!Warning: M (16+)-rated themes: Depiction of violence and blood.

- IXL -

Ilona had almost abandoned hope when at first the portal of the castle hadn't seemed to open. But, thank God, after all it had. The soldiers had let them pass and then closed it again as soon as the last rider had reached the shelter of the fortress. The werewolves had no chance of surmounting the high and massive walls, their frustrated howls now fading as they retreated into the woods.

One of the castle's guards, an athletic but pale figure in blackened armour, had told the group to dismount and wait in the courtyard. Now Ilona stood there, taking a look around, her hands protectively placed on Adorjan's shoulders.

Even as seen from here, the building wasn't getting more inviting. The dark stone walls still loomed over them like some scary creature, ready to come down upon them every moment. In the few lighted windows, she could make out the shadow-like forms of men and women, watching them with strangely glowing eyes, and a shiver ran down her spine. Was it possible that the werewolves were not the only supernatural beings in these woods?

The boy turned around to look at her, his lip quivering. Ilona could tell it was not just because of the cold and forced herself to smile at him reassuringly.

After they had waited for some time, the guard returned, with more black and silver-clad men at his heels, their faces pale, the same odd glint in their eyes. The soldiers formed a row before them, their halberds at their sides. Adorjan swallowed audibly and Ilona instinctively shoved him behind her, like her skirts and cloak could protect him from the gruesome weapons.

They waited for some moments more, while the soldiers just stared at them, unmoving. In the distance, Ilona could hear Semira whispering some impatient words to Lajos, but she didn't understand what her sister-in-law said and didn't dare turn around.

Then, footsteps sounded over from a door that seemed to be the entrance to the keep. More guards were entering the courtyard now, led by a tall man whose appearance was more unnatural and frightening than all of his soldiers together. He wore a black, fur-trimmed coat, strands of ash-blond hair fell to his shoulders, and his skin was so pale it almost radiated in the darkness. In a kingly manner, he positioned himself in front of Ilona's group, scrutinising them, his aquamarine gaze seeming to straightly pierce their souls.

"Bow to Lord Viktor, Elder and ruler of this castle!" the guards' captain shouted.

Impressed and intimidated, the twenty men and women went down on their knees.

"Milord, you have saved us from certain death! We are deeply grateful for your benevolence!" Lajos exclaimed, still a bit wheezing. "If we can serve you in any way to show you..."

"Silence!" Viktor cut him off in an angry tone, his voice echoing in the courtyard. Then he turned to the captain of the guard. "Did you not have orders to inform me, before you open the gates?" the warlord spat at the man.

"Yes, Milord..." The captain wanted to explain why he had let the mortals in, but by raising his hand, Viktor cut him off, too.

"Then what is this?!" The Elder gestured towards the crowd. "Uninvited strangers in our castle, twenty of them by my count!"

The captain lowered his head, not daring to speak again.

"Since the execution of two undutiful guards took place not yet a week ago, I suppose you all still know what happens to those defying my orders?" Viktor addressed the soldiers now, his voice threateningly calm.

The captain's head shot up, his expression horrified. "Please, Milord! There were nine werewolves chasing them, one of them huge and white..."

Viktor's eyes widened in shock and anger at the man's words. Without warning, he seized the captain's throat, hauling him up. "What did you just say?!" he hissed.

"One wolf was b... bigger than the others, with white fur... Please, Sire..." the captain choked, but before he could beg for his life, the clang of steel, followed by an explosion of pain in his guts, interrupted him.

Even when Viktor let go of his throat and set him down again, the soldier couldn't get a word out. He dropped to his knees and simply stared at the large pool of dark red liquid that was starting to build before him on the floor, coming from the region between his belt and breastplate, where the Elder's dagger pierced his body. Viktor withdrew the blade with a disgusted growl, putting it back into its scabbard at his right. A light kick from the warlord's boot was enough to overthrow the shocked captain, who now lay on the blood-soaked ground, motionless.

There was a moment of complete silence in the courtyard of Castle Corvinus, before Viktor took a step back and unsheathed his two-handed sword.

Until now, Ilona had watched the gruesome events in horror, unable to unfix her gaze from the frightening lord of the castle. But when the blade of Viktor's broadsword descended onto the moribund soldier, decapitating him with a clean cut, she shut her eyes and turned around, clutching her trembling nephew and holding him to her in a tight embrace.

After Viktor had cleaned the large blade on the dead man's tunic, he sheathed it again and addressed the remaining soldiers. "Take that miserable mob to the dining hall and have the servants serve them some food!" the Elder commanded, before he turned on his heels and walked back to the castle at a fast pace.

Semira heard Lajos suck in the cold air with a squeaking sound. He pretended to be a good leader, but in fact, he was as faint-hearted as a chicken. Well, actually chickens weren't the perfect animals to compare him with. Her husband had always been more of a fat pig than anything else, a bad-tempered fat pig to be precise. But despite his tantrums, Lajos never really asserted himself, never let actions follow his words. Semira could have endured his looks, but she couldn't stand the fact that almost no-one, not even his own men, took him seriously. How she hated every minute of her life since her parents had forced her to marry him! She had kept telling herself that she still had her son to hold on to, to believe in, but Adorjan had never shown any courage either. He was an anxious child and would grow up to be a cowardly young man.

The austere black-haired woman raised her head and watched Viktor walk away. He seemed to know how to let actions follow his words. A smirk curled Semira's red lips. Maybe that werewolf-attack had been a fateful incident. Maybe she was meant to be here in that scary castle with its supernatural inhabitants. Maybe this was the chance to finally escape her unpleasant life.