Seeking - a comfortable bed and a nice hot bath x

Her parents called her downstairs one night when the sun hung low in the sky, illuminating the ramshackle slate roofs of the houses in the city from the windows in the spire. From the windows in the great spire of the castle, the city of Arlathurin looked calm, quiet. The rivers of warm orange light ran through the streets as the lanterns turned on in preparation for the evening and no one but a few peasants milling about and the regular patrols of guards in their glimmering gold armor trudged along the narrow winding walkways. It was almost picturesque from above.

Her parents were stood in the middle of the hall politely chatting to a figure in long robes with their back to her but her brother, Ondolemar stood facing her, square jaw set and tense, skin paler than she’d seen it before. Something within her urged her to run now, to not let her curiosity get the better of her and cross the threshold to the hall but that would be rude to leave the guest standing - embarrassing for the family even if this figure were someone of significant stature.

When she looks back on this night later, when she’s cold and alone deep in the forests, aimlessly wandering in the dark, she wishes on any god who will listen she’d not entered that room and taken a bigger head start. Their guest is stood there, tall, painfully thin and hands gnarled like a tree. His cruel nature has made it onto his face in deep set angry lines. He’s a neighboring noble man from a town not half as wealthy as this city, but they have fields, and fields mean food, which is something Arlathurin struggles for. He’s an ally, but he’s a terror.

She remembers his wife, like many pretend not to do. She was just older than Arivanya, and she was so lovely and full of life. Then she was quiet, and covered in bruises that bloomed across her black and blue, and then she was dead.

“Arivanya, sweet girl. Come step into the light so that our guest can see you better.” Her mother calls as she hesitates in the doorway. “She’s a handsome young girl.” Her father asserts, standing tall and straight. “She’ll make a good wife. We’ve raised her well, she won’t be as defiant as the last one.”