Mallowston.

THE sky was a sickly shade of grey, a reflection of the death and despair that hung heavily in the air. Aden braced himself for the grim scene awaiting him upon his arrival at Mallowston. A flock of crows soared overhead, their raucous cries adding to the eerie atmosphere. In the dim light of dawn, the Strega flowed murky and brown, swirling with debris carried by its eddies and currents. Along the riverbank, the bodies of soldiers floated, their lifeless forms bobbing in the water, limbs askew and faces contorted in agony.

As the merchant sloop carrying the duke and his entourage passed a particularly dense clump of corpses the overpowering, sickly sweet mixture of rot and decay wafted up into the air. Flies swarmed over the bloating bodies, their buzzing filling the air with an ominous hum. The once tranquil waterway had become a graveyard overridden by carrion-eaters, where the dead could find no rest and the living could find no solace.

A soft touch on his back drew Aden's attention. He glanced to his side to see Vaiu, the Matriarch, her veiled countenance offering silent support.

"He will be alright," Aden murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the sombre river. Vaiu remained silent, her presence a comfort amidst the bleakness. Behind her stood the queen and princess in veils, as well as another veiled woman, who as far as the duke was concerned remained unnamed: An odd sight it was, one hooded man hunched over as he stared blankly into the river with four veiled women standing around him their gazes trained on his person; sympathetic.

"Isn't that the Count's crest?" Princess Iris inquired, pointing towards a beached vessel on the northern bank. Aden followed her gaze, recognizing Count Hera's brig, the Dandelion, its hull riddled with holes from cannon fire. Further ahead lay another vessel more heavily damaged than the former; its hull was riddled with holes and its single mast completely missing. Alas, the vessel's name eluded him; Endearment? Endeavour? Enlightenment? Ancestors only knew…

Both wrecks bustled with activity as men worked to repair the damage. Nearby, fishing boats plied the water, their crews salvaging items from the wreckage. On the northern riverbank, tents dotted the landscape, hinting at an encampment of unknown forces.

"Harbor ahoy," the sloop's helmsman announced from the quarterdeck. Aden's befuddled gaze panned over to the distant outline that was Mallowston Harbour. The duke marched up the vessel's fo'c'sle, grabbing a bundle of rigging as he pulled himself up the sloop's forepeak despite Vaiu's vehement protests.

"Careful, you lousy oaf!" She hissed, glaring at him.

The vessel's crew skillfully brought the sloop in and the duke bounded down into the harbour, leaving the women to make their way down themselves. "What's going on?" he asked, roughly grabbing a ship's boy about fourteen or fifteen years of age. Terrified by Aden's rather passionate approach, the boy tried to pull away but failed to escape the duke's firm grasp.

"Are we gonna be havin' trouble, good ser?" one burly-looking stevedore asked loudly, his reproachful gaze fixed on the scene.

'Shit,' Vaiu whispered to herself as the labourer loudly confronted Aden. Her panicked gaze flickered to the duke, and sure enough, his expression had grown calm. 'Shit,' she whispered again, lifting her dress in a bid to hasten her steps, 'he is not pleased…'

"Please, don't mind my husband!" Vaiu shouted, hurrying forward to defuse the situation, the other women following closely behind. She placed a reassuring hand on Aden's outstretched arm, urging him to release his hold on the boy. "Relax, my love," she whispered to him, sternly meeting his gaze despite their height difference; the duke stared back at her for a long moment before grunting and letting the boy go.

Vaiu breathed a sigh of relief. "Please forgive his outburst," she said to the stevedore, turning to face him. "He's worried about some valuable goods left in town over winter. The sight of the damaged vessels downstream alarmed him. Could you please tell us what happened?"

"Aye," the man replied, his gaze still stern as he addressed Aden directly. "Just mind your temper with the harbour boys; folks 'round these parts don't take too kindly to people who mistreat the kids. As for the ships, no need to fret, sir," he continued, ignorant of Vaiu's efforts to calm the increasingly annoyed duke. "It's just the earl from Faywyn and the Hera family having another skirmish. Well, 'skirmish' might not be the right word; the sly earl thoroughly defeated Lord Josh before he could even set foot on dry land. The poor sod."

"Crushed?" Aden questioned, his brow furrowing.

"Aye," the stevedore confirmed, his stern demeanour softening slightly. "I saw it all from the hills. The earl's cannons roared, and the count's fleet turned tail to flee. But the earl's brigs ran them aground, then blasted them to pieces before boarding. Word is Lord Josh himself fled into the woods."

"So, the count was ambushed?" Aden clarified.

"Aye. The earl had been stockpiling weapons and men since before the first snow. The locals call him the bloody gryphon, but he's more of a fox if you ask me; cunning and elusive..."

Iris had never seen Duke Aden so visibly shaken. To her, he had always epitomized composure. As they ascended the path to Mallowston fort, their horses momentarily relieved from the sloop's confines, she observed Aden's usually stern countenance grow increasingly grave. A foreboding silence enveloped them as they approached the imposing structure ahead.

Unless the tales spun by the townsfolk about the earl's swift conquest of the fort overnight with half as many men as the enemy were indeed true, Iris struggled to fathom how such a mighty stronghold could have fallen at all. But if indeed this was true—an idea she refused to entertain solely out of principle—then the earl was a rather ingenious man… albeit a terrifying if one considered his recently conferred moniker.

As they drew nearer, Iris discerned the ghastly scorch marks on the fort's walls, rumoured to be the result of the earl setting the place ablaze. The sight shattered the innocent, feminine image she had once conjured of the strange man; the silhouette of a cunning despot now replaced the memory.

"Halt!" a guard at the fort's gate called out, brandishing his spear with unusual wariness. His companion, equally vigilant, prepared to defend against what seemed an improbable threat posed by a lone man and four women. Two pairs of eyes peered down from the walls above, crossbows trained on Iris's group.

"I seek an audience with your lord!" Aden shouted, dismounting as they reached the gate. Another man, noble given his attire, appeared peeking from the walls. "Carter!" the duke called upon sighting the man. "Come open these gates for me!"

"Y-yes, My Lord!" the older man stammered, descending quickly to fulfil Lord Aden's command.

As the grand doors of the Keep's main hall swung open, Iris's eyes fell upon the Earl of Faywyn seated at the edge of the refectory table, a battered and bound man kneeling before him; a knight perhaps, given the fellow still had his mail and gambeson on. The earl's soft facial features were dimly lit by the weak sunlight reflecting off the unpolished stone floor tiles. The hard lines of his lean, vaguely muscular form were discernible beneath his thin silken clothes and his icy blue-green glare peeked out from beneath the tousled mess of inky curls on his head; his soft, pinkish lips curled into a crude caricature of a smile. Levi was as beautiful as she remembered him to be from her childhood, only his eyes were now barren of the glimmer of innocence they once held; frigid with a hint of playful cunning.

Iris was not sure what to expect from the father-son reunion, but the tense stand-off between the two von Grifenburgs caught her completely off guard.

"...You are back,' the devilishly handsome son sniffed, his tone dismissive, "took you long enough."

There was a blur, and to Iris' bewilderment, the duke was across the room lifting the younger man by the collar as he pressed a dagger threateningly unto his neck. "Where is my son?" Aden growled, much to Iris' confusion. Her gaze flickered to the earl's face before flickering back to the duke; although the earl appeared somewhat less effeminate than she suspected him to be there was no mistaking the similarities between him and his father.

The hall fell silent. Then there was a small but sharply audible click. Iris glanced down to see the earl pressing a strange object—an oddly shaped, short handgonne, she realised after a momentary inspection—into the duke's cuirass. "Has fighting your beloved king's war finally turned you brain-addled, Father?" Levi asked softly, his tone weighed heavily by an undercurrent of scorn.

"You are not my son," the duke growled back before casting a suspicious glance at the Matriarch of the Creed of the Twins. "Is this another one of your games, Vaiu?" the duke asked coldly, "I do not care what well-meaning intentions you have, but I will not tolerate a skin mask of my son being paraded about like some joke."

"...I assure you, Aden," the woman replied carefully, "I wouldn't do that to you."

The duke turned back to his son, pawing at the younger man's face in a vain attempt to pry it off. "Let go of me, Aden," the earl said, his voice settling into a dreadful calm. The duke dropped the earl, backing away from the younger man, his face a rictus of confusion.

The earl smoothened his rumpled clothing before turning to face the bound knight by his feet. "I am sorry, Paul," he said raising his handgonne to the man's face. "You were such a pleasant person to converse with. Alas, you've seen too much… heard too much… Goodbye, friend. Send my regards to Ser Dywn if you ever happen to meet him."

The weapon erupted in an explosion of fire and smoke and the knight's head all but disappeared, leaving behind nought but half a jaw and a bloody stump. Iris stumbled back a step and a half, her face turning green as she struggled to hold back the bile forming in the back of her throat.

"...Why?" Ser Carter asked walking forward to put himself between the terrifying earl and his silent father.

"Why not?" Levi replied, his gaze unflinching. "Anyone with half a brain and a handle on the prevalent rumours could easily put one and two together to realise that two of the four women behind the duke are the deposed queen and crown princess. Ser Paul was a cunning, but cowardly man. Exactly the wrong kind of person to possess that sort of information. He posed a risk... need I remind you what that risk is, Ser Carter?"

Silence.

The earl sniffed. "Thought so. Imagine what would happen should this information manage to leak and reach say, the Hertaleans perhaps? That's if you haven't already advertised yourselves to the entire town?" Levi's pointed stare panned to Iris and the others from across the room.

"...We were careful," the Matriarch replied slowly.

For a few moments, the hall lulled into another tense silence. Then it was broken by the earl who proffered a slight nod.

"...Make sure the men concerned understand that whoever is caught peddling rumours of the duke's arrival would be sentenced to two months in a pillory with only stale bread and watered vinegar to subsist on. Also, please find someone to clean that mess before the tapestry is permanently ruined," Earl Levi said to Ser Carter, gesturing towards the headless corpse, before turning back to face Vaiu. "Well," he said smiling, "I hope for your sake you were indeed careful. I would hate to have to send you lot back to the Hertaleans myself after everything you have gone through to make it this far."

Iris felt the blood drain from her face. "...What are you insinuating, boy?" the duke growled as he took one threatening step forward. The earl in response turned the full intensity of his smile to his father. "Unlike you Aden," he said, his tone one of mock cheer, "I have no intention of risking my well-being, what's left of my family, or the people of Faywyn in a vain attempt to protect your beloved king … Have you no shame at all, Father? The gall of you, to come here and attempt to saddle me with a matter this ruinous after the numerous crimes your beloved Sean committed against us! Sentiment alone, Father, is all that prevents me from simply putting you all to the blade and resolving this debt once and for all! I warn you now, don't test my patience."

The earl spun around, dismissing the duke who suddenly fell silent, his gaze vacant. "Take off your veils," Levi ordered, gesturing irritably towards Iris and the others. "Which ones are their majesties?"

The princess hurriedly took off her veil, not out of fear, she convinced herself, but as a means to quickly resolve whatever misunderstanding might arise from tarrying on the matter. Her mother however remained silent for a few moments more.

"...Very well," Queen Irina said finally, calmly lifting her veil.

"And you two?" Levi asked his stern gaze flickering to the veiled Matriarch and her assistant.

"...I have heard a lot about you from your father, Levi," the Matriarch said, raising her veil in response, the other woman shadowing her movements. "It saddens me to make your acquaintance under such circumstances, but we must make do. I am Vaiu of House sauhel Arundel, current Matriarch and Grand Priestess of the Creed of the Twins. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"...I don't doubt it is," the earl replied, his expression quickly growing indiscernible. "Ser Carter would show you all to the guest quarters. We can reconvene at a later time; if you would forgive me, I have more pending matters that require my attention."

"Son! Wait!" the duke called out as the earl turned to leave.

"Your son is dead, Aden," the earl called back as he strode out of the Great hall.

"Sean killed him; I am all that's left."