Twilight poured in through the stained-glass window positioned behind the great throne within the grand hall of Keep Ankaa. Bathing ancient gray stones in the deep shades of flame.

                Lord Andreas sat upon his throne. Unmoving and rough as the stone it was carved from. Despite his thirty years—ten of which he’d spent ruling over his family’s ancestral home—he still possessed the youthful vigor of a teen. Despite the stress of being a leader, his hair remained a vibrant sandy-brown. Not a trace of gray atop his head, nor within his freshly trimmed beard.

                His duties for the day had long since ended. He was free to retire for the night. To spend his night with his family. His lovely wife, Lady Catharina had just given him his third heir only a few days ago. The young Danish. He knew he should be with her. Taking care of the young lad. But his mind lingered on their eldest child. Horace: only eleven years of age, and yet he was one of the greatest fighters within the court of Keep Ankaa. Off to fight in his first official tournament against others his age.

                I should be with him, thought the lord. His father had been by his side during his first tournament. It was only right that he share that experience with his own son, wasn’t it?

                Yet, as much as he wished to be there, Andreas felt a sudden urge to remain behind. He was unsure why, but he had felt he was needed at home.

                Creaking of old wood broke him from his thoughts. Entering the grand hall was a young boy. Only seven years of age. His raven hair and gray eyes given to him by his mother. It was Andreas’ second son. Vincent.

                A smile came upon the lord’s face. “Has your mother send you to come get me?”

                Vincent replied with a shake of the head.

                Andreas dropped his smile. It was unlike Vincent to come to the hall of his own accord. He took up after his mother. He held no interest in the courts. Nor did he have interest in combat. He was much his mother’s child. A son of scholars. “Then what brings you here?” If his son had gained an interest in the work of his father, Andreas would not be opposed. Is this why I had that ill feeling as Horace left?

                Vincent drew nearer to the throne. It was at that time his father noticed the letter at his son’s side. “A message has arrived for you.”

                Climbing down from his throne, the lord met his song halfway. He took the parchment and examined the wax sealing it shut. It carried the mark of the wolf: the king’s mark. Such a letter could only be one of two things. Either he’d angered the royal bastard, or there was a need for Andreas and his skill with the blade. He hoped that it would be the former over the latter for once. As much as the battlefield was home for him, it was about time to let his blade rest.

                The sound of breaking wax was something of a pleasure for Andreas. He felt his heart begin to race with anticipation. Had this letter come three years prior, there would have been bated breath as he hoped for a call to arms.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

                His eyes danced across the page. Brow furrowing and easing as the words demanded. By the end of his read, he was unsure how to feel about what he’d just read.

                “Is something wrong?” questioned Vincent.

                His son’s voice nearly startled the lord. He’d been so patient with his father, he’d nearly forgotten he was there. Had it been Horace, the boy would have asked a hundred questions while his father read. Andreas lowered himself to make eye contact with the young boy. Smiling as he tousled his son’s hair. “Everything is fine. Run along now, and tell your mother to meet me here.”

                “Of course.” Heeding his father’s command, Vincent exited the hall. Leaving his father to himself.

                Several minutes later the doors once more swung open. Lady Catharina entered with a hastened step. Their youngest asleep—swaddled in a crimson blanket. So at peace once would forget he was still in his infancy. “My love,” she said breathlessly. Having exhorted herself to arrive in a timely fashion. “Why have you summoned me to the hall? Could we not talk in our chambers?”

                Andreas shook his head. “Not for official business. Not for something like this.” He read the contents of the letter to his wife.

                The king had requested not only the assistance of Andreas, but of Lady Catharina as well. In the north region of the kingdom, there had been signs of cult activity. Those who had sworn fealty to a supposed champion of a dark god. Whether the claims were true or not, the members of this cult—the Brotherhood of the Black Claw as they called themselves—were considered traitors of the crown who were to be dealt with swiftly.

                The Lord and Lady of Keep Ankaa were summoned due to them both holding a specialty that would aide in the capture and execution of those found in the north. Andreas for his mastery of the blade, while Catharina was one of the few who still possessed a connection to the old blood. A practitioner of the arcane. If it were true that the Brotherhood had been founded by someone with ties to a deity, they would need her arcane knowledge if they wished to safely attack the cult.

                “We have just had a child,” she argued to her husband. “We cannot leave our home. Not for something that may be a false sighting.”

                “I know,” Andreas said. Voice heavy with indecision. While he wished to stay with their sons, as well as await the return of their eldest, he knew it was a dangerous game to ignore the summons of the king. “I know.”

                “Then what do you plan to do, my love?” Catharina grabbed hold of her husband. Pulled him in close and rested her head against his broad shoulder. It was a comfort to be so close to her.

                Andreas felt a comfort with her weight against him. It soothed his mind and soul to know she was right there with him.

                “What will you do?” her hand fell upon her husband’s other shoulder. Gently rubbing it.

                “I’ll send a message tomorrow,” he answered. Speaking barely over a whisper. “I’ll tell him of our predicament and we can only hope his heart is not made of stone and ice.”

                Catharina moved her hand to the nape of the lord’s neck. Looking up at his emerald eyes, she pulled his head down. Locking the two of them into a passionate kiss. When they broke away, she gave him the same smile she used to win his heart. “We can only hope.”

                Danish began to stir. Awakening with quite the hunger, his gentle wails soon became explosive wails.

                Andreas smiled at his son. He already has a warrior’s spirit.