It was early dawn as Zorian awakened, from his hay made bed, looking about the empty kitchen that he knew soon would begin to bustle with noise. He stretched and yawned, clicking his aching bones and shaking them awake. Pushing himself up, looking about the tables, coming across a piece of stale bread, he chewed on the hardened bitten food, swallowing with struggle feeling a thirst with a sore throat, he sighed, when he heard a bell ring, knowing it to be his step brother. Zorian combed through his raven hair, as he rushed through passage after passage, stair after stair, coming to his step brothers chambers.
He remembered fondly of the time it was his, and how often when he young his mother would sleep with him through the night, in hopes to keep him warm enough. It was a sweet memory, a short one, and one of few he had left of his mother, before her death as she laid sick in her bed. Red boils on her face and arms, her skin pale and sleek with sweat, it was a unpleasant death. He had remembered how fast it was, she had vomited till blood lunged out from her throat and nose, her eyes trailed behind to her skull, her body quaking and shaking uncontrollably, her mouth frothing, then she went still and silent, and Zorians father wept desperately at her side knowing well she was dead. he was but of five years, and did not understand why his mother did not come to his bed at night, nor why his father was so sad, it was till he saw her body burning did he know that she was gone, and never to return to him again.
He opened the door without knocking, his stepbrother stood by his window, gazing down to the fields, already dressed wearing his riding boots, “good morrow brother,” he smiled to Zorian who frowned,
“Morning,” he grumbled, “is there a reason for you calling me in such an hour.”
“A late night at the tavern?” the boy questioned,
Zorian turned from his step brother whose hair was bright much like the morning sun that began to glare through the glass windows, falling to his shoulders in ease. “I am sure i do not know what you mean.”
“You have straw in your hair,” he pointed to Zorian, he looked back to fields, “i do not understand why you sleep on that pile of straw on the floor,” he mumbled,
“It is not so bad,”
His stepbrother gave him a doubtful look, “you are not dog Zorian, it can be good for you back.”
“It matters not,” Zorian spoke carefree, “is there something i can do for you Rob, or did you just summon for the fun of it?”
“Go to stables and prepare a horse, I want to go for a ride before I break my fast.” he told Zorian, “and perhaps you should wash your mouth out before you serve mother and Gwyn food, you smell of nothing but ale.”
Zorian forced a smile, “will that be all,” he began to bow, “my lord?” he said in a mocking tone, Rob ignore the boy, and nodded shushing him with a flick of his hand, “yes, yes, now go,”
Zorian let out a huff of air and left, heading down the main stairs, and to the high wooden doors, traveling along the bailey to the stables. Most of the stable hands were awake already attending to the horses, they nodded their heads as they saw Zorian approach, “milord,” a boy greeted,
“Morning, Ridley,” Zorian said to the boy, “is Robs awake?”
“Just feed ‘er, and gave ‘er a bit of a groom, is milord wantin’ a mornin’ ride?”
“Seems like the only bloody thing he wants to do.” Zorian grouched,
Ridley chuckled, “a late night at the tavern?”
“It was one drink,” the boy murmured, “hardly anything,”
“At least ya ‘adn’t been found this mornin’ in a puddle of sick by the roses this time.”
Zorian groaned, “why must everyone bring that up, it was a foolish mistake, i was young, and i left Will in a worse state than i?”
“They’ll be off to temple most of the mornin’, after they break their fast, if ya wish milord i could take some of yer duties off yer ‘ands,” Ridley offered,
“No need,” Zorian told him heading to his step brothers mares paddock, “my lady wants me to pick up a few things from town,”
“Still fussin’ over things for the festival?”
“Gwyn can not seem to find the right fabric for her gown and my lady is still searching for the right broach to wear with her necklace and earrings.”
“Yer mothers necklace and earrin’s,” Ridley corrects,
Zorian sighs, “why should that matter? It would only collect dust if she was not using them, she is doing me a favor.”
Ridley snorted, “she stole everythin’ that's yers and ‘as reduced you to nothin’.”
Zorian shrugged, “I'm fed and clothed, and the work is not so bad, in fact,” he laughed, “I rather like it.”
Ridley frowned, shaking his head, “it’s not right milord.”
“There are worse things Ridley, and this isn’t as bad as you make it seem. I have freedom, a roof over my head, a wage-”
“Ya are ‘er slave,” Ridley cuts through,
Zorian shrugged again, “so? at least i am content.” and with that Ridley grew silent as Zorian began to prepare the mare, as he saddled her, cleaning out her hooves and feeding her a small handful of barley. He brought the horse out with him just as rob began to make his way to the grumpy looking boy. “My,” rob began, “you are looking rather jolly today,”
“No shit,” Zorian breathed under his breath, holding the reins of the horse as his stepbrother climbed on.
“I had tried to talk to mother about allowing to accompany us to the kings festival,”
Zorian groaned, “why?”
“Because no matter what mothers tells people, you are the lord by law and have a right to come to such celebrations,”
“You say that as if i want to go.”
“You don’t?” Rob questioned confused, “but the king is only having the festival to match his son in marriage.”
Zorian snorted, “and what? You want to be the new prince?”
Rob rolled his eyes, “of course not, but mother wishes so, if not i nor Gwyn is married off by the year's end I fear she will go insane.”
Zorian scoffed, “she already has, and I have no desire to become someone's husband.”
“I hear he is very handsome,”
“That is what they say about all princes, until you see them with warts, crooked noses and yellow teeth, big ears and squinted eyes, with balding hair.”
Rob frowned, “thank you for that image.”
Zorian smiled, “you are very welcome. Now off, before your mother wakes up.” he watched as his step brother trotted through the gates, he thought of the festival, how sweet the wine and how fine the food would taste, he licked his lips imagining the mixture in his mouth. But he shook his head, feeling his stomach growling, he sighed once more, looking back to the stables and pulling the sleeves of his tunic up.
He spent an hour cleaning the empty paddocks of horse dung and filth, going to the water pump on the bailey cleaning the muck off himself, he smelt his breath, and understood near all's instant knowledge of his nights pleasures. He washed his face and neck with his rough hands, feeling sore from his work, he brushed through his wet hair with fingers as he walked to the keep's kitchens. As he had thought, the kitchen was crowded with people rushing about getting ready his stepmother and sisters' food, the kitchen maid yelled for Zorian, as she shoved a plate of fruit in his arms, “take that up to milady and come back for their water, cheese and bread.” she shouted as Zorian headed to the kitchen and to the stairs. He carried the mass of fruit all the way up to his stepmother's chambers, where his step family sat waiting for their food, on a round wooden table.
“Finally,” Gwyn grumbled as she saw Zorian, her hair was much like her mothers and brothers, a golden blonde, but her eyes were a dark brown, narrowing on Zorian as he placed their food down, “it had taken you long enough, where did you go to get it, the east,” she snarled a him, Zorian saw a small prick of a curl on his step mothers lips at her daughters words,
“Sorry, i was busy this morning cleaning up shit,” he told her.
“That examples the smell,” she slyly said,
“Now, now, Gwyn,” her mother hushed, “Zorian dose much for our comforts we should thank him,”
Gwyn snorted, “thank him?” she questioned, “why would i thank a dog for bringing back fleas?”
“Why would anyone thank a dog for bringing back fleas?” Zorian grumbled,
“Late night at the tavern?” his stepmother asked,
Zorian frowned, “of course not my lady.”
“It is just I thought I smelt a bit of ale on your breath.”
“Out with that drunked again?” Gwyn questioned, Zorian didn’t answer but she carried on, “has he said anything about the prince?” she spoke eagerly,
“No,” Zorian bite out,
“Come now,” his stepmother began sweetly, “surely he has, what else has such a pitiful foolish boy to talk about,” she spoke as if was the only truth there was.
“If i were as close to prince as he, i would talk endless of him,”
“You already do,” Rob rumbled under his breath as he plopped a grape in his mouth, she glared at her brother, as Zorian heard a thud under the table, knowing she had kicked her brother squarely on his leg. Rob grunted and groaned, “why you-”
“Is it true of his tastes?” his stepmother spoke in a cunning voice, her eyes switching over to her son,
Zorian frowned, “why would i know something like that?”
His stepmother hummed, “perhaps it is really only rumor,” she mused,
Gwyn smiled, “then i have a chance.”
Zorian held back a scoff, “of course you do,” he told her, trying to sound as genuine as he could, “i will go get the bread and cheese now.” he turned on his heels, heading back down to kitchen finally allowed to let out a short fit of laughter. “There you are,” the head kitchen maid spoke, shoving yet again another plate of food, filled with cheese and bread,
“You don’t have to be so rude, Mertel,”
“Rude?” she boomed out a laugh, “Milord you’ll know when i’m rude to ya, i make even wee babes cry.”
Zorian didn’t say a word to Mertel, heading back up to his stepmother's chambers hearing the roar of her laughter echoing behind him.
After his step family were done with their food, he helped each into their clothes for morning temple, his stepsister having him drape her in jewels and pearls hoping to impress the prince and catch his eye during service. Wearing a bead headdress, among her long golden locks. His stepmother as always wore a veil to temple, this time red to match her gown, of warm cotton and furs. His step brother Rob was the only one who did not wear anything of grandeur, though his jacket was made of a rich velvet purple. Zorian helped his stepsister and mother into the covered cart, stepping back as he watched them leave through the gates.
“Fucking pricks,” he mumbled as they traveled further and further out of sight…
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