role as the submissive and untalented brother. He knew arguing would only draw more attention, something he couldn't afford.
"Mother wants to see you in the main hall during dinner," Edmund added before walking away. "Don't be absent."
Astor felt a pang of worry. Had Lady Eleonor suspected something? Or was this just another of her summons to remind him of his place in the family?
At dinner, the atmosphere was tense. Lady Eleonor sat in her usual spot at the head of the table, her cold gaze sweeping over each of her children. Astor sat silently, avoiding eye contact.
"I have news," announced Lady Eleonor after a while. "Selene Drakenfell will arrive earlier than expected. Her messengers inform us she'll be here in three days."
A murmur ran through the table. Edmund smiled confidently, but Astor felt his heart race. His time was running out. If he didn't execute his plan before Selene's arrival, things could become even more complicated.
"Edmund, ensure everything is ready for her reception," his mother continued. "We cannot afford mistakes."
"Of course, Mother," Edmund replied with a nod.
Lady Eleonor then turned her gaze to Astor.
"And you, Astor, try not to get in the way. I expect you to stay in your room that day, understood?"
Her words were sharp, but he received them without flinching.
"Yes, Mother," he said quietly.
After dinner, Astor returned to his room, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the wood and took a deep breath. Three days. That was all the time he had left to finalize his preparations and disappear.
Sitting at his desk, he studied the map once more, reviewing all his options before deciding. Finally, after an hour of weighing possibilities, he made his decision.
"In two days, I'll leave. I'll make sure to stage my death in front of plenty of witnesses. After that, I'll vanish forever," he murmured to himself.