The stars are bright and burning blue in the endless night, the air a soothing cold. From deep within the castle rats scurry and feet shuffle, performing the duties that must go unseen by the gentry — polishing pans and tidying the great hall, the cooks already starting on the next day’s feast. The dowager duke and duchess have long since retired to their chambers, and those who need not be awake lay within their own rooms sound asleep. It is still enough to seem as if I am the only thing alive in this wing of the castle.
The servants corridors are much narrower than I am used to, so much so that I must duck my head and hold my lantern close to my chest to fit through. It makes it hard to see the map on my hand — provided by way of one of my lady-mother’s maids.
It’s two more left turns before I see the old wooden door ahead of me; it’s heavy, some form of oak and iron, though the handle is red as an arbutus tree. It sticks as I push against it, and gives way with a soft groan.
The training grounds should be empty at this time of night, targets strewn along the edges of the courtyard arena — the dirt has been compacted to seem like dusted stone by the many heralded knights that have passed through these barracks in my lord-father’s employ. I make my way to one of the weapons closets, the swords are blunted for practice but they’re still heavy as a true blade.
I open the doors, cringing as the hinges squeal — it reminds me a bit of the pigs kept outside the castle walls. Two seconds pass before I take hold of one of the blades, it’s heavier than expected and it drags slightly on the wood for a moment before I lift it fully. Something about how it fits in my hands seems right, as if for once something has been molded to me rather than I to it.
I turn to one of the targets still standing, square my shoulders, and swing.
(Hey hey!!! Sorry this took a bajillion years— pls lmk if anything should be tweaked or is a bit confusing, this is not super proofread—
I sigh heavily, sitting in my study late at night, a sprawl of different parchments laid out on the table. I took my duties with pride, but this was a bit absurd. A recent duel between two knights wasn’t properly documented, now it’s turned into this mess.
“Gods above,” I whisper to myself, palming my eyes with a groan.
It’d be better to get some fresh air before continuing to slam my head against the wall. I push the chair back in as calmly as I can and make my way out of the room, stepping into the dark halls of the keep. I always enjoyed the quiet stillness. It kept me grounded, let me think.
That was, until I heard something rather out of the ordinary. A footstep. Several, in fact. The stride of someone taking their time. More importantly, that someone wasn’t me. I quietly stalked toward the source of the footsteps, not moving to quickly as to avoid detection. Eventually, I heard a door open, the door to the training yard. I’d heard it a thousand times. Why would a petty thief go out into the training yard? There are no sharp weapons or valuables. Unless this wasn’t a thief. That possibility intrigued me far more.
I snuck out a side entrance to the training yard, squatting behind a bush to look out over the main area. There was the figure I’d been tracking, but it was too dark to make out any details. Judging by their voice, they were a young man, and the rhythm of their footsteps and strikes were amateurish. Clearly inexperienced.
Well, they certainly didn’t seem a thief, at least. But now I was curious what their actual motive for being here was. I decided that I wasn’t going to figure that out just sitting here.
I stood up and strode out from the bushes, calling out. “You there, what’s your business here?” I kept a decent distance, just in case this stranger was dangerous and chose to charge at me. “I am the Hound Knight of this keep, I demand you speak up.”
