It is the season for love and murder in the court of Ravaeryn.
After a chance encounter one winter night, Lady Catarina de Fontaine had fallen hopelessly in love with Julian, the Crown Prince. However, upon discovering his untruthfulness, she immedi...
"This is a splendid victory is it not, Your Grace ?" said Sir Jacob Oldville. He was only one of the thousands of knights that defended the Northern Border from Amarisian invaders, having spent half of his life here in the bitter cold, barely remembering what it was like in the warm south.
"We haven't won, Jacob," a deep, raspy voice reprimanded. "We've fought them off for now, but they will soon come back stronger than ever. That is just the way Amarisians are."
Once the general had spoken, no one would dare to refute. The Grand Duke of Devereaux, Nicholas de Lavilliers is the only son of the King's younger brother, the late Prince Anatole de Lavilliers. At the age of twenty-four, he was already an esteemed and decorated general, and even Giuseppe le Comte, General of the South Wing, held him in high regards.
His clear, piercing blue eyes, the royal family signature, glanced over at his men, all worn out and exhausted despite their joy of this recent victory. Surely, a short trip back home would not hurt, right ?
"Robert," he called out, summoning for his deputy, Baron Robert Fiennes. "I want you to procure a name list of all the soldiers in this camp and divide them into three groups. The first group will be allowed to return home for two weeks, and on the fourteenth day, they must return here and report for duty. The second group will have their turn, and then the third group. So there will be two thirds of the army here guarding the border, in case the Amarisians try to invade again."
"They wouldn't," Robert chuckled proudly. "We literally annihilated them this time, Nicholas ! The Amarisians will need at least six months to recover from this blow !"
Nicholas glared at Robert with narrowed eyes. "You are too confident," he sighed. "I must return to the capital to report to the King of this victory, and if possible, I shall request for more cavalrymen from the King's army."
"We don't need them though," Robert said with a frown. "And we have more than enough here. Those sheltered weaklings in the King's army aren't worth anything, really. They'll freeze to death when they come to the north." The Baron was an incredibly skilled soldier, but his talents and proficiency had made him become overly proud and jaded.
"Let's see if you'd still be laughing when the Amarisians attack and you don't have enough men to defend against them!" Nicholas sneered as he briskly stood up.
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked over to the stables, and the young general briefly stopped mid-journey, allowing the snowflakes to rain all over his black hair.
He had spent sixteen years of his life here, all alone with no one to talk to. After the passing of Prince Anatole, the eight year old duke was shipped off to the north and subjected to harsh military training. While it indeed turned him into a great warrior, it had also hardened him, and his heart was as warm as the snow on the peak of the Valenvers Mountains.
