Leta's family were presumably killed during a Rebellion, and she was whisked away by one of her father's most trusted guardsmen to a faraway island to live out her days in exile, as ordered by the new King Calas. After King Calas's death, the Lady L...
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one month later...
"They won't meet here." Narcissa sighed. "They suggest a neutral meeting ground, and I agree." She looked to Leta. She appeared uninterested. "They suggest meeting at the top of the Sapphire Mountains... in an hour."
"Very well," she murmured.
"Leta!"
Leta smiled apologetically. "I apologize. In an hour? I think that's rather unreasonable. Maybe tomorrow?" She winked at Narcissa. Her smile quickly faded, however. "There is such joy in chaos."
"Humanity lacks a moral compass. We're always in danger of-of spiraling into disorder and corruption and violence." Narcissa waved her arms about, excited.
"You sound as if you enjoy it, too."
She studied Leta for a long time. "Man is an aggressive creature." She looked down at the letter in her hand. "You could say war is inevitable. We can never really know, I suppose. Human nature itself is quite fuzzy and perplexing."
She approached Leta, laying a hand on her shoulder. Narcissa continued: "What happens to you, Leta, is what you make happen. You will grow, you will learn the sword, and then you will use what you have learned to make your life good or bad." She smiled, tilting her head to one side. "Or perhaps you'd prefer your man, Tristan. He's very capable with a sword."
"I don't—"
"Please, child." Narcissa chuckled. She held up a second letter. "You have another admirer, at least."
"Oh?" She rubbed her cheeks. "And who's that?" She can feel her own blood run hot beneath her skin, pounding in her ears.
"Valentine Aumont." Leta laughed. But Narcissa read:
'"Lady Leta,
I shall preface this letter with a simple reply: My answer, in short, is yes. I believe that a union of sorts between our Houses, and indeed our people, could be beneficial.
That being said, the sort of agreement we might come to depends entirely on what it is you would want of Helmark, or if it is Helmark in her entirety from which you want. I speak for Helmark, m'lady, and though my countrymen are currently reasonable, I cannot guarantee their continued persuasion.
Such is the way of our people.
Fate would have it that we may have a chance to meet. I am planning an event in Helmark in the coming weeks. I invite you to meet with me as a guest of honor. There will be wine and food aplenty.
"'P.S. When approaching another man with an offer, one would do well to spell his name correctly'. Smartass," Narcissa mumbled. "I've always hated him."
"I'm worried." She stood in the center of the room. A low coal fire burned in the grate, and the evening breeze blew through the window. "It's been over a month."
"If you're doubting Tristan," she wondered. "Don't. He's always been noble. It's in his blood. He'd risk everything for a good and noble cause... especially for those he loves."
"You know him well."
"You sound jealous," she smiled.
She was.
Lucan entered, suddenly, uninvited. "Pardon the intrusion, m'lady." And as he did so, there came the note of a bell ringing in a tower of the city. One, two, three. "Visitors."
With that they all went to the door and down the stairs and looked about the street. There was a filmy veil of snow obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a grey-blue hue, for the sun had not yet fully set.
For a moment, she was breathless; what little air there was in her lungs danced to the rhythm of the name beating its feet upon her tongue. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan.
Her mind clears in the same moment that Tristan meets her gaze. It is almost nothing — almost — the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes narrow, the way the fingers of his right hand freeze on the leather reins. But it was enough.
She looked over his shoulder, spots the figure that rides beside him. Auburn hair, long and loose in gentle flames down her back.
