Shackles Of The Past

Chapter 29- Duel between the Hawthorns

Into the darkness they go,

the wise and the lovely.

~Edna st. Vincent Milay.

***

The day finally arrived. It was the time of noon when the guests had begun to pour as per the invitation. The moon was fairly bright. Its mesmerizing celestial ball of light that guides the travelers at night and through the bridge as carriages rode into the castle. Outside the misty dark felt immersed in a blanket of stillness.

The clouds were alive with flashing of light accompanied with the wind in a much lighter force. Large pillows of clouds were forming, bloating out the pale moon like a silvery claw in the night sky. By the looks, it was dark and vengeful as the cloud suddenly coil and writhe. The wind then whips up like frenzy.

As the guests kept arriving, the servants were busy putting things to order. In the grand hall, the entire royals from different kingdoms, and higher class elites were present. The hall looked so big that it could fit an entire village and the grandiose was explicit.

With the castle that had wide doors carved extraordinarily beautiful, the paintings on the walls spoke for itself with chandeliers hanging perfectly at the ceiling with carved diamond stones, giving out the reflection surrounded in the room. Indeed, the castle was magnificent.

The prestigious hall was filled with soft murmur of conversations, the clinking of glasses and the scent of different delicacies mingling with the atmosphere. The guests came out extravagant and each material worn was eye catching with accessories adorned with, spoke of high class. Elites, one could say.

The music filling up every part of the castle, and the atmosphere which blended with the fantasy, obviously the setting of the palace became one of the most discussed topics.

And while the guests kept themselves busy by meddling in small talks and formal conversation, a slight commotion broke then. A young girl of teenage age was seen on the ground, shaking in fright where one would notice how scared and vulnerable she looked; with her knees on the ground and her forehead now almost touching the cold marble floor.

"How dare you serve me wine when I clearly requested for tea? Have you lost your manners or suddenly turn deaf?" A lady scowled bitterly at the lowly peasant on her knees.

With her speech, it was clear she was boasting. Showing who the slave and the mistress was. One dressed in a lowly measly rag with cheap tattered shoe or the one dressed in a black mermaid dress adorned with stones at each anklets and V-neck shape line that sparkled brightly under the light.

In truth, she envied the girl. The way her husband looked at her figure disgusted her ego. It had hurt her pride with the thought that she was quite entrancing. With her short blonde hair and those big brown eyes, contrasted her natural beauty, and was enough evidence that she was nature made.

While the lady had short legs and quite a figure shape, the peasant had longer ones and comely figure, not too refined, a promise to get better along the years. With her skin fresh and smooth, the servant's was dull and rough, but bitterly pleasing to captivate the eyes.

She smelled of all the fragrance, prove that she lacked absolutely nothing, but with the aid of her vampric ability, she could tell what this one smells like; sea and salt. A calmer one. It annoyed her how everything of hers could be compared with some hound like this peasant. And because of that, she wanted to remind everyone of her place.

"That's enough, Zoya," spoke the man besides her, his voice low just to her hearing, taking a look at the gatherings and passing a formal small to those who took a peek at the situation.

And though the vampiress wanted to vent her anger and disgust on the slave, she stopped in an attempt to hit another time. "Oh…" she snickered. Then she reduced her voice so only the man besides her could hear, "Are you suddenly interested in this," her eyes gauged the girl from her feet to her head. "… peasant?" she huffed in disbelief. "Be more gentlemanly and don't embarrass me with you insensitive lust and cravings. Do I that favor and fuck your wenches at your brothels, not in my house or my manor, and not even in such an occasion as this, do you hear me?”

The man passed an awkward smile to few people, and bent to whisper. "Not here, please," giving her a soft kiss on her forehead that caught few spectators' eyes.

One of the groups of high class ladies, who saw this, downed the wine in her cup to calm her seething nerve when she heard some say, "Aren't those pairs lovely?"

The lady who spoke gushed to the others and they smiled very causal. “They have been the talk of the town lately. One can only see such beautiful sight at rare occasion and only but daydream their lives to be just as perfect as those doves are.”

"Truly, there’s no other couple as smitten as they are. Blessed with a handsome lord and an outstanding lady with noble class, and a perfect relationship, what more could a lady ask for?"

"He's such a handsome man," another agreed. "But that cannot be said of my husband.”

"Oh Arya, don't be such a bad vibe and bring your blacksmith of a husband to our conversation, when the day has just gotten better. Who cares if he's ugly or scarred, as far as he's not a dwarf but a noble man, you are far better off than me picking up a little man to the bed or to bath. I can't even cope with the way he snores. I rather lay with a pig than to spend another night with him.” Her face held a flush of disgust, but she smiled after.

"And what more do you say of a drunkard, returning home with large stomach filled with ale and maddening phrase of "winter is near" every grunt and every breath, every cough and every sneeze. No one knows worse than I do."

"At least, you ladies are better than some people who haven't even been with a man all her life." Matthar, a lady with an apple shape figure commented with a small sigh. "Look at me, who even wants to acknowledge someone with such distorted shape.”

"Come on girls, now is not the time to drown in your affairs," hushed one brunette passing a knowing look at them. "Enjoy this, would you? Vampires can pick up every word you spew without your knowledge, so be careful… Perhaps, you might not know what the witches spew and wizard spout, the werewolf's sniffs or the demons reads.”

"Whatever." They all took turns to say. "Just as they don't drown with me, I wish them well." And that was that being said.

"Talking about demons…" Morganna lowered her voice. "The horn blows and the sounds strike the warnings of the wind. I'm told the bastard's son is awake."

"He's with a royalty surname, I rather not consider him that. The wench's son is it. Lord of the Manor, Arthur Hawthorn.”

"Careful, Morganna," Arya scolded. "The wind carries words to the ears of the least expected. You love your neck, don't call him that. He's the Lord, the second after Lord Ravenswood."

"The King is generous to have left him with a benefitting title. I honor such personality."

"Such traits are admired as a true King. The true blood of Hawthorn, descendant of the House of Dragsholm. I wonder why he wasn't made the King earlier than his brother.”

"I'm told the Lord is the eldest, next of kin after King Edmund Hawthorn.”

"Still, the wench's son." Matthar countered. "Pity late King Edmund had to be married to a whore that carried a seed not worthy of kingship. For christ's sake, the child would have been better off tagged one of his bastard sons."

"Sons?"

"King Edmund had five bastard sons, but with rumors, I heard they all died due to a tragic fever, taking both the king, the queen and the whore and leaving the wench's son and true blood of Hawthorn. Rumors had it, that it was the curse of the Lord's birth that killed them all." She whispered the last line.

"Wah," they all gaped in surprise.

"Then what are we doing wallowing in someone else's headache. We don't want a poster hanged on the wall charging us with treason. Who knows, the Lord has things up on his sleeves."

"Come to think of it…" Spoke Charlotte, as she remembered something. "Who has heard about the upcoming duel between the Hawthorn brothers? It came as a surprise."

"Everyone. It's no new news in the village. Although I never expected those two brothers to duel one day. I thought they would end up killing themselves without warning."

"Real. I wonder, why call yourselves brothers when you despise yourself more than sworn enemies? Lord Arthur and our King consider themselves brothers of a different context."

"Apart from that, I heard about the signed trinity of the two. Our Grace tends to forfeit his throne for Arthur, if he pitifully emerges as the winner, making him King for the second time, granting him his liege birthright. What kind of a duel is this? This is blood against blood. One loses, and the other gains."

"I place a bet on Lord Arthur. No sane person wouldn't." Amanda spoke after a long while, causing all eyes turn to her direction. What followed next was eerie silence in the tense atmosphere. After what seemed like forever,

"King Walter has been practicing swordsmanship for over centuries even before taking the throne from Lord Authur while Lord Arthur barely got one. He had led almost 10,000 armies with victory and without loss." Reasoned Matthar without breaking eye contact with Amanda. While Amanda emitted an icy aura, Matthar looked much friendly compared to the rest.

"I'll better not soak on this unending topic."

"Evelyn, you have been quiet before now. Is anything the matter?"

And all the ladies turned to look at the latter with the same question in their eyes. Evelyn, who heard the question, quickly composed her expression to a much calmer one. She had been lost in her emotions, that she didn't acknowledge their question until it was asked for the second time.

With a small smile, "I'm fine."

"You have taken more than two cups of that," pointed Aryla. "Just don't get drunk." And they turned, still gushing about the fine couples. Evelyn brought the cup to her mouth to hide her ire. She continued throwing glares at the people she spited from afar.

Meanwhile, "And since when do you start caring about your reputation… Lord Ravenswood?" she pronounced, looking at the people passing them admiration and she faked a blush.

"Since the day I made you my wife, my lady,”

"Oh really…" she shook her head with a short laugh. Then the next moment, she took the delicate glass from the servant carrying trays of drinks, and poured it contentedly at the head of the young girl still kneeling on the floor.

"Zoya!" he yelled in a low tone. This was a stain to his reputation. One could see how clearly agitated he had become. Everyone now had their eyes fixed on the scene. While the man looked tormented, the lady seemed satisfied.

He had fancied the girl, admittedly, but all out of lust. Had he known his wife had eyes on him all those while of passing looks to the lowly one, he would have been more careful and avoided this scene?

In order to cover up for what she had done, he scolded the girl. "Next time, be more attentive and cower on your duty. The audacity to serve my wife wine when she clearly asked for tea, you should be punished."

By then, Lady Monica had arrived. With a frown on her face, she looked down at the terrified slave whose white dress had been stained. "My apologizes, Lady Zoya, Lord Ravenswood, may I ask what the problem is?"

The vampiress shifted her focus from the servant to the keeper. "It is a shame that Dragsholm lacks slaves who learns the code of conduct," and she eyed the girl. "I clearly asked for tea, without water in my mouth, and not wine, but your servant here seems to have taken my words for granted, and dumped it to her empty skull."

The woman passed a court smile to the lady in apology, before passing a small look at the terrified girl.

"My sincere apologizes, Lady Zoya, for the servant's impudence. I promise to handle her with strict hands from now on." Then she glared at the girl. "You," she pointed. "Out, now."

The young girl quickly dashed out of the spot with tears streaming down her already swollen eyes. But innermost, she was grateful for this reprieve.

Then she looked at them. "Please, let me do the honor and serve you the drink…”

***