Castle Verford was lively and in an uproar since the hour of man. It’s been two hours since then and the clamour of troops moving out and commanders shouting orders could still be heard from the courtyard. The usual peaceful and tranquil atmosphere of these snow-covered black and grey walls was now more like a military camp preparing for war. Apparently, more than three hours ago, the town of Kolsted, the northern-most settlement in Turrok, came under attack by an unknown group. Lord Montt was furious and immediately sent a messenger to request aid of the King; King Harren Trevalyn, the Moonlit King. However, Thyra’s father was not within the castle at the moment and was on a trip to meet some noble or something; she was not sure of the details nor did she care much for them. Instead, her mother, Queen Ashe Trevalyn, was in charge of the castle and decided all matters of import during her husband’s absence; however...

“My apologies to your Lord, but the Queen’s words are final, my lord of Norste” said Remont, his voice echoing through the courtyard. He was the acting head of the castle guard while his father, Lord Saerus Yoren was away with the king. The two often did most things together as they were close friends since childhood and so, despite only being twenty and four, Lord Remont was already used to the heavy responsibility. He was also second only to his father in swordsmanship within their household as well, which made him perfect for the station.

Thyra was looking down at the courtyard from a window in her own tower when she heard the entire argument unfold. Apparently, her queen mother denied Lord Montt’s request for aid under the pretence that if Turrok was indeed under attack by an unknown force, it was all the more reason to keep as many troops as possible within the inner keep and capital for protection. While there is logic to the order, she believed her mother to be acting unreasonable and selfish, since Verford’s barracks was more than capable to spare some few hundred men to Lord Montt. And the messenger was Lord Lorick Montt’s brother, Cedric Montt; a very shrewd and easily angered man, so he took the refusal as a slight and saw to speak to the queen herself. A rude gesture it may be, but the people of Turrok followed strength and only gave precedence to those who were related to the strong over themselves because of their relationship. It was not uncommon to hear of men refusing to follow orders, even if that person was their queen.

“Madness! Let me speak with her myself, I say! There’s no way we could chase after thousands with our numbers!” was Cedric’s own reply. His voice was a rough and loud one and always sounded as if it was angry. The guards he travelled with were also restless and constantly jeering loudly towards Remont; urging him to let their Lord through, but Remont remained adamant and still. Remont was always reserved and controlled, something his father taught him as the most fitting state of mind for a swordsman. The men he led, however, were a different story. Each stood behind him returning back the jeers to the men of Norste twice-fold.

Remont ran a hand through his golden blonde hair; his blue eyes filled with annoyance and worry. It seemed as if even he was close to his wit’s end, trying to keep Lord Cedric at bay and his own men from instigating the incident any further.

“If this keeps up, there very well could be a civil war right here”, Thyra sighed while looking down at the scene lazily. Mother had never been much good at governing a kingdom; the woman was much too timid and cowardly. Worst yet, she somehow believed that as a leader, she should have no need of heeding advice from her council, which defeated the very purpose of having them. So it was never any good when her father was away and some incident like this occurred. In the past, there was a case where she ransomed over three thousand tyles to stop an entertainer from entering the capital because his performance involved fire tricks. Her mother’s belief was that it would possibly set the capital aflame and cause more havoc than good. That had broken her younger sister's heart; Hera, since she loved seeing such tricks, but her mother would have none of it; that was the type of person she was.

“Stand aside, son of Saerus! I will see the queen about this! I will NOT return to my brother empty-handed!” came the loud demand of Lord Cedric again; followed by the jeers of his company. Thyra had had enough, so she closed the window and moved away. If bloodshed was what it would come to, she would rather not witness it first-hand.

“There’s nothing to do now” she sighed as she spun around to face her room; a modest circular space filled with the bare essentials for a room. A wardrobe, a bed, a dresser, and a single stool chair; but it was all elaborately done in pink and white, her favourite colours. She tossed herself face-first into her bed with a bounce; annoyed from hearing the argument that still carried on echo through her walls from the courtyard outside.

“It’s not like I could go down to the armoury now” she said, pushing a lock of her sun-touched hair out of her face. She released another sigh into her pillow as she smothered her face deeper into it. “Leave it to my mother to cause a public scene like this!” she screamed into the pillow.

“Thyrrraaaaa! Are you awwaaakkkeeeee?” came a familiar voice from behind her door, followed by a loud knocking.

She groaned into her pillow before lifting her head. “Go away, Tryton. I’m not in the mood today, okay!” she called out after reluctantly pulling herself away from her bed to face the door.

“No way! You promised that you’d spar with me today! If you don’t, I’ll lie and tell mother that you did and you know she’ll be wroth with you!” the voice shouted back.

Thyra groaned again. The boy may be young, but he definitely had some smarts to him. She was not in the mood to put up with her mother’s nagging at the moment; especially with everything else going on. Knowing her, the queen would be irritable from the incident in the courtyard at the moment; that meant anyone having a conversation right now would suffer quite a bit. Maybe Lord Montt should see Remont’s stubbornness in barring him from the meeting as a blessing.

“Can’t you get Remont to do it? He’s already in the courtyard, you know” she called back, sitting on her bed.

“But you’re better than uncle Remont! And Styr isn’t here either; you know he left with father, so don’t even bring him up!” responded her little brother’s voice. She had no way out this time, so she conceded.

“Fine, fine. I’ll meet you in front of the sentinel tree soon. I need to get dressed and get my sword” she said lazily. There was no reply this time, but the faint sounds of an excited gasp followed by running could be heard. Her younger brother, Tryton, was five years younger than her and admired her deeply. Her skill with the sword was second only to her elder brother, Styr, and because of that, Tryton often begged her to help him be better as well. He’d often say he was a man grown, even though he was a small and scrawny thing at only ten and one year years old. He had an innocence and proud sense of justice about him, so she often tried to help him whenever she could, but this day, she only wanted to go to the armoury.

It took her about half an hour, but she found her younger brother there, sitting impatiently on one of the stones surrounding the great sentinel tree. Even though it snowed nonstop in Verford, the tree never withered and always had brown leaves, which she thought was odd. Her grandmother, her father’s mother, often said it was because the Moon Goddess, Lacrymosa blessed the tree so that it would never wither; but Thyra was hardly religious, let alone superstitious. Nan only ever spoke of such tales and stories when she was alive anyway; it was her way of spending time with her grandchildren in her twilight years, she supposed. Or maybe it was all just the ramblings and delusions of a dying old woman? Either way, she would never know now.

“You’re late, Thyra! C’mon, let’s start!” cried her younger brother. His personal maid, Sasha, looked apologetically towards her.

“My apologies, Princess Thyra. The young prince is eager and lacks patience whenever swordplay is involved it seems. He thirsts for it these days” she said courteously.

“It’s fine. I know my brother well enough; impatient as he is”, Thyra said lazily with a wave of her hand. She looked at her brother, inspecting his choice of clothing. An ash brown tunic, a pair of thin leather gloves, a studded jerkin, and wool boots; he was dressed lightly despite the cold. That was good; the swordsmanship of the Trevalyns was different from others' elsewhere and made a deal of attention on speed and reflexes. Her younger brother was not a practitioner but if one intended to best the swordsmanship, they had very little choice other than to either have equal speed and reflexes, or enough strength or skill to overwhelm their opponent. As such, light clothing was the preferred to practice in; even if outside was cold or snowing. Their father had taught them that there should never be any short-cuts or excuses in fighting, not even for royalty. She herself was dressed in a white tunic with a pink bodice beneath, her riding breeches and boots, and a pair of fingerless leather gloves.

“It’s fine now, Sasha. You can leave us” her younger brother said with all the dignity and royalty a boy his age could muster. Sasha bowed her head deeply before both of them as she left while the young prince remained still with his chest proudly pushed out. He was imitating Styr, Thyra giggled to herself. Styr always had a dominant, stifling, and regal personality and presence about him, mainly because since he was eight, father always made his first born attend matters of politics with him. It was no secret either that Tryton always tried to emulate his older siblings, but it was always funny to watch.

When Sasha finally left, he took a sigh and noticeably relaxed. His dark brown eyes came alive as he drew his sword and pointed it towards her.

“Now let’s begin!” he shouted, brimming with joy. Such a boy, she thought to herself as she looked down at her younger brother. Always eager and impatient to fight, just like boys his age were ought to. She smiled and mused the young prince’s auburn hair, making it even more of a mess than it usually was.

“C’mon, stop! If you don’t stop I’ll strike you down where you stand!” he shouted as he struggled to push her hand out of his hair.

“Oh yeah? You think you can rival me now, is it?” she asked teasingly. To that, Tryton’s white skin flushed a cherry red as he swung his sword towards her with rage. Easily enough, however, Thyra stepped aside and dodged the blow, watching her brother stumble forward into the snow.

“Your footing. It’s horrendous. Too closely spaced. You need to give yourself balance, Tryton, less you’ll always be falling on your face” she said with a giggle. The young prince caught his balance mid-fall as she was speaking and swung around with another attack, swinging his sword viciously. This time, Thyra stepped forward, closing the distance between them and standing directly in front of him. With a sudden push into his chest, she knocked the boy down into the snow.

“Your balance is still a mess. You need to have a firm footing yet a fluid stance, otherwise, it doesn’t matter how savage the attack, you’ll easily be thrown off your feet” she said while looking down on him. Offering a hand, she helped him up to his feet again although he was sulking on his face.

Trying to catch her unaware, he took another savage slash at her; from above this time, but she simply turned her body to the side and dodged. A second cut came almost immediately; sideways this time, aimed at her breast. A nimble step back and she was out of harm’s way. The boy rushed at her shoulder first but that too Thyra dodged easily enough with another side-step. This time, she tripped him with her foot as he went face-first into the snow. A stifling giggle left her lips as her brother picked himself up and wiped the snow off of his face.

“Do it properly, Thyra! Stop cheating!” he bellowed at her in a rage from his embarrassment.

“I am doing it properly” was her retort, although it came with her smile and a giggle. He only scowled more at that, taking it as a slight.

“No, you’re not! You haven’t even drawn your sword! Renly says if an enemy doesn’t draw his steel in combat, it was an insult to you as a warrior! That it means they think of you as a joke!” he shouted. Tears were welling up in his eyes now and she began to feel guilty for her brother.

“Well, Renly has his beliefs and I have my own. And I was taught by Lord Yoren himself that a blade was sacred and should only be drawn when it’s to be used to either protect or kill” she said in a calm voice. “Is that what you would like for me to do, little brother? Would you like me to fight you with the intent to kill?” she finished, but her voice had grown cold with her last statement. Even her brother seemed somewhat taken aback.

“N-no... not truly. But your sword is second only to brother’s! And I can’t become better if you don’t teach me seriously” he said meekly.

She sighed. There was logic in what he said, but it was still folly in her eyes. In Turrok, there existed a sword unique only to it called a katana. It was a blade forged exclusively from the silver veins which flowed throughout the northlands with a slight curve to it that made it perfect for slashing. As a result of its material, the blade was extremely sharp, agile, and deadly, but a lot more fragile than traditional steel. As such, a unique swordsmanship which was founded by Navarre Yoren, a foreign swordsman from some distant and unknown land was created utilising the katana. That was more than three hundred years ago and since then, the swordsmanship was taught exclusively by the head of House Yoren to the royal family, their heir, and the personal guard of the Moonlit King called the Venysis which they would lead.

This swordsmanship was called the Moonless Night for they claimed it rendered flesh so easily, Lacrymosa would avoid looking upon it. And Thyra was quite adept at it. As a matter of fact, both Remont and his father, acknowledged her amazing skill with the swordsmanship and she gained great fame because of it. The royal family was not limited to just using the katana either and practised swordsmanship with the traditional weapons of war as well. Her elder brother was immensely skilled with the greatsword because of his enormous strength; and now, the younger one wished to become just like that. As such, the problem presented was that Tryton wished to learn his brother’s swordsmanship, from one whose swordsmanship was created solely to best those who used the traditional swordsmanship.

Admittedly, however, because of her Styr’s strength and knowledge of the Moonless Night, she had never managed to best him in combat. Not even once by some chance blow. And because the tradition of the royal family was to always make the heir to the throne be the best swordsman amongst the current ruler’s children, she believed her brother would be elected; although her father had yet to announce an heir to his kingdom. There were many rumours which circulated the capital as to why that was as well.

“Listen well, Tryton”, she said with a hand on the little prince’s shoulder. “I’ve told you this before. If you want to become as strong as Styr, then you have to get Styr to teach, not me. You know we both follow different styles of swordsmanship. Or maybe you can even ask Renly to teach you if you want” she finished.

Her brother’s face morphed into something between a sulk and a scowl as he looked down to his feet, kicking the snow.

“But you can beat Renly too! So if I can’t learn from Styr, I should learn from you! How else am I to be a strong knight that protects my brother when he becomes King!” he said with a pout. After a moment, he looked up and his dark brown eyes met with her golden brown ones and she saw they were still filled with water. She sighed again, beaten.

“Fine, fine. I’ll train you. But if I’m the one training you, then we’re doing it my way. No complaints” she said with finality. The boy’s face brightened up as he took a few spaces away from her and readied himself again. Thyra raised the scabbard of her katana with the blade still sheathed inside; it was the most she could do without using live steel against the little prince, even if he did.

Hours rolled by and endless snow fell as the two continued their sparring. The tracks left behind by them in the snow looked like the stumbling of a drunken man by now and in certain parts, hard earth could actually be seen from where one of them must’ve kicked up a lot of snow. The young prince’s exhaustion was noticeable but he refused to subside or take a break even when Thyra lied and said she needed one. Her brother was nothing if not determined, she told herself. It was the hour of the sun now; when it reached its peak before descending down again for the evening hours. The light reflected off of the snow and ice on the roof made it almost impossible to see, but even then, Tryton refused to take a break. Given the time, however, she suspected her brother would be hungry soon enough. And once he was, he would sooner eat than starve.

“I see you’re still as nimble as ever, Princess Thyra” said a voice. Both hers and her brother’s heads turned to find Remont leaning on a wall; watching.

“Uncle Remont!” yelled Tryton as he rushed towards the man. He wasn’t his uncle in truth, but the young prince spent five years at the Yoren’s castle once and became so familiar with the man, that he called him as such; at least, in private. The boy who was only just a moment ago, refusing to take a break, now tossed his sword aside and ran towards Remont with huge leaping steps in the snow. So much for being a man grown, she told herself with a giggle while watching the scene.

Remont stumbled backward the moment the young prince pinned himself to his waist. “Good to see you as well, young Prince Tryton” he said while musing the boy’s hair.

Without complaint, the boy looked up earnestly towards Remont. “Did you finally chase away that rude lord now?” he asked eagerly.

“Now now, Prince Tryton. Lord Cedric has his reasons I assure you but yes he’s gone for the moment at least” As he spoke, his words were directed towards the young prince but his eyes had always been set on Thyra; they always have been. For years now, she noticed how he would look at her; she noticed how most would look at her. She had a modest figure but everyone loved to tell her how beautiful her hair and eyes were, and Lord Remont was no exception. She knew everyone who said those words weren’t attracted to her, but any man with eyes like those clearly was; she was not blind to that. Her adopted sister and close friend, Sona, often fantasized about the man. As a matter of fact, most girls within the capital dreamed about Remont; that was no secret. Of how he was the perfect image of a knight with his beautiful and kept gold hair and deep blue eyes; of how he was even a renown swordsman and heir to the Moonless Night swordsmanship of his household. Her mother often tried to persuade her that the two of them would make a perfect match, but she did not have eyes for him, no matter what others may say; especially her mother. She had nothing against the man, and she even considered him a friend to the family and great teacher, but her heart was simply already promised to another.

“Lord Remont. How nice to see you. The morning’s argument between you and Lord Cedric would escalate to something more, I feared” she said courteously as she approached him.

A light smile traced his lips. “I assure you, my princess. I would not have let it come to that. It is my duty to ensure you’re all safe in my father’s steed, after all” he said coolly. Her only response to that was a nod of her head and a quick smile.

“Come, Tryton. Mother is no doubt going to be looking for us for lunch soon enough. It’s best we go before she makes the guards search all nine towers of the castle for us” she said to her brother. “First, get your sword. You should know better than to treat it as such. Even Styr would tell you as much. The sword is the trade of a warrior and should be well kept” she finished.

The young prince nodded and ran to retrieve his steel. “Shall we go on ahead, my princess?” asked the young lord with an opened arm. Looking at him then, she supposed she could see why everyone made such a fuss over him. He was certainly comely enough, and he even dressed the part; being completely covered in a supple leather cloak of black with gold trimming, the colours of his house. Embroidered on his chest was the crossed gold and black katanas of the Yorens. Even his leather boots were of black with gold trimming to the top of them. Nevertheless, no matter how handsomely he may be dressed, she did not want to take his arm. It would only spread further whispers that the two were an item and may even give the man the wrong impression; even if he was eight years her senior. The commoners already believed the two were a match made by the white goddess because of how similar their hair was in appearance. In truth, it was only a coincidence because Thyra was gifted with Nan’s hair; she was the only child with that colour hair in fact. She wasn’t sure about Remont’s heritage but she knew for a fact that there were no records of the Yorens ever once marrying a member of the royal family. More importantly, she didn’t want Milan to assume the wrong thing either if he should chance upon them or any rumours. Castles were always filled with whispering.

“My princess? Is something the matter?” he asked, with his arm still there. Thyra forced a sympathetic smile and remembered her manners. She may not like it, but it could still be considered rude to refuse him. At least, her mother had taught her as much.

“Apologies, my lord. I was lost in thought but for a moment” she said while taking his arm.

As the two walked, Remont spoke of many things but Thyra hardly paid attention to anything that was said. As expected, many people saw the two walking together and it made her all the more uncomfortable; seeing their gazes. Relief only came to her when she reached her quarters, long after they had dropped the young prince at the stairwell of the Tower of Laughter. The boy had been sure to catch up with them shortly after fetching his sword and Thyra was thankful for his company, but she found it a very fleeting reprieve the moment they reached the tower. The tower was where his bedroom was located, along with the young princess’, Hera’s bedroom; which was on the far side of the castle. So, she had to walk alone with Remont while pretending to be interested in his conversation, all the way to her own tower, the Tower of Swords; where Styr’s and her own bedrooms resided. But finally, after the long walk through the castle, she was there and he had decided to part ways at the base of the tower, to deal with his own matters. By then, however, it was too late; the damage was already done. Many faces saw the two together while walking through the castle; the guards stationed at the bottom of her tower and the countless maids and servants they passed would certainly spread their whispers everywhere by nightfall. She only hoped that she could reach the armoury and explain herself to Milan before any reached him; but first, she would have to get through lunch. The thought alone was painful.

After a quick change of clothes, she found herself in favour of a white and red dress her mother made for her, with ribbons tied along its bodice. Thankfully, she didn’t need to take a bath as she hadn’t worked up much of a sweat from the swordplay like her brother would’ve. With some help from her own bed servant, she managed to get into the dress quickly enough and got her sun-touched, blonde hair brushed out thoroughly. Soon enough, she would be fully dressed and readied to greet her family at lunch and would hopefully not be too late. When there was a sudden knock at her door she almost jumped out of her chair and for half a heartbeat, she feared her mother had sent for her. If the queen did indeed send for her, it only meant that her mother would be in a miserable and annoyed mood because her children were tardy for lunch.

“Are you still not ready yet, Thyra! Why must you girls always take so long to dress!” shouted her little brother. No doubt, the boy ran through the castle to meet her back at her own tower instead of going to the great hall himself. All the same, a sigh of relief left her; thankful that it was her brother and not a servant sent by her mother.

“In a moment, Tryton” she called out as she hurried up with putting on her cream and red-trimmed shoes while Lysa, her bed servant, finished brushing her hair. Finally, with the placement of a pearl white cotton shawl, which showed the crossed silver katanas of the Trevalyn family in its centre, onto her shoulders she was ready.

Soon enough, she exited her room to find her young brother dressed in a tunic of grey and cream, while wearing a leather cloak of a darker shade of grey with katanas designed throughout it. He kept on his leggings and boots, however.

“So that’s why you were finished so quickly” she said to her brother incredulously. Surely, the leggings would have to be soaked with sweat from the practice; the same thing with his boots. There was no way Sasha helped him dressed; less he would’ve never left his room like this.

The boy only smiled brightly up to her, “Well, you look lovely enough, sister but it is only lunch. Come now! Before mother skins us alive for being late” he urged her, while grabbing her by the arm. She imagined mother would skin him alive nonetheless if she smelled anything funny on him.

With some haste, the two hurried to the great hall, located in the south west corner of the massive castle. Furthermore, since the two had to once again return outside to reach it, they would need to be quick as the snow was now falling harder than before. Many servants and soldiers saw them in passing, giving them greetings and attempting conversation; but Thyra hurriedly gave them apologetic smiles and words all the while being tirelessly dragged along by Tryton. It was hard to believe the boy was still so energetic despite the hours the two just spent practising the sword.

After some time, they finally reached their destination; the great hall, while cleaning themselves of the fallen snow. The guard outside gave his greetings and opened the immense doors for the two to enter, only following them in afterwards. Inside, another guard stood sentry and greeted them both; but the two of them remained by the door as Thyra and her brother continued in. The great hall itself was an immense room capable of holding hundreds, maybe even thousands inside of it. Benches and tables made of pine-and-oak-lined the hall making a sea of them forming rows from wall to wall. All of the walls held pictures of previous kings and notable warriors. There were also many statues built in the likeness of these kings and warriors which decorated the hall; along with their weapons of choice. The walls themselves were as white as the snow outside, while the floor was a darker shade; but the room was empty save for the high dais. There, she saw her mother, younger sister, Renly, and Sona already seated. Truthfully, Renly and Sona were not of her family’s blood but were adopted into the household at the behest of her mother when she was very young. As a result, although she was not exactly sure of the details surrounding their adoption, she grew up with them as a part of the family nonetheless. The two shared their own blood, being true siblings between themselves and shared many comparisons in their looks. Renly was a tall and muscular man of twenty and four years with black eyes and hair, while his sister, Sona, was ten and six years old, smaller than her brother but shared the same eyes and hair. Most likely because the two were of the same age and grew up together, they formed a close relationship to the point that she considered Sona to be her actual blood and often called her sister in private. Her actual sister by blood, Hera, was the youngest in the family, being only six years old; but by no means the nicest. She had a proud and vile attitude despite being only such a small child. For some reason as well, she also loved her dark brown hair of curls and dark brown eyes, often comparing them to Thyra’s own and stating how brown was a better colour than gold. She even went as far as making sure all of her dollies and toys had only brown hair, not blonde. Jealousy was Thyra’s belief for that but she hoped the child would grow out of it in time.

The family were all quietly waiting, dressed in all assortments of red, white, grey, and green; and elegantly so at that. She was glad she had taken the time to dress appropriately or take the full brunt of her mother’s complaints and nagging. She was concerned that her brother may not fare so well, however.

Father’s seat remained empty, as did Styr’s which was located to the right of father’s. It was usually only because of the presence of either one of them being there that lunchtime would be easier for her to manage, but since their departure, with neither there to keep her mother in check, she only feared the worst.

“Good day, mother” they said simultaneously with courtesy before taking their seats. Her mother was a gaunt and hard woman; traces of white showed in her brown auburn hair and her brown eyes always looked weary of late. Styr often told her of how their mother was very beautiful and kind in her youth, but not being an original resident of Turrok and hailing from the warmer lands of Sireen saw to that over the years. She wished she could believe it like he did, but all her life, this was the version of their mother she had known – an easily irritable woman who was strict and over protective with everything, no matter how small.

“About time you both showed up”, she said in a fast and sharp tone. “I was beginning to wonder if you both had forgotten your manners and lunch. What, did you forget you had to eat to stay alive? Is that it?”

“We were practising at swordplay, mother!” said the little prince. Thyra struggled not to shout at her brother and took a long sigh internally. Their mother forbade them from such things; much less to do them with actual steel, because someone could be hurt. But, their father allowed it once they each reached the age of ten; believing that all members of his household should know how to wield a sword; as was the tradition of their bloodline. Her mother refused to take up the sword herself, no matter how much their father asked and begged her to. Conversely, no matter how much the queen refused the king to teach his children swordplay, he saw to it that each of them started the practice at the age, regardless of gender. In the first year, he instructed each of them to use a practice sword, but after that, they would only use blunted weapons. By the third year, it would be live weapons and they were to always walk with a sword on their person. Even Renly and Sona were made to practice the sword once they were adopted into the household. Hera would be next in four years time, and she could already imagine the huge argument the two would have over that. The one which ensued a few days before Tryton’s birthday lasted for months, even after he had already begun practising. Even when her own time had come, she remembered her mother not speaking to her father for close to a year after she picked up the sword.

And now, her young brother was about to stir the rage that lay just beneath the surface. The anger that would be slowly bidding its time because of all of her children practising things which she thought was unbecoming of royalty. Oh sweet innocent brother, how you have ruined us.

“You did WHAT!” she shouted; her hand slamming down onto the table as Thyra took her seat. Everyone at the table flinched and instantly the air became thick and tense. The queen’s eyes bore deeply into Thyra’s face while the latter did her best not to meet them.

“This was YOUR doing, wasn’t it, Thyra!” she yelled. “You KNOW how I feel about you children having weapons! I EXPRESSLY forbade you to use those damn things!”

“But father said it was fine for us to –” began Tryton, but the queen’s rage refused him the chance to finish.

“I do not care WHAT your father said! I am your mother, and you are my children! And you will damn well do as I say; like good children should!” she shouted at Tryton. The boy looked down towards his feet with tears beginning to fill his eyes.

“Oh no, not you now too! You wish to make me, your mother, seem like the enemy here, Tryton! If you DARE cry in front of me, I will give you a REASON to do so, you hear me! You are a prince and my child! You will NOT cry at this table! It is not regal or at all prince-like!” she continued. But the poor boy only began to sob loudly now, trying to hide his tears. Thyra wanted nothing more than to reach out and help him, but she would only incur their mother’s wrath as well.

Before she could anyway, the boy leaped down from the table and ran away crying, leaving the empty hall in a sobbing mess.

“Go on! Go! You smelled of sweat anyway, and that attire is lacking! Do not return here until you have seen to those things, less you eat your lunch in your room for all I care!” her mother shouted behind him. The guards opened the doors for the young prince as he ran through them.

“Please see that he safely gets to his room”, Thyra called out to them. Without a word, one of the guards nodded and followed behind the boy into the snow; to that, she gave a wordless thank you as she turned to face her mother. Alright then. My turn next is it?

“And you, young lady! You are a PRINCESS! You are no boy to be playing at swords! I don’t care HOW talented you are with that oversized butter knife! Those are not toys that a lady should play with; much less royalty! The next time...”

Her mother’s voice carried on with the lecture for so long, that Thyra eventually stopped paying attention. Her sister, Hera, sat there with a snide grin on her face as she ate her soup, however. The little wretch was always happy any time she could watch Thyra be scolded from their mother; it was probably the best type of entertainment for her. Sona, on the other hand, looked worried and concerned, but her brother’s face remained indifferent. As always, he was unnerving like that; how his face seemed void of all emotions.

By the time her mother had finished her scolding, most of the food had already begun to go cold, but she didn’t mind much. Besides, she was hungry enough as it was and to send for a servant to reheat the food and bring it back, would only make her wait longer. More than anything, she just wanted to survive this lunch and get to the armoury. She had already spent far too much time just listening to her mother’s lecture.

It was a quiet lunch thanks to the earlier incident. Everyone ate in silence with little to no conversation inside of the massive hall. Despite they were all physically close together, everyone seemed to be mentally far away and it actually felt pretty lonely.

“I’ve finished my meal. May I be excused, mother?” Thyra asked as she placed her fork down onto an empty plate before. Her mother looked at her sternly for a moment and then nodded her head in agreement. She decided it would be best to go as quickly as she could before her mother changed her mind or found something to complain about, but she knew if she hurried it would only draw unwanted attention which would be just as bad.

It took a great deal of will power for her to remain composed as she left that table; for her to not simply lift her dress and break into a run for the door. After all, she would finally be able to visit the armoury; she would finally be able to visit Milan! She was so close now, merely a step away from the door; it was as if freedom was right on her -

“Oh, and Thyra?” came the sharp tongue of her mother. She felt a shudder with those words; those simple three words.

“Yes mother?” she replied slowly, as she turned to face her on the opposite side of the hall. She hoped it did not show on her face, but on the inside, she was dreading the next words from her mother.

“You’re not allowed to wield that sword any more. Nor any from the armoury. Do I make myself clear?” Her mother’s words might have seemed calm to everyone else, but not to her or Sona, who had looked back over her shoulder to her with a face full of sorrow. Those words meant she wasn’t allowed to go to the armoury. Those words were a threat.

“Yes mother”, were the only words she could manage as a response although she struggled with them, fighting to get them out of her mouth while sounding as nicely as she possibly could. She was not even aware her hand was a fist and shaking with anger at the time.

“Good. That is all” the queen said with finality and immediately resumed picking at her food as if the brief exchange had not even occurred. Thyra bowed and exited through the door which the guard held open. As soon as that door closed, she cursed her mother right there and then. No one knew about her and Milan; no one save for Sona. And her mother. It had happened by accident, truthfully. She and Milan were always careful to meet in private, but it only took that one time... that one single time... she had been practising her swordsmanship that day and got knocked unconscious during a sparring fight against Styr. She had been asleep for days and Milan had gotten worried; too worried. So one night, he sneaked into her room to see her. As luck would have it, she had finally waked up on the fourth night of her injury, that very same night; and the two spent that night together, their first night.

The following morning, her mother had come to check on her as she did every morning apparently. But how was she supposed to know that? She had been unconscious the entire time. There, she found the two in each other’s arms and asleep; and it was there, that she had completely lost it. That was the first time her mother had ever struck her, Thyra recalled. Since then, there has always been tension between the two. The queen had also threatened to tell her father numerous times and to have the boy executed for defiling her. She begged for what felt like months before her mother finally decided to let the boy live and to not tell her father. However, their agreement was that she must never see him again or else her father would know of everything.

At first, she meekly obeyed her mother and tried her hardest to stay from him. But after just half a month, he came to her again. When she explained everything, he only laughed and said, “My sweet, Thyra. If it is my life your mother or father will take, then let them. I would die now and a thousand times again before I gave you up. Remember that.”

Since then, she could not resist him any longer; especially now after their first night together. He had released a beast in her that craved him in all ways possible and she went crazy - both mind and body - without him; him and only him. So, they decided to be more careful and every ten days, the two would meet in secret.

But now, it seemed as if her mother had somehow known of those meetings. Was that what her earlier statement meant? Or was it just a reminder from two years ago? She couldn’t figure it out. But what did it matter? There’s been a heat in her chest since the morning; a craving that needed to be fed. She’d just be careful is all; she had been doing it for two years and hasn’t been caught yet, she’d be fine now. They were just words; that’s all.

With her mind made up, Thyra set off for the armory without even bothering to change her clothes. The distance wasn’t too far from the great hall; she’d be there within a short enough time, but she could hardly wait. Still, she knew that she had to restrain herself; that rushing and being reckless here and now would only cost her.

It took her a while, but she eventually reached the armoury. She even purposely loitered around the courtyard, library, and grove to throw off any suspicion. She had even went as far as going to her younger brother’s room to check up on him but quickly left it after finding out from Sasha that he had cried himself to sleep. Now, she was at the armoury; or rather, behind it. The guards stationed at the entrance would easily recognize her; so instead, she went to the back of the building. Like always, she made the call of a bird cooing three times and waited. After a moment, she heard the response of a bird cooing five times; he was there.

She hurried then to the Broken Street; a mostly deserted street in the north-eastern corner of the castle. The street was unattended for years and fell victim to numerous wild flowers growing in the area which thrived despite the cold and the snow. It made the street very beautiful by day, but because there were many tales of ghosts haunting the street and odd lights within the abandoned buildings, not many came to it and it was always empty as a result. As luck would have it as well, there was a building in ruin and slightly collapsed where the snow lilies grew in abundance. This made for an entrance into an otherwise sealed area; the perfect place for her to be alone with Milan.

Cautiously stepping inside, she found the lantern and fur cloaks they left in the place. She often liked to jest that it was their lantern the common-folk probably saw within the building and their fault for why the street was considered haunted. They often claimed to have heard groans and moans from the street after dark too. The thought made her giggle with delight, drunk on Milan and the time the two would soon spend together.

Taking a seat on the fur rugs, she sat there patiently and waited with her feet folded beneath her. Soon enough, however, her patience ran out and she became extremely eager. The thought of having to sneak around was annoying to her, but at the same time, she had to admit that she loved the thrill that came with it. Her heart was racing and she could hardly wait any longer! Firstly, she would need to explain about Remont, and then -

“Now why would you be here, my princess?” came the voice of Remont Yoren; staring down at her with a raised eyebrow. Spinning her head to see him atop the rubble that made the entrance, she saw him and her breath stopped. Her mind began to race, trying to find some suitable excuse as to why a princess would be seated inside of an abandoned and collapsing tower.

“I was...”, she began to say, but then her heart sank even further. Behind Remont she saw her sister standing there with that nasty smile of hers stretching from ear to ear.

“Yes, dear sister. What are you doing here?”