ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD
“Lady Eira Blackwood has arrived through the castle gates, my king. I’ve had her shown to the small hall where she is being fed, and your presence would be most needed there.” Zephyr was no longer new to the name as Flynn had made mention of it the day past, when a messenger raven had arrived at the first light of dawn with the word of her coming.
“She’s the lady of House Blackwood, my king, one of the three first houses of the realm,” Flynn had tried to enlighten the king of her importance, he did that when his eyes ate the nonchalant glance Zephyr fed him with after he read out the message. It made not much of a difference to Zephyr’s demeanour, as he set back to breaking his fast not long after. It was as though he cared little for this Lady Eira’s arrival, and more for the duck stew he was gobbling up; that took a larger chunk of his attention than a message of the coming of a high figure for sure.
First three houses… That one held his attention a great deal too… Ravenswood would be one then, but which is the last… Zephyr had a small recollection storm his mind, one of the events that had occurred between Flynn and the serving whore that came to them when they had both visited the brothel… Is the third one Claymore…?
Zephyr was not one to keep his curiosity hidden. “Which is the third?” His words were muffled in his mouth by the nuggets of the juicy duck meat he chewed neatly, as he took his eyes from the round trencher of duck stew and gazed down at Flynn who stood before the high table where he sat eating.
Flynn sighed then, a frustrated sigh, and for a moment he thought of him as Zephyr and not the king. “The other house you know is mine. House Claymore.”
“Oh.” Zephyr swallowed, then took a full drink from the goblet of apple juice before him to drown the meat he had stuffed his belly with. He knew he had grown to become careless with the sort of questions he was asking these days, well aware that some of these things the past Zephyr might and should have known, but with his growing carelessness concerning his past life, grew his unbotheredness.
He had asked himself what could possibly go wrong. If he told no one of his past, they could never find out, thinking too much about things only wore him out, and that was a feeling he had grown to despise after he fell once. He would ask when he was curious for answers, that he would do, there was no need to wear himself out with careful thoughts.
Growing accustomed to this world was another growth he wanted of himself, he wanted to take things easy and try his hand at living as an actual king, but for a night or two, while he peered at the ceiling, he doubted that likelihood, wondering how it would ever become a possibility with his inability to get a hold of the murderer roaming the castle.
He had failed at every turn to find out who that was—who Prince Zephyr’s killer was—the only findings he was blessed with was the one Melisandre had given him, which was in truth, nothing of a blessing, as he could do naught without any proof of her claim. Yes, the other branch showed hostility towards him and would maybe have been the ones he searched for, but should he judge them based on mere speculations and the suspicions of someone he had just met? Would his father’s spirit be happy with him if he made such a decision? He thought not and he thought against it. Dad would never praise me for such… he had shook his head at the thought.
Rather than judge without proof, he would take precautions to prevent his death instead. It seemed whoever the killer was took a liking to poisoning, maybe that was the only way they could pass their love across, so he had been having whoever brought his meal and drinks taste it before he took from it, and after he learnt of the bath-reaper that was the oleander, he had had his bathing water tested as well. Unless the killer ran straight at him with a sword in hand, he would never see death from them… he hoped that would prove to be true, and he hoped the killer would never run straight at him with a sword. The thought of dying in such a painful way made him shiver.
Zephyr pushed himself up from where he sat. He was done with his morning meal. “Have a small feast prepared for when the lady of Blackwood arrives on the ‘morrow. She would most likely need to be fed, I’ll grace her with my presence then. Also, prepare one of the best rooms we have for her in the guest quarters. These should be enough for our high lady, should it not?” He smiled at Flynn.
“Yes, my king, it no doubt will. I shall do as you say.”
And so he did. She was being fed in the small hall now, and her room, one which had been selected to have a feather bed and good lighting, cleaned and perfumed to suit her taste.
“Her daughter is here as well. I have told some serving girls to prepare a room for her while she dines with her mother.” Flynn watched Zephyr fold the lower edge of the page of the book he was reading before shutting the tome to a close.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“What of Audrey? She is yet to arrive?” Zephyr asked as he took to his feet.
“Not yet. But her room is well ready for her arrival.”
Zephyr turned around and began to take his steps towards the door, the length of his velvet robe, brooched at the chest by a raven, swirling in concurrence. “And the grand savant, how has he fared with the questioning for the savant’s death?”
Flynn shook his head. “He’s taking it as fast as he can, which is slow. There’s no progress.”
“Alright,” Zephyr sighed, “let’s meet with Lady Eira.”
Flynn went with him the length of the small hall, before bowing and taking his leave elsewhere, to his tower maybe, Zephyr thought, he was beginning to lessen his mind from tagging everyone and every movement they make suspicious. It would do nothing but wear him out, he told himself.
When he arrived inside the small hall, he found her dining before a trestle table filled with meals of different sorts, nibbling on the thighs of a full chicken, whose juices poured enticingly all over her trencher. Even with the sound of the door shutting, she did not pry her gaze from the chicken she was eating, it was as though she had somehow heard of his disposition when the news of her coming reached his ears, and she was reciprocating the demeanour he had offered then.
He would not have that though, he had to act a king. “Lady Eira,” Zephyr sang. “How do you like the feast I have prepared for you?” He wandered closer until he stood opposite from where she sat. She did not look at him, but he looked at her. The lady was seated as plump as the chicken she nibbled on with no regard for his presence as the king standing before her, her cheeks puffed, not because she was eating, but because that was how it was. She was a chubby woman adorned in a dagged-sleeve hazel gown made for her body and hers alone.
Her daughter was different though, even though she had the same long and streaked blonde-strawberry hair as her mother, she had far better courtesy and a better body. She was on her feet as soon as her lavender eyes had met the silver of Zephyr’s, bowing in greetings. “Pleased to meet you, Your Grace. You’re as beautiful as they say.” She raised her eyes.
“And you’re as beautiful as eyes can see.” Zephyr smiled curtly. “Please sit, and tell me your name.” He gestured as he took his seat on the opposite of the lady of Blackwood and her daughter.
“Valora, Your Grace.” She sat after he did.
“Valora,” he preened. “A beautiful name, I must say. It is my pleasure to meet you, Valora.” He turned his head to look back at her mother still eating, almost done with the chicken thigh now. “And your mother as well.”
“The pleasure is mine.” The red that naturally tinted the bridge of Valora’s nose, brightened even more. She was a girl whose face was filled with flushes.
Lady Eira finished up her eating then. “This is the first you have seen my daughter, is it not, Your Grace?”
“And this is the first we have spoken…” he was not sure, so he added, “since I became king, is it not, Lady Eira?”
She chuckled as she picked up a linen napkin to wipe her lips clean from the chicken juices that had smeared it. “I heard you have chosen a bride… from House Flamesworth if my ears still hear the truth.” She took her eyes to him now, as the napkin dropped onto the remainder of the chicken. “House Flamesworth, is it?”
Zephyr took a glance at her daughter, and he understood where this was headed. He smiled as he returned it back to the puffy face of the lady of Blackwood. “House Flamesworth it is.” If she wanted her daughter married to the king, why had she not sent her to present herself before him? Surely that was the custom, was it not? All the other ladies of houses that were interested were here. Or what was the custom?
“Like father like son,” she spat silently, but Zephyr heard. Seems he was not the first. “The Claymore boy is your royal advisor, is he not?” She asked another question, to serve what purpose Zephyr wondered.
“He is.”
“House Ravenswood sits on the throne, House Claymore sits as the right hand man, and where is House Blackwood in all these? You tell me, King.” Spite was in her eyes now, and he was worried. If the Blackwood house was really as high as his, then it would not do good to make them enemies, plenty obvious it was. He wished he had stopped Flynn from leaving and brought him in. That one would know what to say, he did not.
There were no words that came to escape his mouth. He glanced at Valora and as she avoided his gaze, he bit his lips. Had he messed up without knowing, he wondered. Why didn’t his council counsel him on this when he had met them, and Flynn, why did he say nothing?
Lady Eira broke the silence. “Your father did the same with me, and now you do the same with my daughter, such a despicable family. Let me tell you something, Your Grace: Alliances are harder formed but easily broken. I will stay for the tourney and your name-day, but do not expect my presence while you name a lady of Flamesworth your queen,” she hissed. “Get up, Valora, I want to head to the bedchamber I have been offered.”
Valora stood as her mother stood, she faster than Lady Eira, but they were both standing at last. And while they left the small hall, Zephyr retained his position in silence, his palms folded together as he gazed at the column of trenchers lined up before him, watching them but at the same time he was not. He was lost in thoughts once again, maybe he could never have peace in this world, just maybe.