“My lady?” Ajax asked one afternoon as Gyla strolled the gardens with only her entourage for company. 

“Yes?” She stopped to address him, frowning at his obvious upset. 

He blew a wild strand out of his eye. A light color uncommon so far north that tinged red under the heat of the sun. 

“Why do you wish to pursue this duke?” 

“Have you heard something about him?” Surely, he would only ask such a question should he be saddled with some unfavorable information. 

“Nothing I am sure you haven’t, my lady.” She gestured for him to continue. “I’ve heard he’s a reclusive type. Sullen and stoic and no other lady seems to be interested in catching his eye.” 

“That’s because of his scars, Ajax.” Naomi quickly slapped his arm in a reprimand. “The servants say he was polite during his stay and kept to himself. I would hardly say he is sullen.” 

“I… only wonder, my lady,” Ajax spoke carefully, mindful of their positions, “if he would be a good fit for you.” 

“Quiet is not unattractive, Ajax.” Gyla sent a pointed look to Phlad whose never spoken a word since her father added him to the household. 

Phlad wore his dark hair in a tight braid, contrasting his birch skin and pale eyes. He wore his armor well and carried a shield on his back. His sword strapped to his side like Ajax’s. 

Her father almost wrestled their chief-miner Gidmeg for Phlad loomed over every man in the village and could rival Buzzek, the bull, in strength. With proper training, he became assigned her guard. 

“No,” Ajax quickly backtracked, brown eyes wide. “But, you should have someone able to match you.” 

“Perhaps, they shall fit like a puzzle,” Naomi argued. 

Her maid huffed dramatically at Ajax and flicked back her dark hair in a display of displeasure. Ajax opened his mouth to defend himself but thought better of it. Naomi’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. 

Gyla turned and resumed her walk. Ajax had a descent concern about this hunt as they have referred to it. The term amused her, but guilt settled in her mind at the thought of the poor duke having to hide in a rabbit hole. She swore, if only to herself, that she would end her pursuit at the first sign of distress from him. Should he welcome her steady advance, she would ensure he saw her true curiosity to know him and to court. Should he not, she shall behave as a proper lady of the court and mind herself in his presence. 

Any further thoughts on the discussion were tucked away for the day. Next week, they would begin the journey to Aedon Castle. Duke Dominis promised to meet them at the border of his duchy and see them to safety, personally. An exciting start to the affair. 

That night, settled into her covers, Gyla stared at the ceiling. Shadows stretched across, the dying flame of the candle giving them life. Her heart settled oddly in her chest. She’d never been so far from home without her father or mother. She never tried to pursue anyone like the poor duke. 

His first impression might have been poor to any other lady’s tastes but not to hers. He moved without hesitation and successful in his intention. He humbly accepted the thanks and returned to his guards with soiled clothes. One of his guards offered a cloak which he accepted for proprietary's sake. 

It must have hurt, she thought, to have such a mark so public to the world. More must have been hidden under his clothes. A ghastly, living tale of battle and survival. She did feel a heat between her legs at the thought of him most nights. An attractive unknown. But, tonight, her heart pounded in grief at the pain he must feel.  

The burn would have hurt terribly and her only comparison would be when she was four and touched the stove when their cook had been busy with one of the milkmaids. Then, the other scar layered on top. It must have cut deep for the skin only restitched as a valley. His nose forever crooked just slightly. Not obvious until up close. 

Gyla never found the attraction to scars back at home. They all came with a story and carried on their pains for decades. She blamed this particular attraction on his heroics and the books Naomi stashed under her bed back home. A scarred hero turned soft for his love. Such an appealing thought. 

But, Gyla sighed and burrowed deep in her covers. The duke wore his story. He might not wish to retell it. He might wish to bury his head in the sand. To hide his expressions, for his face became ugly at the sight. He would make an intimidating sight, but at the gate, she found his small smile endearing. His stoicism only fueled her curiosity. 

She would see up close and personal what this duke was made of. If his first impression held true, she would not deny a marriage. If not, she would return north, dreams and heart, broken.