ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

He had woken before the sun, earlier than he had ever done in this world prior to this day. Granted, he had had himself tucked in bed earlier the night past as well, and so it was only innate that he awoke as quickly as he had slept, but he wondered if it was that or if it was the annoying crows of the roosters, that somehow found a way to announce the dawn of morning to him, all the way from their coops which were ways away from his quarters? For sure it was those roosters. It was their tasteless and repetitive songs that filled his ears when his eyes opened to the sunless light of day. They were almost as effective as the alarm clocks in his past life though, he could not fault that fact.

A warm bath perfumed with his favourite lavender oil had washed him well, chasing the chill of morning away from his body and filling it instead with its snugness, and now he was standing before his window fastening the buckles of the chequered gold surcoat he wore over leather, while staring out at the thick foggy carpet of dew which spread over the deep blue sea that kept crashing and banging on the castle walls, begging the mortared stone castle to allow them past and free to spread their salty sea-air through the realm. It wavered not though, this castle at the edge of the world, there was no passage for the sea here.

Sometimes gentle the sea crashed, and sometimes harsh, none of those times did Zephyr care, his mind had wandered equally as his eyes had done, both of them seeking what was at the far end of the sea. It was spread out afar, the blue, great and vast. Is that the end of this world or is there a world beyond this sea? It’s been almost two weeks and I’ve still seen no ships sail here, or are there no ships…?

A knock came on his door and took him out of his thoughts as he fastened his last buckle. “Come in,” he answered.

“Morning, M’grace,” Ser Aaron entered and greeted with a bow. Zephyr closed the shutters of his window and turned to the gilded knight, peeling his gaze away from the glistening blue of the sea and feeding it to the arctic-blue of the eyes of the square-faced man instead, who held close to his side his helmet. One of the things Zephyr never grew tired of seeing in this world was the raven that soared over the gold fields of the breastplate of the Kingsknights, it always was a beautiful sight for him to behold, and a soothing sight that told him he was protected and well guarded. And another one was to join them today, he thought, another Kingsknight, only depending on who wins the tourney and becomes knighted, he might feel less safe than he felt now. Maurin Lockeheart… The name resounded in his head.

“A good one is it?” Zephyr asked with a phoney smile, his hands now gone to fold behind his back.

“If M’grace says it is, then it is.” Ser Aaron’s hair was dampened. Wet, black and shiny as though he had just popped out from a bath. The gilded armour he donned now tinted a little brighter in warm yellowish gold; the sun had begun to rise, Zephyr could tell without looking back at the window to confirm. “Lady Eira sits in the Small Hall already, M’grace.”

“Alone?”

“Alone,” the knight affirmed. Zephyr had sent the young man to the lady of Blackwood to make his intentions of having a word known to her, and the fact that she was already seated in the Small Hall was undeniably an underrated feat. For someone with her features, having herself ready and dressed for the day in such a short time span was something no one should overlook, but he was sure people did, a lot maybe.

“And?” Zephyr raised his eyebrows in awaitance of the word of something from his Kingsknight, something the knight might have forgotten to say.

And it was something he did forget to say. Ser Aaron snapped back immediately. “Oh. Pardon me, M’grace. He says it shall be ready a ways before dusk.”

Zephyr nodded contentedly. “See to it. Remain with the man in his smithy until he is done.”

“Understood, M’grace.” Ser Aaron bowed.

Zephyr strode past his Kingsknight who stood with a lowered head, his leather high-heeled boots that reached up all the way to his knees, doing a great deal of light clacking as he walked a kingly walk. He had grown accustomed to them now, the high-heels, he walked better in them than he had done when he first transmigrated into one. Such hard things to steer, those heels, but he steered them well enough at present. Experience is the best teacher, they say, and indeed it was. “Before you go to the smithy, head to Audrey’s chambers and make sure she has nothing to want.”

“Understood, M’grace.” Ser Aaron turned around sharply, his silver cloak of damask swirling as he hurried to the door and pulled it open for his king, allowing them both to make their way out—Zephyr first, his knight following shortly after.

“Your Grace,” the black cloak manning the door of the Small Hall greeted as soon as he saw the king, and with a slight gesture from Zephyr the guard flung open the pair of small brown oak doors to allow the king passage. He had come alone, his Kingsknight off to accomplish the task he had given him.

Zephyr was in, in the Small Hall, and he was disappointed, so much that he sighed while he shook his head. The lady of Blackwood sat before a trestle table to the left of the hall, alone as Ser Aaron had said, and dressed, but not ready as he had thought. She was still in her nightgown, a white one with a pink overrobe. He expected too much, he saw now, how could he have ever thought she would be ready in such a short amount of time. It was impossible. Completely.

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Zephyr chased the disappointment from his face away and echoed his greetings to her the same way he had done the first time they had met, “Lady Eira,” he hooted. “A lovely morning it is,” he said as he arrived at the table she sat before. She was peeling the shell off a brown egg now, and this was not the first one, that enough he noticed from the broken egg shells that lay all over the platter it had been served with, it was not the last one she would peel either as two more still remained on there. She had eaten her morning fill already as well, he could see that. There were two empty trenchers before her, both with signs of thickened spices of honey and nutmegs and traces of cheese. She loved food, a lot, he deduced that much.

Lady Eira had finished peeling the shells off her egg now. “Is it?” She asked before dipping it whole into her narrow mouth-cave.

Zephyr took his seat across from her. “I do not see your daughter?” He asked, as if he had not known she was alone, while looking around as though he searched for something in the small but great space of the Small Hall.

The lady munched and swallowed before talking. Proper etiquette she had. “My daughter needs not dine when I dine, but you knew that already as you were the one who called me out, so speak, king, what have you called me for so early at dawn?” She picked up another egg and cracked its shell by hitting it atop the edge of the table, before she set to peeling it off again. Her eyes found Zephyr looking at her peel. “You are the king and this is your castle, you can request for your own eggs if you crave them.”

Zephyr chuckled. “Might I would, but I am not hungry for eggs now.” He picked up the ewer before her and took a silver cup in hand, filling it with wine. Sweet wine, it was, the smell of grape and strawberry filled his nose as he dropped the ewer. Each wine had a distinct scent in this world, and he was slowly getting familiar with each, the ones he had come across, and maybe sooner than later, he might find himself an expert in wine with the way things were going. He took a sip. “I want our houses to remain aligned,” he told the lady.

She remained silent until she picked off the last shell that remained on the egg, then she spoke, “Up to you, Your Grace.” It went in her mouth now, and her nimble chew followed.

“Then I have an idea in mind, something I believe will keep our houses aligned in good faith, that is if you will.”

A swallow came first before she now allowed herself to talk. “No,” she said as she picked up another cup and filled it with wine.

“No?” Zephyr was taken aback, so much that he dropped the cup of wine he held on the table. “Whatever do you mean?”

Lady Eira drank her own wine now, a great gulp. Maybe the egg had stuck somewhere in her throat that she needed a fountain to push it down, or maybe she was just that thirsty. “My daughter will not wed as your second wife. Such typicality between you and your father. You Ravenswoods really take after each other in more ways than one.” She refilled her cup. “We Blackwoods are against double weds, and the realm as a whole once was, until Sargon that is. We shall take no part in your family folly.”

Zephyr blinked relaxedly. “I do not intend such. I do not intend to take a second wife, not now, not ever.” He extruded a calming exhale after. His chest had tightened hard when he had heard her say no, but it was for something else, not what he had in mind.

She looked up at him from her wine. “Then what do you intend?” Her gaze was narrow and sharp, and her strawberry-blonde hair rough from the night’s sleep made her more intimidating than she had been on her first day before his eyes.

Zephyr drank the rest of the wine in his cup as a measure to calm his thundering hearts, hoping she would give the nod to what he was about to put forward to her. He was done drinking now, and it was time to speak. “I plan to announce at the feast tonight—”

“I will not be present at that feast,” Lady Eira Blackwood tore through his words with spite, putting her eyes back to her cup while she spoke, but he gnashed his teeth and continued.

“I want your daughter to wed my brother, Dante, in good faith.”

The hall went silent as she glanced up at him. Zephyr could hear his heart pounding, in fear, anticipation or frustration, he could not say which exactly, but it was pounding nonetheless, and the lady’s silence was not helping.

It was not long after before she poured out a laughter, one he might have termed gentle if not for the scenario he had found himself present in. “In good faith, you say? You want us to settle for less? What sort of counsel do you keep getting from your council, Your Grace? Have you thought of changing them all?” She laughed again. “And I thought the Claymore boy had brains. If he was the one that told you this, then he did not take after Reginald in any way. Ravens, I don’t even know what to say. Sargon was the foolish one, he never listened to Reginald, but I see it’s the other way around here. What a pity that you listen to such words, such pity—”

“He will be crowned prince.” And her laughter ended now, quite abruptly that it was almost as though she was never laughing at all once. “I’m going to make Dante the crown prince. Is that still less enough for House Blackwood?”

The silence was brief. “And when you have a son? What will you do then?” Her voice had grown sharp but docile. He could convince her, Zephyr noticed, he could.

He clutched his palms together over the table. “I was made crown prince, and now I am king even though I was born from my father’s second wife. As you said, I take after my father in more ways than one. Even when I have a son, that does not mean I shall take away that position from my brother, as my son will be my blood, so is my brother, and if he is the one I make the crown prince, then so be it.”

Lady Eira drank the rest of her wine and harrumphed. “The sun’s well up now, Your Grace. I have to prepare for the tourney… and the feast.”