I absolutely do mean to continue with this story. Don't worry, I was just relieved that that specific chapter was done! XD It's probably gonna be 10 ishy or more chapters.(?) And I do mean to write them all.
"My Lord?"
Erik hands tightened on the reigns, his gaze focused on the castle just over the horizon.
"My Lord."
He shook his head, turning to look at Nadir. "Yes?"
Nadir looked at him quizzically. "If we are to reach the castle we must ride there."
Erik shrugged, kicking his weary horse into a walk. The two servants and three soldiers he had brought with him glanced at each other. It wasn't often that he was so distracted.
Nadir himself wasn't surprised, he was the only one that knew of the King's request to Erik. Choosing a wife was not a choice to be made lightly in the best of circumstances, and Erik's was hardly that.
Nadir considered himself Erik's best, and only friend. Their friendship had been long formed through battle time and time again. They had first met just after Erik's knighthood. Nadir, a knight of sorts from his own land, had been tasked down with hunting a man for his government from the east. Converted to Christianity by a brave missionary five years before and thoroughly tired of the position though he'd only had it for a year, he agreed to teach Erik Ayyubid tactics in exchange for the promise that he might return to Europe with him.
Erik had agreed. Nadir had been by the side of his friend for almost twenty years, free from a position he had never wanted.
After Erik had settled his new land, he'd taken to wife a woman known as Antoinette Giry. She'd been married before, and had a small girl named Marguerite whom Nadir had taken in as his own. Since then they'd had three more children, all boys, kept in line by their eldest sister.
Smiling softly as the castle grew steadily closer, Nadir smiled wistfully and wondered what she was doing now. She was in charge of the castle, managing dinner and the cleaning of the building, along with the servants. She ruled with a strict but kind hand, and he loved her for it.
He could only hope that Erik would find such a wife, he deserved one.
Kicking his horse, he rode up to Erik. "Just think," he teased. "Your future wife could be in there now, combing her hair, embroidering."
Erik's gloved hands were tight on the reigns. "I'd rather fight the English." He said, his voice strained, but quiet.
"Well, marriage isn't as bad as that." Nadir sat back in his saddle, chuckling. "Some would say it's quite nice. All those poems were written for a reason, you know."
"It isn't the same."
Nadir backed off, Erik's voice warning him that he did not want for such frivolities.
"In all seriousness my friend, I think it would do you good to take a wife." Erik didn't seem to reply, in fact, he seemed to hunch over her saddle. Very uncharacteristic of him.
"Why would anyone want to marry me?" He snapped.
"Do not underestimate your self worth." Nadir's voice was firm. "You can be very charming when you wish to be. Come out from behind that black stone wall of yours."
Erik muttered something that Nadir doubted was complementary and set off at a trot ahead of him. Nadir shrugged his shoulders. He had tried. There was very little Erik hated more than woman, he barely tolerated Antoinette, let alone a woman he might be expected to woo, to marry, and to love.
Nadir only hoped that somewhere in those stone walls there was a woman that would suit him well.
Erik had never enjoyed parties in the best of situations, and after a week of celebrations that would lead almost into the morning, he positively detested them with every fiber of his being.
Somehow, word must have gotten out that he was searching for a wife because during each one at least three separate woman would attach themselves to him. He could defeat a man in single combat in a matter of minutes, but it would often take hours to escape their fluttering eyes and exposed bosoms.
He couldn't dance with them. (He hadn't any practice.) He was bored to death by their talk. (He had no passion in the cuts of dresses, whom was courting whom and the decor.) And he couldn't eat. (For obvious reasons.)
Dinner was always awkward, him avoiding the empty plate in front of him and the glass of wine set by him. The King seemed to try to seat him next to woman who might be more suited to him. But they either avoided him completely, engaged in awkward conversation while avoiding his face, or say nothing and stare unashamed at the mask.
There was one young woman, not a day over seventeen, he guessed, that had tried. She had probed to find his interest, then discussed what little she knew about them with him. But at the end of the dinner she had informed him quietly that while she did not mind his company, she did not wish to marry him. He had nodded, and said he understood.
Of course he understood, and yet it still stung a little. If only he could be more easy going with people, if only he did not have to wear a mask.
By the end of the two weeks, he had weeded out an alarming amount of widows, young woman and even one married woman, but no wife. He knew the King would be displeased, the thought made him uncomfortable. And yet he could not make himself marry one of the idiots who had presented themselves to him, and he would not make one of the indifferent woman marry him.
So, with only one more night to go, he decided that he would try his hardest to behave well, and that the first woman that presented himself to him he would spend the rest of the night with.
As it happened, it ended up being the worst of them all. A Spanish lady who was visiting with her her and French mother. She had already tried three times to present herself to him, despite each time he forcibly sending her away. Her name was Carlotta, and she was the one who talked the loudest, and had her dresses cut the lowest.
Still, he bit his tongue and recited Homer in his head when her drabble became too much for him, and he let her lead him wherever she wished about the room. When she wanted to dance he did his best to follow along with the steps. She was an excellent dancer, despite her other shortcomings, and this helped his stumbling.
Eventually she complained that she was hot and dragged him outside the the gardens.
He should have been paying better attention, after all, they were nearly alone now. He should have guessed that she would have tired such a thing. But he was too far into him own stupid self to notice the fingers at the back of his head, and by the time he did, it was too late.
His hands went up just as she began to scream. He dropped to the ground, searching frantically with one hand. Eventually he felt the cold porcelain that covered his face, unbroken by the soft grass, he could hear Carlotta still screaming hysterically while his hands fumbled again and again with the ties.
Got to get away, got to get AWAY!
He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he shoved it away. Giving up on the ties he ran through the gardens, his deepest instinct overcoming him.
GET AWAY!
Someone had seen his face, and now he had to leave. If he did not, he would driven out, or captured to go through ritual after ritual to remove the demon from his face. It was not safe, he had to get away.
He ran through the dining room, the crowd gasped as he stumbled on trains and shoved mercilessly into any who came in his way. They parted for him, their shocked faces turning to blurs as he sped away. Somewhere behind him he could still hear her screaming.
Up the stairs, to his room. He must get to his room.
Somehow he found himself in front of his door, he barreled through it, shutting and setting the iron bolt in.
He tossed the mask on the table, ignoring the unlit candle on the table he took out a bag and began searching for what he would need. A spare change of clothes foudn themselves in the bag, a spare mask he had brought.
He changed from the frivolous costume that he had worn tonight into clothing barely a step up from a farmers. A heavy cloak went about his shoulders. His hands had stopped shaking, he took the mask from his bed and managed to tie it back round his head.
Then he fled, taking his horse he rode away. The three gates of the castle had been opened to allow party goers to come and leave unhindered. He shot through each one, his hands tight at the reigns, his clock streaming behind him into the night.
