"Beneath the rust and grime which dulls the shine of our weathered hearts, joy patiently waits to be rediscovered." – John Mark Green

I enter a bustle of gossip after the guards announce me at the Queen's hall. I scan the room. I don't immediately see a seat, but then I see a hidden place in the windowsill. It will be difficult to get there, and it would cost me some great trouble and conversation getting there, but then I would be hidden after that. As a bonus, I would be able to look out of the window occasionally.

The Queen's Hall is not huge, but it looks even more cramped due to the number of ladies and objects stuffed into the room. Sofas and dresses, tables with sweets and teas, a harp and piano, and even an easel with an unfinished painting are scattered into every available space. I quickly estimate that the room is filled with a cackle of about thirty ladies. I recognise all but two of the faces.

I first go to Claira and take a deep bow: "Your majesty, it is an honour to be in your court."

She greets me and fusses on about how she hasn't seen enough of me since my return. After showering her with endless nods and halfhearted agreements I am able to trek across the room and make my way to the window.

The first face I do not know is that of a friendly redhead with short-cropped hair seated next to a space in the windowsill I am aiming at. She has a round face, with flushed cheeks, and an apple-shaped body with short, stubby arms. She is dressed in a cerise dress that does not compliment her hair nor the colour of her cheeks. She shuffles out of her seat as I approach, and take a deep bow.

"Princess Aebbé, daughter of Ardam, I have never had the pleasure of meeting you. I am Ema, Duchess of Evegren. I married the Duke of Evegren. I was born to Alarduric Vaubadon, son of Franco of the family Vaubadon, brother to your father."

"Oh, you are my cousin Ema. Your father is my cousin, so that makes you my sort-of cousin - family either way," I say enthusiastically.

"Indeed, though it is sad that we have never met."

I tend to forget that Father had six brothers and that most of his brothers have more than a handful of children, and dozens of grandchildren. By having an unusually large family my father was able to offer allegiances by marrying of all his nieces and nephews and their children. I think De Berchelai's younger sister even married into Vaubadon.

"Might I please sit next to you?"

"Oh, ja, of course!"

Most of the ladies have forgotten me and were back to their gossips, but one lady was still staring at me. She has dark brown hair, with milky skin, and red lips. Her dress is the most extravagant in the room. Her dark eyes were cold, calculating and filled with hate.

I stare at her. I have never seen this woman before, yet I know her hate is directed at me.A blink later her eyes have locked with mine.

I don't know how long the staring would have lasted had someone not asked her something that necessitated her to turn away and answer.

"Duchess, who is that woman over there with the magnificent dress?"

"Pfft, please just call me Ema, your highness."

"Please also call me only by my name, Aebbé."

"That is lady Korinna."

Something about the way she said lady stimulates my curiosity.

"She is a lady?"

"Oh yes, she is the royal consort."

Her hand moves to her mouth: "I apologise, your Highness. I did not seek to besmirch the good name of our King."

"Hmph! Please do not be distressed. He does enough besmirching of his own name," I say as I think of Aelfraed and his half-siblings.

I scowl: "Is she nobility?"

"She is quite well-versed in etiquette, and smooth of tongue, and has the means to be the first in fashion."

"Oh."

She is thus not of noble blood.

"How long has she been at court?"

"Three or four years. I am not exactly sure."

"And has she had the same title the whole time?"

"Yes, she has been a favourite of the King since her introduction."

It says something about her if she has been able to keep my brother's attention for such a long period.

Ema gives me a proper course on every lady present. She doesn't sing their praises, but neither does she gossip. She just gives me the facts – or how she perceives them. She has a way of describing them and their antics that force me to hide my giggles expertly numerous times.

Claira gives a hearty giggle: "You know, dearest Felicia, that might be one of the funniest stories I have heard in a long time!"

I missed the whole story. Ema was telling me something about Countess Felicia which was definitely more interesting than whatever the countess could possibly have said.

I peak a glance out of the window. I smile. The sun will set in the next hour or more.

I know that I can't take it any longer: "Ema, it has been an utter pleasure to meet you. Your presence here might even tempt me to visit more often."

"Oh, please do come more regularly. Today has been one of the best days since -," her words trail away. "Since my husband passed in this forsaken war," she completes with iron in her voice.

I excuse myself from the rest of the company and make my way through my home.

Raven's Peak is the place where my father grew up, and his father and our ancestors. After conquering Ardamland, King Ardam had a royal palace built for himself and his family. The Ligeia Palace contrasts directly with Raven's Peak. Ligeia was built to show off the riches he had acquired and to establish his status as king of Ligtland's humans. I spent most of my childhood in Raven's Peak but then moved to Ligeia where my brothers lived when my father died. My father always seemed to like Raven's Peak more than his palace of dreams. I think he was just used to having no luxuries and felt at unease in Ligeia, or his regrets and haunts were shielded by the place filled with his childhood memories.

My father was the oldest of his six siblings. He appointed his second brother, Fre'duric, and his wife as the wardens of Raven's Peak. I never met Alaric, my oldest uncle. Alaric died while obtaining my father's kingdom, but Father was closest to Alaric. My uncle Fre'duric's only son died in the same battle as my uncle Alaric. Ema's grandfather is one of my father's younger brothers. My father only married years after his siblings. Their grandchildren are of the same age as Friduric and Ferdaid, and their great-grandchildren almost the same age as me.

When I was six years old, my father showed me some of the secrets of Raven's Peak. Among one of these secrets, is an escape tunnel leading from one of the family rooms inside Raven's Peak to a small wooded area two kilometres away from the castle. It is this tunnel that I'm taking to escape the castle today while pondering my pedigree.

I emerge at a place obscured by rocks. A small pool of water is at the end of the rocks. I carefully tread along a small ledge to reach the grass at the side of the pool. I am very cautious not to tear my dress.

I walk to a familiar tree with deep gouges in the bark. I trace the grooves with my finger. I used to practice my sword-fighting skills here. I used to strike the tree in order to strengthen myself. I study the tree next to it. The tree has died – its branches split into halves and hanging crookedly. I kneel and insert my hand into its empty skeleton. My hand comes into contact with some spiderwebs, and rot, but I clench my teeth until my hand grasps what I am looking for.

Before I left Raven's Peak I used to come here almost every day to practice with my sword. I hid my sword in this hollow.

I retrieve my sword and study it. Rust has crept up along the blade. The leather on the hilt is completely gone. I couldn't take this blade with me when I went to study under the elves. As consolation, I asked an elvish smith in Inwir City to forge me a new blade, and he outdid himself. I named her Storm. She is magnificent, but I cannot carry her with me to court. Though it might be a good idea to carry her with if I dine with De Berchelai.

I need to clear my head. I haven't had a lot of time for myself since my arrival. I have been scurrying between the court, the wounded, and occasionally my bed.

I grip my old sword's hilt, but it feels foreign to me. Human swords are different from the blades of the elves. Storm is a compromise between the two. The elf who made her grudgingly agreed to some of my specifications. I give the decayed sword a few swings.

It would be good if I could practice with one of these for a while - until I am comfortable with them again.

I wonder whether Lord Caith uses an elvish blade or that of humans. Perhaps he is skilled in both.

Why am I wondering what kind of a sword he uses?

I strike my sword against the tree. It shatters.

"Oh!"

Stupid! Rust weakens things, you moron.

I start to pick up some of the pieces of my shattered sword.

"You know, swords aren't supposed to do that. Your blade was probably not of the best craft."

The pieces of my sword clatter to the ground as I turn around.

"Ouch!" I yowl when one of the pieces cut my left hand. I immediately press my other palm on the wound.

I give him a horrible scowl.

His blue eyes sparkle and his is smile is full of amusement.

"What in the world are you doing here, lord Caith?"

"You just skip formalities, do you not?"

"I asked you a question," I frown.

His smile widens.

My thoughts on how attractive he is when he smiles are interrupted by the sting of my palm.

"Dammit! I won't be able to help anyone with this," I mutter as I look around for something to treat the wound with.

He calmly walks over to me, withdraws a dagger and cuts a piece of cloth from the inside of his cape. He takes my hand and gently wraps the cloth around my palm and then folds my hand closed in his.

"The cut should heal soon enough. I'm sure you have some salves and ointments available to you to prevent it from festering an infection."

I nod.

"So why are you here, Lord Caith?"

"Not even a thank you for my tender care?"

I mutter my thanks.

"You're in need of some practice, and a sword. I can help you with both of those."

"Yes?"

It doesn't escape my notice that he deflected my question.

"If you are receptive toward it, I can offer you the training my men receive. You'd need a better blade though."

"I have a much better blade. This one is an old one from my youth."

"You still need practice," he says before giving a proposition that I cannot refuse.