Welcome to my first story in a good 14 years and the first I dare publish in English. It might be clunky and unpolished but I hope it still provides some fun moments to some of you.

I have the very major story beats already in mind that I want to hit but I'm too eager to get this out into the world to wait until I have everything written down so I am yet unsure how long this story will be in the end but if everything goes as planned... it's going to be a roller coaster. ^_~

Enjoy

Chapter 1

It was silence that greeted him, as he walked through the dark corridors, passing the portraits he used to stare at so much in his youth, as he had tried to understand and learn how exactly they had been painted, what techniques the artists had used to immortalize such beauty on a simple piece of canvas. After about a dozen of them, he came to an empty nail on the wall, waiting in vain to support a painting that would never come.

Of course.

His mother had been against commissioning a portrait of him, not wanting his face, his existence to be captured on canvas for generations to come. Surely she had hoped he'd die quickly, before he'd get old enough to give her any more grief. How wrong she had been. He had grown up to adulthood after all, which had led to even more grief than she could have ever expected.

And now he had outlived her; had watched her being carried into the family crypt to join her beloved husband at long last. Maybe he should feel something; maybe he should be saddened at the thought of his mother's death. Surely this was expected of him, considering his last close relative had now been taken from this mortal realm. But there was neither grief or sadness within him. Though he didn't feel particularly elated either, not having to confront his mother with his return to Britain, after his disappearance almost two decades ago. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he didn't feel much of anything at the thought of his mother's death, or his return to his childhood home of Powderham Castle, now as its rightful master.

The formalities of his inheritance would be a hassle he didn't particularly care for, but the thought of giving up his title with its estate and its wealth to some distant cousin he had never met before was more unpleasant than having to deal with some inept lawyer for a little while. His parents might not have wanted him in this position, but now that they both were rotting in their graves he would—

"Who's sneaking around there! I'm going to bash your skull in if you dare to... Mon Dieu! Votre Seigneurie? Is that you?" He heard behind him the raspy, thick French accent of Gerard Carrier, the elderly butler who had served his father back in the day, and who seemingly had stayed to serve his mother as well. Slowly he turned around to look at the elderly man, who had been the singular ray of light in the dark years growing up in these halls.

"Good Evening Gerard." His own voice had deepened and taken on a faintly exotic touch over the years abroad, but the melodic lilt that had been characteristic in his boyish treble was still there, subtle but powerful. His voice was a tool he had mastered to perfection throughout the years.

"It is so good to see you returned, my dear boy. But you could have sent a letter ahead." The elderly butler immediately huffed and lowered the iron poker he had clutched in his right hand, while keeping a hold on the candle holder with his left. His once black hair had gone almost completely grey and his face showed clear signs of his progressing age.

"And risk upsetting my dear mother with an announcement of my arrival?" the masked man spoke with a faint smile, the black leather mask that covered his face brushing along his cheeks. His slender fingers in their smooth leather glove brushed over the name plaque that had been fastened under the empty nail.

~Erik Sheridan Courtenay~

"Though it seems my courtesy went unappreciated, seeing her recent passing." Erik's voice was light and pleasant, the smile now more defined than before as he brought his amber gaze back to the elderly servant, who in turn looked at him with something akin to love and sadness.

"A shame you weren't there for the funeral."

"Oh, I was there." Erik continued on in his light tone, as if he was talking about attending a concert instead of his mother's funeral. "I just didn't feel like it was a good time for my grand return. There will be enough for the people to talk about in a few days, after I officially inherited my father's title and property." He shrugged lightly as he resumed his way through the hallway towards his father's old office, Gerard following close behind, lighting the way.

Reaching the all too familiar door, Erik tried the handle but found the door locked, something that had never happened in his youth. "Oh, I should have the key here somewhere," The young Earl heard his butler murmur behind him as he was already lowering himself onto one knee and pulling out the slender metal instruments from his sleeves which he used as lockpicks. Just a few well-placed pokes and turns and the door swung open with a faint creak.

As he rose again, he felt Gerard step next to him, the flickering light of the candles bathing him in an almost ghostly light. "You have changed a lot, my boy," he said and Erik could hear the worry in his voice.

"Well good. It would be a shame if I was still the same little boy, I was almost 20 years ago, wouldn't you agree?" He noted with a mirthful twinkle in his golden yellow eyes as he took the candle holder from Gerard's hand and stepped into the room. He quickly ignited the few candles and oil lamps which soon tried to bathe the room in a golden light. Not that it really succeeded in lightening up the room as the heavy desk and several cabinets lining the walls were made of dark walnut, swallowing most of the light and leaving the room in an almost oppressive dimness.

"I see nothing has changed here though." Erik walked over to the desk and almost gingerly took his seat in the somewhat dusty wingback chair that used to be his father's throne, ruling over his young life like a tyrant. A part of him waited for the imposing figure of his father to burst through the door and pull him off the chair by his hair. Nothing happened. He wanted to dangle his feet like he had done when he had been 7 years old. His shoes were firmly on the ground, unmoving. He was no longer a child. And this was no longer his father's throne, from which he would look down upon him with disgust. It was just wood and fabric, a chair like any other. With this thought sinking in, Erik relaxed and leaned back into the upholstery, his leather-clad hands resting on the armrests.

So this had been his father's vista. This had been what he saw whenever he would utterly decimate the poor bastards that came asking for an extension on their tenure or when he would intimidate the reverend coming to ask for a donation. This had been his view whenever he would punish Erik for disappearing from his lessons, just to be found in the stables or the music room. This had been what his father saw every time he said: "I'll be damned if I won't make a proper Courtenay out of you! Our house has endured for centuries and I won't let a little monster like you ruin this legacy!"

It wasn't a particularly interesting view, rather boring actually. His eyes darting through the room, he couldn't say that there was anything in this room he would have enjoyed looking at for hours on end.

"Erik? Is everything alright?" The worried voice of Gerard pulled him back from the deep seas that were his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

"Yes. You can go to sleep. It is late. I will find my way to my bedroom alone." He dismissed the elderly butler, not intending on going to sleep for quite a while. He had too much to do tonight. "Oh, and I need a complete list of the servants working here with notations if they live in the castle, if they are married and whether they have children and how many. Thank you."

If this request surprised Gerard, he didn't show it in his countenance nor his demeanor as he simply bowed and wished the earl a good night.

This night and the next days turned out to be annoyingly hectic for Erik as he made sure to forge and alter his mother's last will and testament to ensure his title and lands and wealth stayed right where they belonged and wouldn't be divvied up between some distant relatives he didn't care about. His parents hadn't cared about him in life, why should he care about their wishes in death? At the reading of the last will, Erik did notice the notary's confusion but he was confident in the perfection of his forgery and just a few days later his matters were settled. He was now officially the 13th Earl of Devon and he could finally think about the future; a future as his own master.

Looking now at the ridiculously large portrait of his father staring down coldly from the imposing landing at anybody who dared enter Powderham Castle, Erik had to admit to himself it wasn't very well painted. His childish self had thought it a perfect capture of his father's imposing figure, with the steel-blue eyes and the dark, well-trimmed hair and beard. That was probably the only thing he and his father had in common: their jet black hair, shining like silk. Though Erik knew very well that his father would have scoffed at his own long hair, which was kept in place by a black silk bow in his neck. If his father had been still alive at his return he probably would have ordered him to cut it off, if not even do it himself to teach his little monster of a son another lesson.

"Our House has endured for centuries…"

Footsteps disturbed Erik's thoughts and a polite cough from his butler let him turn around to look at Gerard, who seemed to have a perpetual worried and confused look on his face since Erik's return.

"The servant's belongings and everything you have listed have been carried over to the lodge, and the servants are all assembled in the courtyard. Will you tell me now why this had to be done at bloody three at night?" The butler asked rather grumpily, his exhaustion thickening his french accent even more.

Gerard's annoyance amused a small, childish part inside Erik, one that rejoiced in being able to surprise people with his little tricks, make them even weary sometimes. His voice was almost a hum when he turned to address his butler with a pleased smile. "You will see in a moment." He walked past him and down the flight of stairs towards the opened front door of the estate. There he found the few servants that did live within the halls of Powderham castle, either because their duties demanded their constant presence, or because they didn't have the means to pay for a room in the nearby village. They looked rather miserable and tired huddled around a bonfire that had been set up in the courtyard, as the nights were still rather chilly, for winter was rather reluctant to relinquish its grasp on the lands completely.

His gaze floated over the small crowd, noting some averting their gaze, some staring at him worried and terrified. It was an easy feat for him to project his voice over the courtyard, making him be heard clearly by everybody. "You may be wondering about this rather unusual occurrence. Effective as of this moment you are all dismissed of your obligations and duties to the Courtenay Family and their estate. Come morning you will all receive a sum that should provide a comfortable life for at least three months, after which you are free to reapply for a job at my estate or find employment elsewhere, for which Monsieur Carriere will provide a certificate of recommendation if needed."

The murmuring was like a wild brook flowing towards him and it was paining his ears. Questions of why and what now were the most common and he could see the utter confusion in their eyes as he walked towards the group. "Now I would advise you to take a few paces back." His calm voice and demeanor just added to their confusion as he bent down and took hold of one of the burning branches in the bonfire.

"What is the meaning of this, Milord?" Gerard asked, just as confused as the rest of the staff but Erik just winked at him with a smile, the branch in his hand, before suddenly taking a few running steps and throwing the burning piece of wood through the ornate window right next to the open door. Gasps and low screams reached him from behind as he watched the curtains and carpets catch fire and then.

BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!

The several dozen pouches of explosives he had hidden throughout the castle over the last few days ignited one after the other, spreading fire and destruction until the once glorious Powderham Castle was reduced to a blazing inferno.

"Farewell father. May the fires of hell warm your frigid heart."