A tempest raged outside, mirroring the turmoil within Gunther. Snow fell in heavy, swirling flakes, blanketing the world in a pristine white, reflecting his inner confusion. Logs crackled merrily in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Steam rose from his teacup, curling upwards like wisps of smoke from a distant campfire. Gunther watched as his servants deftly packed his belongings into a fine leather bag. The luxurious silks and delicate linens he was accustomed to would soon be replaced by the rough garb of a traveler. He took a slow sip of his tea, feeling the warmth spread through his body but not his soul. This was his last day in his ancestral home, his final taste of a familiar life. He knew that beyond the castle walls awaited the unknown, fraught with danger and trials. But for now, sitting in his cozy study, he wanted to delay the inevitable and savor the peace and quiet.
The week had flown by in a whirlwind, leaving behind a bitter taste of farewell and a poignant nostalgia. Two vivid episodes were etched into Gunther's memory, as if engraved in stone. The farewell to the «little princess» was like plucking a petal from a delicate flower. The verbal duel with the King, his close friend, left a scar on his soul, a bitter taste of unspoken words.
-How can you do such a thing to your daughter?! She's still a child, too young to even consider marriage!
Gunther exclaimed, his voice trembling with indignation. Hugo looked at his friend with a bitter expression.
-Helga and I were betrothed at ten.
Gunther retorted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
-It's the custom in our family.
He added, as if defending his actions.
-Your childhood and upbringing were different!
Hugo countered.
-At ten, you were already wielding a sword, and Queen Helga was ruling a county. Your daughter is not ready for such responsibility!
Hugo clenched his fists. Desperation flickered in his eyes.
-Do you think I take pleasure in this?
He roared.
-If she stays here, her fate will be worse! She is my daughter, my flesh and blood! I cannot allow anything to happen to her!
Hugo turned away.
-I'm doing everything within my power.
He muttered.
-I cannot protect her here.
For the first time, Gunther saw fear and helplessness in his friend's eyes. He realized that beneath the cold, calculating exterior, there was a loving father, willing to do anything for his daughter.
-your decisions are far too impulsive, there's another solution to this problem,» the doctor stated, his face grim.
-Mr. Grey…
The maid's words echoed in Gunther's mind. He flinched, as if struck.
-What?
He murmured, his eyes fluttering shut.
-Mr. Grey…
The maid repeated.
«That's right… Now my name is Velmond Grey.»
The king had successfully executed his plan, disappearing into the fog of a new identity. He was preparing for a long journey, but the shadow of his past would not leave him.
-Mr. Gr…
The maid's timid voice interrupted his thoughts.
-What!
He barked, shaking off the haunting thoughts. The maid flinched and, stumbling over her words, continued.
-y… your carriage is ready… M… Mr…
Guntur stared intently into the cup of cooling tea, as if trying to see a reflection of his soul in its depths. The unfinished drink had become a kind of symbol for him, a symbol of an unfinished story, a promise of return. «I'll still have time to finish this tea,» he muttered, as if making a vow to himself.
Rising slowly, he left the cozy but alien house. Glancing one last time at the majestic castle of Norzhold, as if saying goodbye to his past, Guntar turned his gaze to the humble dwelling that served as his reliable refuge. Despite its unassuming appearance, this little house held a special meaning for him. Here, away from prying eyes, he could be himself, forget about the burdens of the outside world.
This place, unburdened by memories, was an oasis of calm for him. Here he was not attached to anything except his own thoughts. And that is why, despite infrequent visits, Guntar loved this little house.
Guntur raised his eyes once more to the castle, but where its grand turrets had stood, now only a swirling, gray veil of snow obscured his view. It was as if nature itself was reluctant to let him tear his gaze away from those ancient stones. Driven by the biting cold and the fury of the blizzard, he dashed toward the carriage. The wind, like a whip, lashed at his face, urging him on. Snowflakes, meeting the warmth of his skin, dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind damp trails. The carriage door swung open, inviting him into its warm embrace as it carried him away from the tempest.
***
A young girl, with a child's heart still beating in her chest but the weight of the world already on her shoulders, trudged through the snow, a bundle of firewood cradled in her arms. Her simple gray tunic and worn sheepskin offered little protection against the bitter cold. Yet, her face was alight with a radiant smile, warming her surroundings like a beacon. Her fiery red hair, escaping from beneath the warm fur, seemed to dance with the wind. Her eyes, the color of a clear blue sky, stood in stark contrast to the desolate winter landscape.
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From the raging blizzard, she stepped into a cozy den. The old hut, with its crooked walls and low ceiling, now seemed to her a true treasure. The warmth of the hearth caressed her chilled body, and the crackling of the logs lulled her like a lullaby.
The girl stood frozen in the doorway, captivated by the enchanting winter scene. But the sudden, harsh voice of her mother, cold as the night wind, pulled her from her reverie.
-Why did you take so long, Lid?
Startled, the girl shook off the snow and entered the hut. Her mother, seated at the table preparing dinner, gave her a disapproving look. Lid, ignoring the coldness in her mother's tone, smiled.
-Forgive me, Mother, the blizzard covered the path.
Her mother did not reply, returning to her task. Her rounded belly testified to the soon arrival of her third child.
-What if the fire had gone out? Could you have relit it?” she asked without looking up.
Lid lowered her head. She knew her mother was always demanding, but today her voice sounded especially stern.
-I’m sorry, Mother.
The door creaked open, admitting a blast of frigid air and the silhouette of the family patriarch. Cloaked in a thick fur, he appeared a veritable bear of a man, lord of the wilderness. A sack slung over his broad shoulders bulged with the bounty of his hunt. In his wake, a boy of twelve, radiant with delight, slipped into the room. Lid greeted her father with a smile, but his response was cold. A distant look swept over her, before settling on his pregnant wife.
-Lid, help your mother.
He commanded, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. Lid nodded to her father and, her gaze fixed on his frigid form, moved towards her mother. Her eyes, filled with warmth, met her mother's cold ones. A smile broke across her face, illuminating the dim hut like a tiny candle in the night.
-What's for supper, Mother?
She asked softly.
***
The carriage, a wild beast, tore through the blizzard. A month-long journey – an age in this endless white. Günther, his gaze fixed on the clock, replayed the king's words in his mind, their ominous tone echoing in his soul.
-What else can we do?
King Hugo whispered, his voice filled with dread.
-Lizanna is destined to marry the prince of Molt. Any connection to Norzhold will be severed.
-But even in Molt, her life will be in danger, Your Majesty.
Warned Gunther.
-if the kingdom decides to collaborate with the usurpers, Lizanna could become a casualty of their alliance.
-Molt won't risk losing such a valuable asset as the rightful heir to the Norzhold throne.
The king retorted.
-she will be given a decent life.
-how can you be so sure?
Gunther persisted.
-how do we know she will reach Molt safely?
The king fixed his gaze on Gunther, his expression unreadable.
-Hugo, wait for my message. You'll see…
Gunther uttered, his voice laced with intrigue. The king returned his gaze, his eyes piercing. A flicker of surprise crossed Hugo's face, but he quickly averted his gaze. Gunther seemed oblivious.
-I propose we send her to the northern castle under the protection of Queen Helga's nephew…
Drowned in contemplation, Gunther jolted as the clock struck the appointed hour.
-Well, welcome, gentlemen.
He murmured.
«Today, Velmond Grey dies,»
He thought, a grim satisfaction in his voice. Dark visions consumed him. He saw the princess, her face etched with sorrow, her tears falling like rain. His heart clenched. He couldn't undo what was done, couldn't return to little Liz, his surrogate daughter.
-forgive me, little Liz…
He whispered, his voice filled with regret. Amidst the swirling blizzard, figures emerged from the whiteout, their shapes growing larger and more menacing with every passing moment. Their hunger for blood was as palpable as the biting wind. Gunther, his eyes fixed on the window, was a statue of anticipation. His soul, like a frozen lake, was cracked and shattered.
***
Lid was captivated by the mesmerizing dance of the flames. For the common folk, it was a simple pleasure, but on this night, it was her only comfort. Her father snored loudly, sprawled across the table. Her little brother slept peacefully in his bed, while her mother, bent over her needlework, was crafting tiny garments for the child she carried. Lid's heart swelled with a tender longing as she watched. She yearned to help, but her mother, burdened by endless chores, would not allow her. “Your father hunts, your brother is young, and you must help me,” she’d say, oblivious to the yearning in Lid’s eyes. Now, when her mother asked her to fetch some firewood, Lid sighed and complied. The biting wind outside and the chore ahead did not excite her, but the hope of earning her mother’s approval gave her the strength to rise. Clad in a thick sheepskin, Lid ventured out into the tempest, armed with a pitchfork and a flickering candle. The storm raged, a howling beast, as it whipped snow into a frenzied dance. She stepped cautiously onto the frost-covered ground, the crunch of snow beneath her boots echoing in the stillness. Seeking refuge, she hurried to the woodpile, but even there, the cold was biting. And then, the candlelight revealed a horrifying sight: bloodstains marred the snow. Her heart pounded in her chest. In the darkness, she heard a scratching sound. –
Oh, goddess of hearth and hunt, protect me…
She whispered, her voice trembling. The darkness was palpable, a living thing that seemed to press in on her from all sides. The candle flickered, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Every creak and groan of the old woodpile sent a shiver down her spine. She followed the trail of blood, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to convince herself that it was just a small animal, but a deep-seated fear gnawed at her. It was not the animal she feared, but the unknown, the darkness that seemed to conceal something sinister. With each step, the fear grew, but she pressed on. She froze, her ears straining. The sound came again, closer. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She clutched the candle tightly, her only source of light and comfort. As she reached the far corner, the candlelight revealed something that made her blood curdle…
The candlelight revealed a horrifying sight. The rats, like prisoners in a living cocoon, were tightly bound together by their tails. Their eyes, filled with panic and despair, darted around in search of an escape. Their desperate squeaks pierced the darkness, creating a cacophony of suffering. One of them, apparently having bitten off its tail to free itself, had remained behind to watch its brethren suffer. Its gaze was filled with a strange, almost gleeful satisfaction, as if it was taking pleasure in their misfortune. The Rat King was the living embodiment of grim legends. Its appearance evoked awe and horror, for it was believed to bring misfortune. It was like a curse hanging over the settlement, a dark omen foreshadowing disaster.
***
The carriage shuddered to a stop, as if the sudden silence was the harbinger of doom. Outside, a furious clash erupted, but Gunther remained unperturbed. He knew this was the end. The two knights, once his protectors, now seemed pathetic puppets. Remembering his former glory, he felt betrayed by fate. Suddenly, the noise ceased. A silhouette reflected in the window, approaching with the unhurried certainty of a predator. The door opened, and a face emerged, one devoid of sympathy.
***
In the grand hall, shrouded in twilight, the pillars of the kingdom gathered. Seated at a round table, encrusted with precious gems, was the king, his face, usually radiating authority, now impassive. Beside him sat the queen, her eyes glittering with a cold gleam, the general with a stern gaze, the treasurer absorbed in his notes, the wise councilor, the archbishop with a piercing gaze, and many others. The empty seat at the table was striking, like a gaping wound. A servant approached the king, his voice barely breaking the silence. "Velmond Grey is dead," he whispered, leaning over the monarch. The king, without blinking, looked at the archbishop, then slowly turned his gaze to the empty chair. A heavy silence fell over the hall, like a premonition of change to come.