Chapter 1
Castle Nocturne lies on the outskirts of a dark forest. From the outside it’s desolate, abandoned, haunted; with only the sounds of creatures that lurk in the dark to fill the silence.
Dark clouds dominate the sky as a gentle snow flurries through the air.
A haunting serenity radiates off the visage of the castle on the cliff’s edge.
Clashing steel breaks through the still night air, startling birds from their nests, sending creatures scurrying into the night from their hiding place in the underbrush of the forest. In a castle courtyard, two figures exchange blows with blades of polished steel, a deadly dance of metal on metal.
One clad in armour the colour of a vibrant rose like a rose in bloom bathed under the glow of torches around the arena’s edge; the other in green as deep as a forest canopy of pine, cedar, and oak.
The fighters take careful steps around each other, both looking for their next opening, unwilling to give even an inch.
“Young master Jackson, I’m glad to see your form improve after so many humiliating losses.
It prides me as your instructor to see you holding your ground for as long as you have been.
Nearly five minutes now I believe? Usually we’d be on your third round of beatings at this point.
” The figure in red regards the one in green, a humorous tone in his voice.
“Jean-Luc, I’d heavily appreciate you saving your snide remarks for when I’m not about to end your tyrannical winning streak.
” Jackson shifts his stance in preparation to finish off his mentor after enduring weeks of beatings by his blade.
He can’t hide the annoyed tone in his voice for the old man is right.
All the time he had off from his studies was spent either in preparations for tonight’s solstice celebrations or sparring (and losing) against Jean-Luc.
Loss, he told himself, was preferable to lingering on unwanted emotions.
Jackson lunges forth, blade at the ready, sparks flying off steel as Jean-Luc perfectly parries his blow. A flick of the wrist from Jean-Luc sends Jackson’s sword flying from his hand, landing point down in the dirt by the arena’s edge.
“Master Jackson, you keep repeating the same mistakes.’’ Jean-Luc flourishes his sword, pointing its tip squarely at Jackson’s chest, “You get a slight upper hand, then you become cocky and sloppy, leaving yourself wide open for a counter. Now, my lord, I do suggest you yield before I am forced to serve you your behind on a tray of the good silver we will be using for tonight.” Jean-Luc’s tired tone lingers in his voice as he shakes his head at Jackson, whose fists have become clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking from the force of his grip.
Beneath his helm, Jackson’s eyes–once a deep forest green like the armor he dons–slowly bleed into a deep scarlet.
“And you, old friend,” Jackson rasps, his breathing short and rapid, the grasp on his temper slipping away with every ragged exhale.
The shadows on the arena’s edge dance and quiver in anticipation; eager to heed their masters’ call.
The flames roar on the walls surrounding the two men, flickering and fading under the force of Jackson’s will.
“Need to stop treating me like a child!” Jackson snarls, voice trembling with emotion.
His shout breaks through the night air. Tendrils of shadow erupt from corners and race towards Jean-Luc.
The older man sighs, shoving his boot into Jackson’s chest, knocking him to the ground.
In one swift motion he runs two fingers along the length of his rapier, coating the metal in a soft glow while whispering a spell in an old tongue.
Precise swipes of his blade through the air burn tendrils of darkness away from the cut of his steel.
Before he’s able to catch his breath, Jackson is stopped from rising on his elbows by the prick of metal that finds his chest. Jean-Luc removes his helm to reveal a perfectly kept mustache of gray hairs under his nose.
A receded head of gray hairs stay perfectly combed to the side, barely any sweat trailing down his brow.
Two eyes of glowing ruby glare at Jackson filled with tired disappointment. “The same mistakes, my lord.”
A slow, deliberate clap breaks the tension between the two. “Jean-Luc, I believe my son has had enough for now. I grant him the mercy of only one round this evening as we do have guests to prepare for.”
Jean-Luc sheathes his blade and bows deeply to the lady of the manor.
Jackson gets up from the ground, the only wounds to his pride. He removes his helmet,tosses it to the ground by his feet and turns on his heel to stomp towards the woman who interrupted his training. “Good evening, mother, I didn’t think I’d be graced with your divine presence so soon in the day.”
Annabella Nocturne, a slender beauty, proud and tall, eyes at level with her own son.
A cascade of black hair, its tips red as freshly spilled blood, trails all the way down her back to her hips.
She stands before Jackson and Jean-Luc in a gown of black silk that hugs every part of her frame.
Jewels of ruby and onyx decorate the dress in a pattern of flames rising from the hem at the bottom.
In the right light, it would be as if Annabella were being born of black fire.
Ruby eyes soften as she places a manicured hand on her son’s sweaty, scowling face. “Jackie, my boy,” she pinches his pale cheek, nails digging into the skin, “watch that tone of yours. Get cleaned up and changed. I want you as pretty as I know you can be for tonight.”
Jackson bats her hand away and goes to brush his dark, shoulder-length hair from his sweaty brow. The points of his teeth itch against his lips when he notices the subtle extension of her fangs as she smiles coyly.
“Is father home yet or is he still gallivanting across the dark forests of the Winter realm on the night of the solstice like a deranged fool?” Jackson and his mother begin walking towards his room in the castle’s western wing, Jean-Luc close behind.
They pass by an army of servants adding the finishing touches on tonight’s feast.
Tablecloths in the Nocturne family colors, onyx black and ruby red, decorate every table in the castle’s grand ballroom.
Banners line the walls, and towers of sparkling liquors in crystal glasses are arranged in preparation for the winter realms most celebrated night of the year, the winter solstice.
The longest night of the year truly did feel like it was dragging on for an eternity for Jackson. He had been to ninety-nine of them from his years as a babe to now. As they pass by, servants stop to bow or courtesy to the masters of the house.
“My darling Joseph will be back in time, don’t you worry your pretty little head.
His suit is all ready for him in our room, as is yours for after you wash off the smell of sweat, loss and mud.
Though, if my dearest wants his afternoon delight before guests arrive, then for both our sakes I hope his return is expedited.
” His mother chuckles as she replies while Jackson tries to stifle a gag at the thought of his parents’ romantic expeditions, failing though, earning him a quick smack on the arm from Annabella.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Jackie.” Jackson hums as he keeps in step with his mother. “Brenda’s estate has been settled.”
Jackson freezes mid-step, his pulse lodging in his throat. “Oh,” he croaks out, clearing his throat before continuing. “Has it been that long since the funeral?” Brenda was a close family friend - his best friend.
Longevity is a curse to those who love the ones bound to time.
This will be the first winter solstice without her.
Annabella carefully pulls Jackson along by his wrist, a sad smile gracing her face. “The apartment has been cleared, all artwork and artifacts she collected over the years have been cataloged and donated as per her final wishes. She left something for you, my sweet boy.”
Jackson’s attention snaps to his mother, thoughts returning to the present.
“I see. Well, it can wait till after the ball.” An inheritance can’t fill the hole she left behind, it would only serve as a distraction.
Thoughts of an apartment he helped her fill, with stories and memories over several decades, he doesn’t need any of that now.
“Jackie,” sighs Annabella. The desire to argue is clear in her tone, he’s thankful she lets the matter drop until he has the chance to ingest several drinks. Maybe pull someone into his proverbial bed to lose himself in someone else.
Even for just a moment.
When they arrive at his room Jackson pauses before turning the handle to look at his mother once more. “Oh, mother, one last thing.”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I get we have a whole vampire Gothic romance thing going here, but for fuck’s sake, it’s the 21st century.
Just call father’s cell and get him to hurry home before he causes the hosts of the party to keep all their guests waiting!
” He huffs and opens the door before shutting it behind him, cutting off what is sure to have been a snarky comment from his mother.
“And does every light in this castle have to be provided by candlelight? Would it truly kill our esteemed guests for us to use a light bulb?!”
Jackson strips out of his gear, clothes flung to the ground in a rage of emotions.
The estate being handled, the final nail in the coffin.
Denial has been the song Jackson has sung for months.
No tears shed for the sister he chose when life gave him none of his own, for it would have been another nail in Brenda’s coffin.
A void lingers in his heart that longs to be filled with her snarky remarks and ominous predictions.