Morning had barely batted open it's sleep-weary eyes when I first awoke, the sun a shy presence half-hidden beyond the black horizon. My head felt like it meant to explode. I promptly sent a metaphorical middle finger to the morning and went back to sleep.

The next time I woke it was to the clangourous clattering of men practising their skill at arms in the cobbled yard far below, the striking sounds admitted through the window in a barrage which assaulted my ears and seared through my mind in a horrific metallic cacophony.

The first thing which came to mind was a string of curses and insults which were surprisingly inventive for how bedraggled I felt; the second thing was that, although it had improved somewhat from earlier that day, my head still throbbed as though it had been crushed by a stray mace in my sleep; the third was that it was far too early in the morning for swordplay, and I intended to make the discourteous fools below firmly aware of such.

Disentangling myself from the swaddle of bed sheets which had infuriatingly bound themselves like clinging children to my arms and legs, I thrust the heap of material aside and staggered stagnantly from the temptation of further sleep. Catching myself on the windowsill before momentum had me toppling headfirst to my untimely death, I blindly snatched at the heavy hangings and thrust them open with bitter impatience.

Even pinched tightly closed, my retinas were blinded by the livid red of the glaring sun catching the colour of the blood laced through my eyelids. Taking a moment, I summoned the will to open my eyes to a wider extent than small slits. I regretted it immediately and spent the next few minutes adjusting my eyes to the bright glare of morning... or rather, mid-day.

'Shit.'

I hadn't realised I had slept in so long.

Still, despite the fact that it must have been at least noon judging from the height of the faint glow behind the thicket of clouds which hinted at the sun’s arc in the overcast sky, I was sorely tempted to return to the warmth of my soft sheets and attempt to ignore the ruckus outside. Unfortunately, however, I judged that it wouldn’t be long before I was rudely awoken once more, but this time by one of the maids or my father himself demanding that I get off my lazy arse.

Though there was something else, too, that was niggling somewhere in my subconscious, scratching urgently at the blurry walls erected by sleep and too much alcohol, hoping to show its face to me. Something that had happened last night…

A face, cracked and twisted with age, leered at me from the smeared shadows of half-forgotten memory. A face with a humongous and ghastly wart.

I recoiled from the revolting recollection almost as though she stood there in front of me, but after a few quick consecutive blinks the sight had receded to reveal only the cluttered space of my small room. The now-remembered events of the night before were not so willing to return to the cracks of my unconscious mind, however, nor the toxic ideas which bled forth to confront me and set an insistence in my limbs which pressed me forward on a path I couldn’t quite see.

This strange desire which had set its roots deep within me was not entirely welcome, and I had half a mind to ignore it all- last night, my father, those idiots battering one another with swords in the yard- and sleep the day away. In fact, sleeping through the entire week wouldn’t have been such a bad idea now that I thought about it, only waking to finally leave that dreary place and head home to an even drearier- but warmer- place I called home. I was halfway through the process of doing so, dragging the sheets from the mattress and wrapping them about my bare and goosebumped flesh, but alas, on the verge of throwing myself down onto the bed, my subconscious will, that nagging notion which would not leave me be, got the better of me.

With a tedious groan, I bundled up the bedsheets and tossed them angrily at the headboard before moving to the wardrobe to prime myself in anticipation of the day’s travels… and possibly a fine young lady by the name of Lilianna Crawford. One must never be unprepared in the art of courtship.

***

I was still slightly sluggish from sleep and drink as I prepared my horse and tack early that afternoon, but a healthy dose of fresh eggs and honeyed bacon to break my fast had helped to somewhat dampen last night’s lingering foulness, and for once I was feeling quite enthusiastic about the day ahead. Despite the witch’s words I was sure that all I would find upon her instructions were some rocks, gulls and lots of sea, but it felt good to be going anyhow just so I could say that I had done it and found nothing, getting the killing curiosity out of my system before it soured any more of my days.

My transport for the journey came in the form of a wild but wizened mare named Heddy, a rugged black beauty streaked with grey with a bright band of white across her muscular chest, and who I was assured was faithfully knowledgeable of the surrounding coastline and as sure-footed upon the scree and rocky cliff-walks as a mountain goat. She wouldn’t get best in show for sleek and elegant looks, to be sure, but her master was confident in her abilities to get me where I wanted and back without a hitch- which was more than could be said for my striking gold gelding on which I had made my entrance.

Rapier was a looker, to be sure, but when it comes to anything outside of speed, strutting around and looking good he is sorely lacking. It therefore hurts me to admit it, but I wasn’t taking him because I wasn’t prepared to fall off a cliff as a result of his inability to walk on anything that isn’t solid, flat ground.

I had finally finished saddling up and was halfway through mounting- one foot in the stirrup as I prepared to hoist myself upwards- when a feminine voice sounded from the mouth of the stables to my back. Instant recognition, and dread pinned itself about my shoulders like a dragging cape. I continued to get myself seated, intent on pressing my heels to the mare and trampling my pestering loiterer beneath her hooves if it came to it; there were two women in the world whom I hated over all others. Both happened to be sisters of mine, and one of them was blocking my exit.

“Where is it you think you’re going, little brother?” Her voice containing an irksome simper, pastel lips curling cruelly at the edges as I urged Heddy on and cast half a glance at the impishly interested blonde who now stepped aside to lean against the wooden frame, slender arms linked across her narrow chest. A pale pink birthmark in the crude shape of a heeled boot stained the smooth skin beneath her left eye and burned its way across much of her cheek. As with I, her hair was of a rich gold but more straw-like in tone, and was bunched in a thick plait to the side of her heart-shaped face.

Her eyes roved over my attire as I made to pass her by; a simple enough set of garments but suitable for a day’s travel, consisting of a plain black leather jerkin over a thick woollen shirt of smokey-blue, warm black breeches, firm leather riding boots and a winter cloak trimmed with thick grey fur at the neck to keep out the chill. I attempted to ignore her, carrying on with my sights set on the rolling land beyond the castle walls, and I had almost allowed myself to believe that I would be allowed leave for once without one sister or the other digging too much into my business.

I should have known better than to even contemplate entertaining any kind of hope in that respect.

“Lula asked you a question, Corrie. It would be awfully rude not to answer.” A sharp tug at the rains from my opposite side had Heddy snorting irritably, hooves clattering to a halt on the cobblestones as she threw her head back with a bothersome whicker, and I reluctantly allowed my second harasser an especially cool side-ways look of the kind reserved only for the most detestable of individuals.

Ada was of short stature, her hair a flaxen shade of yellow which had none of Lula or I’s golden glow, but although less pretty she made up for that in bounds of tyranny and the physical strength to beat over half the men she met in arm wrestling. Simultaneously. I could battle Lula in wits and often come out on top, but when it came to brawn I was ashamedly smashed by Ada at every opportunity. Another thing about her was that she shared my intensely pale eyes, but knew better how to use them with the intent of intimidation. At that moment in time, she was effectively putting that skill to use with a daunting potency that even had the horse in nerves.

I set my lips in a tight line, glaring daggers at the hand which gripped the reins rather than meeting her unwavering gaze. The longer we waited, the more unbearable her stare became, and I was once again put in mind of that wicked hag who had assailed me the night before. The combined discomfort set me over the edge, and I finally heaved in a breath in a half-hearted attempt to keep my voice from reaching into a shout as I gave a taut reply.

“I’m off to play hide-and-go-seek with the local country bumpkins, dear sister, and prance around in the pastures with the cows and the pretty little bunny rabbits. I do hope I find the end of a rainbow so that I might steal a small ginger bloke’s secret stash of magical gold and use it to buy food for the underprivileged.”

My sarcasm only served to deepen their suspicions, evident through the catlike narrowing of their sharp eyes, though that was partly my point. I didn’t mean to satiate their curiosities or give fodder to their pernicious fancies.

Ada’s firm lips contorted into a moue of discontent, brows furrowing with her darkening mood.

“Liar.”

“Really? You think?”

The faintly freckled fingers which held the reins captive had loosened a notch in Ada’s preoccupation with my masked intentions, and upon noticing this I gave a firm yank to the supple leather which whisked it from her grip before she could hope to catch it; strong as a mule she might be, but also as slow as one heavily laden with several large packs of her sister's stupendously fancy dresses.

“You’re up to something, Corliss, don’t you try to deny it.” This from Lula to my right, unlacing her arms from her front to prop them upon her slender hips in a condescending fashion.

I feigned contemplation. Stroked at the fashionable stubble of my chin. Finished with an insolent shrug.

“Okay. I won’t.”

I left them in my dust as I tore away across the yard, leaving the two to glare after me like well-dressed scarecrows as I trotted beneath the iron teeth of the portcullis and set off Northward. I had no doubt that they would be on their way to grass on me to father even now, but getting one over on them had set me in high enough spirits that I honestly didn’t care.