Part 1 of 7

Riella was under no illusion as to why Lord Montalli had propositioned her father for her hand. He had been fluttering about the city all week, somehow placing himself in her path multiple times a day. She did not consider herself stunningly beautiful; she wished she had caught the minor lord’s attention with her intelligence, but apparently her face and lithe frame appealed to him. It was certainly flattering, and she did not dislike the compliments he bestowed upon her. At the very least he was relatively upfront as to his desire for her, even if it was only skin-deep. But that was the entirety of their rapport - every fleeting conversation was a sprinkling of adulation until she found a courteous means to excuse herself.

When he had offered her father enough gold to keep his business afloat for at least two decades, a slightly bitter taste had tickled her tongue. The lord was not open to a deliberation period either, he demanded an answer that day, that hour. Her father, who had always raised her without discrimination, consulted her thoroughly before accepting anyway. They discussed the offer while the minor lord hovered in the cobbled street outside. Regardless of how Riella felt towards the lord, she could not allow her father to refuse such a large sum of money. He was wealthy in the relative terms of their city, but he spent a large portion of his profits from his floristry business on the community. This was one of her greatest sources of pride in her family name.

The gold was paid upfront (Riella was adamant of this) and her sisters counted the coins carefully as she packed a small satchel with her most important things to leave immediately. Lord Montalli was determined to rush every aspect of their engagement, apparently. Maybe that was for the better. She could not dwell on just how much her life was about to change. The people she would not see daily, the places she would miss, the comfort of floral scents that had filled her life up to this moment. She hoped Lord Montalli kept arrangements in his manor.

She lifted her hand hesitantly to wave goodbye to her family before she climbed into the lord’s carriage waiting outside her father’s florist shop. Her father’s eyes held more tears than anyone else’s. Lord Montalli had graciously allowed her to enter first, and so followed behind and took the seat opposite her. The carriage driver shut the door behind them and signalled the horses to begin their journey.

Lord Montalli brushed a thin-fingered hand through his dark hair with an awkward smile. Riella smiled back gently, ready to build a positive bond and partnership with the man who was to become her husband.

“You will reside in the keep of Lord Redfallow from this day forth to ensure your purity and protection,” he said directly. It felt like an order.

Shock would be a criminal understatement. Riella forced herself to glance out of the small carriage window at passing buildings as she tentatively confirmed, “In Ravenskeep, my lord?”

“Yes, you will be… guarded there.”

A small part of Riella wondered if he had been tempted to say the word ‘imprisoned’ but had changed his mind at the last moment. She could not fathom why she had only hours ago become engaged to one lord and was now to be housed by another. Lord Redfallow was incredibly rich. He had many men at his disposal and more acres of land than her father’s home had bricks. Lord Montalli was a minor lord in comparison, but their territories brushed against each other. Lord Montalli’s land encompassed the city that Riella called home.

“This may be a strange new concept to you, my dear. But those of us with noble blood can be rather territorial; I am doing this to keep you safe until we are wed.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Riella did not understand. Lord Montalli did not have the wealth nor the land to warrant such concern, as far as she was aware. But her father was well-respected within the small region that the minor lord ruled over. He offered jobs, mentoring and counsel to many in both the city and the countryside. His philanthropic work was well-known despite the anonymity he always attempted to shroud himself in. It was possible this was Lord Montalli’s attempt to keep her out of view until the wedding in order to keep from upsetting anyone within his own territory. If her father retracted his blessing, she wondered how many of the men in the city would stand with him. Who would fight for her good, albeit non-titled, name?

“We are travelling there directly, no halts or pauses along the way so do not ask for scenic stops.”

Riella nodded obediently.

Lord Montalli continued without acknowledging her agreement. “Lord Redfallow will provide for you while you reside in his keep and I will visit when my schedule permits.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The remainder of their journey passed in almost complete silence. Riella’s inner voice did not take the hint, reeling through all of the possibilities of what she could expect of life in Ravenskeep. She was no lady and she did not know how to behave among nobles. Her mother had taught her basic etiquette but she doubted it would be enough. If she offended Lord Redfallow, would he be reporting to Lord Montalli? She wondered how badly she would need to displease the lord of the keep before she was turned out, possible a single woman once again.

Their arrival was announced by the shout of a hoarse-voiced man. Riella perked up in her seat at the sound. She leant forward to peer inquisitively out of the carriage window at her temporary home. Lord Montalli observed her with an amused twinkle in his eyes, as though she were a small animal behaving sweetly.

Ravenskeep lacked colour. Every brick was grey, every cobblestone was grey, and even the guard uniforms were grey. Once they had both stepped out of the carriage and down to the ground outside the main gates, Lord Montalli took off with confident strides. Riella tottered along behind him, attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible. They approached the largest of buildings within the keep walls and she all but attached herself to his cloak. It worked for the most part, very few scuttling servants or clusters of court counsellors showed any interest in the slim woman shadowing the minor lord.

After an almost disrespectfully short introduction with Lord Redfallow, lord and commander of Ravenskeep and her temporary host, Riella was accompanied by her betrothed to her personal quarters. It was a bedchamber with a small washroom leading out from the side and a single rectangular window that allowed a view of more grey stone. Riella was not ungrateful; she could be very comfortable here. She wondered how long the two lords had been sitting on this plan, though. Lord Redfallow had appeared rather uninterested in her when she had curtsied before him and then bowed her head when Lord Montalli had named her. Perhaps he was simply humouring Lord Montalli as a friend. She had been hoping for slightly more conversation with the man whose home she would be residing in, but if she tried to scrape together a positive note from the meeting she could say that she had not been given a chance to embarrass herself in front of him. She was not stood in the great hall long enough to show her lack of noble blood or high-class upbringing.

She set her small bag upon the bed and wished Lord Montalli a safe journey back to his own home before he left. He bumped a hurried kiss to her forehead before he swept out of the room, leaving her flushed and unsure of herself. Not only her first kiss from her betrothed, but her first kiss that had not been placed on her hand.

He had made no promises of when he would return for a visit, but she hoped it would be soon. This was not at all what she had expected betrothal to be like. It would be ungracious to complain, and she was very appreciative of the money her father had been given, the private quarters she had been allocated and the simple fact that Lord Montalli had not, thus yet, appeared to be aggressive or cruel. Riella needed to spend more time with him though, to learn his heart. Marriage may be a mild power play for him, but she had a secretly romantic heart. It was her private desire that they grow close, that love would bloom, and they would spend many happy years together.

And so began her stay at Ravenskeep: the home of a lord she had met once, miles from both her family and her betrothed. Alone and under strict guard.

Her days were broken up almost solely by meals and sweet treats brought to her by nervous serving girls. She attempted to make conversation with them, but as yet she could not get much more than base small talk from them before they would scurry away.

One of the guards assigned to the rotation of standing outside her door for half a day at a time gave her a small portion of his time occasionally. His conversational repertoire was rife with curse words, tawdry tales and rather rude opinions, but she appreciated the human interaction all the same. Even if she did occasionally close her door feeling slightly scandalised by his words. His name was Stefan Black, and she called him mister Stefan.

Mister Stefan also allowed her out to refill her drinks and book supply. This was, he stated multiple times very firmly, purely on the basis that if she was away for longer than it took him to shit, then she would be in a great deal of trouble. Riella did wonder why he did not make an effort to empty his bowels outside of his working hours, but she was so grateful for a small pocket of time to escape that she dared not question him.

After what she had counted to be just over a fortnight at Ravenskeep, her lord had yet to visit her. With a determination not to slip into a lonely depression, she kept up her routine. Books from the library, sweet treats from the servants, juices and herbal teas from the cellar or kitchens.

A slow morning of reading, stretching and balancing on her toes to peer out of her single window had left Riella craving a sweet drink. It seemed about the right time for Stefan to take his daily excursion to the barracks bathrooms, so she knocked a chipper tune onto the wooden door and opened it, stepping out into the hallway with her tin mug.

“Where do you think you’re going?” barked a gruff voice so loudly it had her toes off the floor as a jolt of surprise and fear ran through her.

Riella turned on one slender foot to face the person who had spoken. It was a woman in rough leather armour that clung to her hulking body as though it were wet cloth. The grey Ravenskeep guards’ chest piece lay atop, an obviously uncared for addition. This woman had a mercenary’s aura, a self-assured stance that radiated confidence and unspoken threat, paired with an expression of boredom that all mercenaries Riella had ever met shared. It seemed they were never content in any job they took, but they were content to take the gold. Her hair was cut haphazardly, dark blonde tufts laid back as though she had dragged her fingers through it once and it froze in place. One of her brows had been interrupted by two scars slicing through it a quarter-inch apart.

Mister Stefan was nowhere in sight.

Riella shook off her surprise at the sharp question and the new face as best she could.

“To get juice!” she answered cheerfully, smiling with all the warmth she felt radiating inside of her at the thought of more sweet juice.

“Get inside.”

“O-okay.” Riella obeyed, stepping back into the main room of her quarters.

The tall woman followed her in, her sharp frown held in place. “What the hell are you playing at?” she growled, her voice low and dark and almost threatening.“You do not leave these quarters without Lord Montalli.”

“I’m sorry…” Riella whispered with bewilderment. “I didn’t-” she spluttered, clutching her tin cup tighter to her chest nervously. “I wanted to get juice.”

“Juice?” The woman asked incredulously, her thick brows raising angrily.

“Mister Stefan showed me where to get orange juice in the cellar.”

“He what?” she snapped. “I suppose that’s why he got relocated then. You’d better not have left this room alone before, though.” She stared Riella down with hard eyes, her hulking form looming over Riella’s much smaller frame. “Because if you have, you will be punished.”

Riella was quick to admit to the truth. She saw no reason to pretend as though Mister Stefan had escorted her. “I have, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you telling me that? I just said you would be punished; is your head empty or something?”

“That would be a lie,” Riella mumbled. “I don’t tell lies. He didn’t accompany me, I went alone. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Well…” The woman’s mouth opened and closed a few times, her brow flickering between creases of frustration and confusion. “Just… Don’t do it again.” She huffed. “I see you outside this door without his lordship again and you’ll be in the shitter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You need something, you knock, and you ask for it.”

Riella nodded.

The woman stared at her for an extra moment and strode back the way she had come; she took the door by the wood instead of the handle.

“M-ma’am?”

“What?”

“May I have some juice, please?”

“Do you need juice?”

“I would appreciate it greatly,” Riella said softly.

Another pause, another blend of irritation and bafflement crossing the woman’s rough features.

“Give me the cup.” She put her hand out. Riella tentatively relinquished the small cup into the woman’s calloused hand. “I’m not getting it myself; I’m not a fucking skivvy, but I’ll grab the next servant that comes by and send them to. Don’t expect it back quickly.”

Riella nodded gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am!” The bright smile she attempted to present wobbled with the remains of her surprise at having been accosted.

The woman left without another word, leaving Riella to stew in the tension left behind in her claustrophobic quarters.

She learned from one of the skittish servants that evening that her new guard’s name was Miss Asta.