THE HALLS OF FAINTREE CASTLE have not changed much. ambrose finds that to be rather disappointing despite the fact that the sight that meets him is exactly what he's been expecting. it's not particularly welcoming although it is familiar. it's not as soothing as it is unnerving: to find that while his whole existence had tilted, whilst he'd been cast out to the streets, the faintrees' world had kept spinning in its glory. these doors had been shut then, the tangible divide between them and him. it feels even more alienating when it surrounds him now, but there's an apathy in ambrose now where there had previously been a fiery cause. a justice to be served. a life to live. it had been a cruel shift then — his father limping through the streets, his knee never recovering from his knighthood. his mother begging for work, but what skills could she showcase ? a habit for spending, a love for gold. ambrose had been a child, but even he felt the way haystacks would poke through his thin shirts and made him long for his bed. he had not realized his luck, his wealth, how he had everything in abundance. they had not been perfect, but they had also not deserved it. at least this half - truth is what ambrose lives with now. this and the knowledge that, although a thief, his honor remains — a loose expression, but one he'll crown himself with regardless. there had been good intentions, at first. a piece of gold, a turnip. a ring from a highborn finger, bread for hungry children. he'd been exuberant with this new - found power, how easy it was to slip his hand somewhere unseen and watch something beautiful transpire in the wake of whatever he could produce. by the time both of his parents passed a couple years later ambrose had already built himself his own kingdom: a fifteen year old boy on a throne street rats bowed to. it has gotten him this far. the halls of faintree castle have not changed, but its inhabitants have. it's no longer a house of boys ambrose poked with wooden sticks, but men who conduct business he has no part of any longer. it's a peephole into the world that was meant for him, and sometimes certain doors are better kept locked. instead he tiptoes around, opening every hatch he can, careless in his excursion, in his distracted nature. there's far too many familiar artefacts here for him to move in the hurried manner he usually would and that comes back to bite him — in the shape of a woman. he lunges out for her quietly, one hand cupping over her lips as his gaze, insistent and alert, holds hers relentlessly. « do not scream, » he warns, voice deceitfully calm. he will not return to castle dungeons again when there are kids who need to be fed, debts that need to be paid, favors that need cashing in. « i will not harm you. i will let you go and you will not scream. » ambrose is looking to her for confirmation, will not move from her until he can recognize cooperation. he recognizes something else instead. « you are lady odette, » he breathes quietly. the resemblance to her brothers is present, yet not striking. not like she. « you are kinder on the eyes than your brothers. your oldest has always had that unfortunate nose. i assume he never grew into that. » he clicks his tongue, letting his hand slip away from her.
THERE IS NOWHERE FOR HER TO FLEE. at her back, only the wood of the door to her chambers; unyielding and cold against the futile barrier provided by the shawl wrapped around her. and at her front — this unfamiliar man, who claims he will not hurt her. promises made by men have long ago ceased to hold much value to her. still, odette has enough of her wits about her to understand she has no choice but to trust this stranger to be a man of his word. odette is not unaccustomed to having the eyes of men on her — is certain that no woman is; nobles, gentry and townspeople alike. cocksure, desperate men, who's unwelcome and lingering attention never fails to make her skin crawl. though the intensity in the gaze now holding hers, refusing to let her look away, is something different entirely. the composed insistence, the easy assertiveness — things that would usually have her bristling, but now, they are making her believe that he really is being truthful. unlike all those other men, the attention of this man does not trigger revulsion. the attention of this man makes her skin feel hot. the smallest tilt forward of her head, to signal that she will oblige, causes her lips to brush faintly against the calloused palm held against them. in her chest, her heart knocks again and again against her ribs; like a bird that has never before known a cage. throwing itself uselessly against bars created with the sole purpose of keeping it locked inside. a pause in his demands is accompanied by an almost negligible change to his expression, into something she cannot immediately decipher. but if his face is a riddle, the words that follow are a new kind of mystery all on their own. a crease appears between her brows as they draw together; her own face no doubt displaying the full extent of her bewilderment. even when his hand is removed, allowing for her to reclaim her voice once more, it takes her several seconds to find again all the words that have seemingly escaped her vocabulary. " how ... " the single syllable sounds foreign to her own ears, as if spoken by someone else. someone who is not holding panic at bay with sheer and rapidly deteriorating force of will. her throat works around the scream that remains caught halfway up her windpipe. even the frenzied bird that is her heart seems to momentarily relinquish its efforts to be free, as confusion claims victory over fright. " how do you know — " me ? the word is almost out past her quivering lips, but she somehow summons the wherewithal to hold it back. of course, he does not know her. no person she herself does not recognize should be able to know her from just laying eyes on her, no matter from how improperly close a distance. he knows of her, perhaps. knows her title and her name, and has made the educated guess that she must be the younger sister of the lord faintree. still, it puzzles her that he would compare her to her brothers. and that he possesses the knowledge — the cheek — to bring up her eldest brother's ... well, yes — rather unfortunate nose. her chest rises as she draws a breath, which fortifies her to the degree she is able to finish her sentence in a manner that does not immediately give away the true depth of her surprise; " — my brothers ? "
