Chapter Seven - Blackthorn Hall #2
“You promised my aunt that you would keep me safe,” said Rosamund, hating the quaver in her own voice, “you gave her your word.”
A bitter smile appeared, “And you think that is worth something?” he leaned forwards and she pushed herself back, away from him, finding herself flush against the back of the seat, “There is no safety, not in Aurelmere. Not for you, not for me. The sooner you realise that, the better your chances for survival are. Because trust me, they already know all your weaknesses. You saw it today, and they’re ready to strike again. Do I make myself clear?”
Her blood rushed, and heat flooded to her chest and cheeks.
They knew. They knew her weaknesses. This display of Bastian’s was to show that.
To show the lords and ladies of the court how pathetic and weak Prince Dorian’s new betrothed was.
Dorian had not been angry at his brother; he had been angry at her for letting them see it.
Her weakness. Bastian had made his first move and she had lost. The game had started and she was already behind.
She forced herself to lean forward, closer to him, and took some satisfaction as he moved his own head back. Pushing her voice towards something stronger than she felt, she replied, “Yes, my lord. I will do better.”
Satisfied, he sat back in his seat, turning his gaze away from her.
As the carriage rolled on, she thought of her cousin.
Todric would be the last person she lost to this family.
Her brothers remained captive, held in the Onyx Tower, her aunts now spirited to some dark lands, and her sister disappeared to some unknown place.
They were all still out there. She was not alone, and she would do whatever she could, she would do anything to protect them.
The carriage rolled to a stop. The muffled voice of the driver called out to others. There was the click and thunk of something being unlocked and the rumbling of something else being pulled across the stone road, accompanied by the loud barking of hounds. Slowly, the carriage began to move again.
It was another hour before the carriage finally came to a stop.
The streets had been unnaturally quiet until she heard the grinding hinges of another gate, and the harsh crunch of a gravel road.
The carriage rocked as the driver climbed down and opened the door for them, revealing the grand mansion they had arrived at.
Stonework swirled in skeletal patterns, winding its way around the building like ivy.
Large arched windows were in uniform rows around the house, though they were filled with a black glass that obscured the interior.
Three bone white towers spiralled up to the night sky above them, the tops not visible in the green torchlight that surrounded the building.
In the distance she could see that the overgrown grounds, the grass black in the evening light, were surrounded by tall, sheer walls that ended in deadly spiked ridges.
There were black granite steps ahead of her leading up to a set of open doors made of the same shadowy stone.
Dorian stepped out of the carriage first, in a rush to put as much distance as possible between them.
He stopped only to whisper something to the driver who nodded in return.
When Rosamund went to leave the carriage, it was the driver that held his hand out to her.
She took the rough looking hand gratefully and carefully stepped down onto the gravel.
Rosamund turned to the driver and smiled politely, “Thank you…” she trailed off, not knowing his name
“Tomas my lady, Tomas Hale,” he said as he tipped his wide brimmed leather hat to her.
His nose was crooked, similar to the way her brother Edmund’s had looked when he had gotten himself into a scrap, only it looked like Tomas’ nose had never healed quite right. His face was scarred in other ways, one trailing from the corner of his mouth to his eye.
“Tomas,” she repeated, “thank you.”
He nodded to her again before turning back to his horses, clucking at them as he led them towards the arched stables to the side of the grand mansion.
Rosamund took a deep breath and slowly followed the prince up the wide stairs to the front doors. As she got closer to the doors, she saw that intricate black stone vines wound themselves up over the sheer white wall, surrounding the doors in an arch.
As she crossed the threshold into the foyer, she was met with a grand black staircase.
The walls were bare, no portraits were hung, no banners fluttered.
The only decoration of any kind was a large black crest inlaid into the wall at the first landing of the stairs.
The shield sported a field of black with the head of a silver stag, a horizontal crescent moon above it.
There were no carpets, just sheer white and black stone in a chequered style throughout.
White arched doors led off from the foyer, no doubt to other rooms of similar bareness.
Lost in taking in her surroundings it took her a moment to realise that there was a line of people waiting to greet her.
One of them cleared their throat, bringing her attention to them with a start.
Dorian had stormed past them, already halfway up the stairs when he stopped and slowly turned around, an irritated frown on his face. He sighed and made his way back down.
He gestured to the line and said bluntly, “The servants.”
To Rosamund’s surprise there was a tut from an older, rounded woman at the beginning of the line, and a sigh from a thin elderly gentleman at the end. Dorian gave them a look as if to say ‘what’. The woman came towards Rosamund; her round friendly face flushed with excitement.
“Lady Evelyne, so wonderful to finally meet you in person,” said the woman as Rosamund blanched to hear her sister’s name.
“This is Lady Rosamund,” drawled Dorian, “Lady Evelyne was,” he paused, searching for the right word, “indisposed.”
The older woman looked horrified as she turned back to Rosamund, “Oh my lady, I’m so sorry, forgive me.”
“It’s no problem,” said Rosamund quickly, giving the woman a genuine encouraging smile, “I take it as a compliment, my sister is- was very beautiful”
The woman did not seem to notice Rosamund’s hesitation, but out the corner of her eye she saw Dorian quirk an eyebrow.
“Well, we are very glad to have you here,” continued the older woman, rallying, “I am Mrs Hawthorn, the Housekeeper and cook.”
“Ah yes, his highness mentioned you,” said Rosamund with a sidelong look at Dorian, who, she was satisfied to see rolled his eyes.
Mrs Hawthorn raised an eyebrow of her own as she turned to the prince, “Did he now? Well hopefully all good.”
Before Rosamund could respond the younger gentleman that had stood next to Mrs Hawthorn stepped forward and gave her a deep bow, “Rowan Ashcroft my lady, Butler.”
“Valet,” said Mrs Hawthorn and Dorian at the same time.
Rowan’s cheeks flushed red. He looked young even for a valet, barely into his twenties with smoothed back brown hair and lanky limbs.
She saw that he also sported a rather unfortunate thin moustache which did not suit his rounded face.
He stepped back into the line as a younger woman stepped forward.
She looked younger than Evelyne, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a tight braided bun, her grey uniform pristine.
She bobbed a curtsy before looking excitedly up at Rosamund.
“This is Elira,” said Mrs Hawthorn when it appeared the girl had been struck dumb, “she is to be your ladies’ maid.”
“W-w-welcome t-t-to,” Elira started to say before she cut herself off, she took a breath, “B-b-b, b-b-Blackthorn, Hall.”
Elira let out a long breathe and then smiled with relief. Rosamund returned the smile, “Thank you.”
A wizened hand was thrust out before her as the final person in the line hobbled towards her, “Seneschal Corvin Vance. Should you require anything procured for you then do not hesitate to knock on my door my lady.”