1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1711, Northern Barracks, Devereaux
NICHOLAS stared down at the parchment map that was spread out on his table. Wooden figurines of horses and generals were neatly stacked up at the side, and he absentmindedly picked up one, feeling the smooth lacquered surface against his rough fingertips.
Then, he placed the general figurine onto a spot on the map, where it slammed down with a low thud. Without even blinking, he reached out for another figurine.
He was like a little boy playing with his toy soldiers, but instead of possibly being scolded by his mother for making a mess, he could possibly lead an army of ten thousand to their deaths.
Nicholas shivered at the thought, and he set the figurine down on the table. His dark blue eyes skimmed the map of the northern border, and he could already predict the positions that the Amarisian would set camp at.
From there on, their task was simple. Annihilate anyone who stepped on Ravaerynian soil.
Although the ongoing war had turned him into a ridiculously wealthy man, Nicholas detested the life that he led.
The war has been going on for long enough, and he could barely keep count of all the lives that he has taken. He hated the Amarisian king for continuously sending out young men who had just turned into adults, only for them to be killed.
The blood of those men, those boys, all stain his hands. Nicholas wondered if the Amarisian general felt the same as he did.
He stood up from his chair and sauntered over to the fireplace, tossing several dried logs into the roaring fire.
The flames ate up the logs hungrily like rabid wolves that had not fed for weeks, continuously feeding without a moment of rest.
The tent was filled with the scent of the sandalwood incense that Nicholas liked, but all of a sudden, the smell of game and smoke wafted into the tent.
The entrance to his tent was lifted up, and the grinning face of Robert Fiennes appeared in the doorway.
"Nicholas !" he called out cheerily. "We're about to roast the beef and mutton! Come and help out !"
Nicholas's eyes flickered from the hand-drawn maps and wooden figurines on his desk and towards Robert's smiling face. A little distraction would be nice.
He threw on his jacket and followed Robert outside, where the soldiers were fussing over the fire and which spices to use.
"You can't just throw the beef onto the fire without seasoning it !" a blond-haired soldier shouted, visibly enraged and offended.
"It's how my mother used to make it !" his friend retorted hotly.
"That means that your mother can't cook to save her life !"
