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“Dear Gods. Does it never stop raining here? I don’t think we’ve ever visited a more aptly named place, it’s so cruddy gloomy, even the great hall ghosts are no doubt depressed.”

“Gloomenthrall does appear to be singularly unique, Sire.”

“Sire…?”

“One should expect draughty ancient manors to be full of shadows and mysteries.”

“Not in the third month of summer, when it’s barely high afternoon. Why, it looks like an hour past midnight out there.”

Lord Brandth De’Luca gave a worn velvet covered sofa a shove with his boot, positioning it closer to the fire before collapsing down upon it.

“Do you think these rooms ever get warm?”

“Doubtful.”

Captain Talac muttered in response.

“Is something interesting going on in the entry courtyard?”

“Not at all.”

Talac turned away from the narrow window, his fingers moving quickly in a flicking motion that anyone observing would dismiss as nothing. The quick non-verbal signals were to advise that something very interesting indeed had captured Talac’s interest. They were necessary, since the Captain was damn sure they were being watched right now. Thus, his comment about draughts earlier, to alert his friend.

“Good, you know how much I loathe and despise high intrigue.”

Brandth drawled.

“So, it’s lucky none of that is occurring here.”

“You thrive on the stuff.”

Talac finally moved away from the window after one final close look at the intriguing vast highly fortified structure located across the muddy front courtyard of the Keep. Looming out of the shadows opposite, the wide imposing portcullis entrance was visibly closely guarded. Heavily caped and armed shadowy figures patrolling high battlement walkways. Flickering covered brasseries placed at set intervals meant they weren’t trying to hide their presence.

Just who or what lived there? Why the battlements and the massive portcullis? Why all the armed guards? What were they trying to keep out? Or perhaps the more apt question might be, what were they keeping in?

Forcing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand, Talac resumed speaking.

“Though I doubt you’ll have time to become bored, fortunately, you have all those beautiful ladies we caught a brief glimpse of when we arrived to meet and assess. I’m sure a candidate exists amongst them, one who will be deemed suitable to attend the annual end of summer festivities at the Golden Palace.”

The two men chose to ignore the smothered squeals of delight, followed immediately by just as loud shushing sounds emanating from within the walls of the guest suite. Old Keeps such as this were notoriously full of secret passageways and the like. Nice to know Gloomenthrall did not disappoint.

Brandth bit back a wicked smile.

“I hope you’re right. But whomever receives the invite will need to be exemplary. A woman of moderate temper. A pleasant conversationalist, but not too opinionated. Beautiful. Gentle. Kind. Artistic. And not overly witty, you know how the Prince hates those who prove to be more clever than he.”

“I could not bring myself to utter a word against our noble Prince.”

“Oh, please, yes, he’s honourable, brave and handsome… in his own way. But the man is nothing but picky.”

“I believe he’s entitled to have some input into whom his future bride will be.”

“And that is why I, as his emissary, have travelled the length and breadth of our lands for the last six years, seeking out suitable candidates to attend the Golden Palace end of summer festivities and meet the Prince. But I’m getting old-”

“You’re a year shy of turning thirty.”

Snorted Talac derisively.

“And every year the cold seeps into my bones just that little bit deeper. More importantly, the Prince is not getting any younger. I know the King and Queen are very eager for him to settle down and produce many, many grandbabies.”

“Oh, for pity sake.”

Talac strode over to the fire and began tossing logs onto the hearth. Within a minute the fire was crackling loudly. Sitting beside his friend, he pitched his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard, given the now roaring fire.

“Many mysteries and many secrets abound here. You will need to be on your toes.”

Brandth tapped his knee twice in acknowledgement. Part of his role as emissary was not just to identify suitable bridal candidates, but to gauge the political leanings of their hosts. To uncover potential plots and unrest before they could unsettle the Vallas Realm.

Unparalleled at acting the dilettante. Dressing in bright silks and flowing capes, Brandth made a striking tall and fit figure, doubly so, given his handsome profile, sparkling honey brown eyes and golden flowing mane. Though beneath that glossy exterior was a keen, rapier sharp mind.

They made a good team. Brandth interacting with the gentry, observing them. Acting oblivious when they tried to bribe him so their daughter might be chosen as a bridal candidate. And downright clueless when the subject of the King’s health or planned military endeavours came up.

Meanwhile, Talac would skulk behind the scenes. Listening to the gossip permeating amongst the servants. Rifling through the private belongings of their hosts, in search of dark secrets that may signal a future or imminent threat to the Realm.

“Ah, Raschion, finally.”

Brandth greeted the sight of his valet entering the room carrying a bottle of mead and glasses as if he were a conquering hero returned from war. Accepting the full glass poured for him eagerly but not drinking from it. Brandth waving it around instead like a prop for those who watched from the secret passageways that abounded in a place as old and massive as Gloomenthrall Keep.

Whilst Raschion set about unpacking Brandth’s things, making a lot of noise as he did so, tsking at the sight of wrinkles, and smacking away dust that had collected thanks to their many days on the road, the two men continued talking but in much lower tones.

“No sign of the Beast of Gloomenthrall that every man and their dog has been warning us about in increasingly dire tones for the past few days then?”

“Not as yet. No.”

Talac grumped.

“It’s probably nothing more than an overblown children’s tale. Designed to get the buggers to eat their vegetables and mind their elders.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t explain the pilgrims we met on the road to our destination.”

He was thinking of the man with one leg, the blind woman, and the young family of four, so tired, so poor, they were all but skin and bones. Each and every one had refused their offer of a ride in the dry and relatively comfortable empty coach that accompanied the retinue - more for looks, than practicality.

When prodded to explain their preference to keep plodding on through the rain and ever deepening shadows of the vast looming woods, with heaven knows how many sharp tooth predators lurking, each had declared the mysterious Beast would know if they took the easy path. That a pilgrim had to prove themselves prepared to face trials of hardship.

It had taken the royal contingent two solid days of riding through the woods, spending restless and damp evenings huddled around the fires at designated cleared campsites before they reached the Keep. Gods knows how long it would take the pilgrims on foot, but none appeared despondent or deterred. Nor would any of them explain what they hoped the Beast would grant them when they reached their goal.

Though there were rumours of miracles performed. And just as many counter rumours claiming the Beast would gift a quick death to anyone found unworthy. Frustratingly, none of the stories were particularly clear on what kind of sacrifice would be required in exchange for the boon the pilgrims sought? Flesh? Blood? Servitude?

Given all the tales and warnings they had been subjected to once they were within a week’s ride of Gloomenthrall Woods, it appeared the mythic Beast was equals parts vicious sharp fanged killer, and at the same time, a saviour of pure goodhearted men.

“I thought for sure they’d been talking about Baron Gloomenthrall.”

Brandth pondered, taking the barest sip of mead to wet his parched throat.

“But whilst he’s loud… earthy, and wide, I do not think the Keep’s liege could be considered a Beast.”

They shared a look, both recalling the way Baron Gloomenthrall had descended upon the royal entourage the moment they had arrived. The Keep’s servants swarming them in a practised manner, leading their ten guardsmen, the empty carriage and all the horses hurriedly away. Heading, they were advised, to the stables and accommodations located off the main internal courtyard of the Keep.

His Lordship, all smiles, backslaps and enthusiastically loud greetings, steered Brandth and Talac inside the Keep. The greeting feeling determined and practised, like a working dog driving sheep. Herding them deeper still, into a huge dark cavernous cold great hall. Though six fires burned in grates large enough to each fit ten men standing upright, the chill in the air persisted.

A hall that was surprisingly crowded. Over forty men present, sitting in small groups, most playing games of chance with cards or dice. From their clothing and manner, it was easy to surmise these men were noble born. And at first Talac was unable to comprehend why they would choose to linger here, in a damp, dark Keep, miles from anywhere.

Then he noted the women who floated up and down the staircases endlessly, on errands he assumed. Even more of their gender gathering in small groups on the balconies overlooking the great hall, chatting, smiling coyly, laughing softly. So many women. Fifty. Fifty-five, maybe more.

“Me kin, daughters mostly.”

Baron Gloomenthrall acknowledged gruffly, rolling his dark eyes in a put upon manner.

“I’ve had six wives, Gods rest their souls, except for the current Lady of the Keep of course. She’s resting following the birth of our last child… a girl. Still, I’ve always done my duty by my people and kept myself wed, but what do I have to show for it… daughters, sisters, nieces, granddaughters. You’d think when you married them off the numbers would reduce. No, they come back. Calling themselves widows, often dragging their daughters with them.”

Baron Gloomenthrall scratched his ass, heaving out another sigh.

“So many women… and this lot hovering, hoping to score a girl and a dowry. Eating a man out of house and home whilst they get their courage up.”

That was an inexplicable statement but Baron Gloomenthrall had already shifted topics.

Wanting news of the Vallas Realm.

Before moving on to the topic of Pallene, where the Golden Palace was located.

Considered the epicentre of the Realm.

Before finally enquiring after the health of his Lieges.

A far from subtle man, as he questioned them bluntly like you would if you caught a man stealing from you.

But that was Baron Gloomenthrall it seems.

Rough.

Stout, so very stout, his barrel chest three times the width of Brandth.

And he was hairy.

His tangled greying black locks falling past his shoulders, his bushy beard longer still.

Thick eyebrows hovered above his eyes, making them look smaller than perhaps they really were.

The Baron standing at just below the six foot mark, but his stoutness and all that hair made him seem taller, bigger.

His clothing all of good quality, the materials sturdy and comfortable; black breeches, matching surcoat and knee high boots.

He was clearly not a man for airs or subterfuge.

Eventually asking them rather baldly what a King’s retinue was doing in these parts.

Brandth’s declaration that he was searching for a suitable candidate to invite to the Golden Palace, with a view to meeting and potentially marrying the Prince of the Vallas Realm was met by initial stunned silence.

Every female on the staircases or hovering above on the balconies suddenly frozen in place, as if digesting momentous life changing news.

“Ah, now you’ve done it.”

Baron Gloomenthrall spat. A wave of all but deafening noise suddenly exploding. Everyone speaking, squealing or shouting at once, their voices echoing in the vast room, the sound building and building. “Enough!”

His Lordship had quite the set of lungs. Glaring first upwards at his female kin. Before transferring his glare to the noblemen, noting several had pushed their chairs back, their hands resting on their blade hilts. Rolling his eyes again, his Lordship returned his attention to Brandth.

“How many do you plan to take?”

He didn’t sound either upset or excited at the prospect that one of his daughters might become the future Queen of the Vallas Realm some day.

Brandth eyed the women hovering on the stairs and the balconies, the air around them taking on a breathless, expectant hush.

“I have a list of qualities I look for. If no one meets those criteria, then no invitation is issued. If I find several candidates at the same locale, then I must whittle that number down to one.”

“One?”

His lordship muttered before bellowing the word out loudly.

“One! You hear that? So, you lot.”

He scowled at the noblemen.

“Sit down, play your games, and drink my mead, there will be plenty left of me kin to go around.”

He looked up, intending to speak again but all the ladies had vanished.

“Women.” He muttered under his breath.

“Gods help you.” He directed that at Brandth.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your boots right now.”

Smiling broadly, Brandth looked unperturbed.

“They seem like a group of lovely young ladies. I look forward to getting better acquainted with them.”

Snorting, Baron Gloomenthrall gestured for a nearby servant to show them to their rooms.

Their guide leading the way up a myriad of dark stairs, then down several even darker hallways until they arrived at their destination.

Interrupting an army of servants still in the process of removing the belongings of whichever nobleman had previously been lucky enough to score the private guest suite prior to Brandth’s arrival.

Now, an hour later, as they tried to get warm in front of the roaring fire whilst Raschion went about the process of attempting to make the room more comfortable, Brandth finally took a telling gulp of mead.

“It’s a lot daughters, sisters and nieces.”

“Yes. More worrisome, they were just the ladies of marriable age. How many female kin must the Baron have if you include those already married off, any still in the nursery or schoolroom, and who knows how many spinsters deemed past marriageable age with nowhere else to go?”

“Frightening. No sons you think?”

“Perhaps there are just as many of them, but they have better things to do.”

“And the nobles, you think they’re all here to offer for a bride? His lordship did make mention of dowries. Where does he get his wealth from? With that many mouths to feed, how does the man afford to keep this place running?”

“Did you recognise any of the gentlemen downstairs?”

Talac queried, curious.

“A couple of third and fourth sons. And Greasley’s heir, but he’s set to inherit nothing but a big pile of dirt and a delipidated mansion that makes this place look like a shining palace.”

“It was a rather daunting number of dependent female relatives.”

Talac’s mind was still boggled by their sheer number.

“You didn’t find it perturbing when he mentioned quite a number are widows returned to the nest?”

“Women often outlive their mates.”

“True.”

Brandth mused.

“And if they only produce daughters and were married to younger noble siblings, perhaps the family withdrew their support and there is nowhere else for the women to go but return here to Gloomenthrall. Ugh. It is times like this I think about how unjust and unfair the laws of inheritance are for women.”

“Perhaps you should broach the topic and your concerns when you debrief the King upon our return. It surprises me, this altruistic side of you.”

“For the last six years I’ve had the privilege of speaking to many charming and sweet young ladies. Listening to their hopes and dreams for the future. They all deserve for them to come true… but, I fear they won’t. And there is very little legal recourse available to them when it comes to their rights to own land or manage their own wealth.”

“That’s what fathers and brothers are for.”

Talac took a swig of mead, surprised to find it rather palatable.

“I have two younger sisters, you know. And one day perhaps I shall marry and have daughters. It chills me to think that once they are wed, I must trust in their husband and his family not to treat them shoddily, abandon, or hurt them.”

“I’m sure most husbands have nothing but the best interests of their wives at heart.”

Heaving out an exasperated sigh, Brandth shook his head.

“You, my friend, are a product of a very blinkered upbringing. Too many years training to fight, surrounded by men of war and politics. But perhaps it’s not too late to educate you.”

Honey brown gaze twinkling with wicked intent all of a sudden.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes. Please recall that I too have a job here to perform and do not have time for your games and machinations.”

“You’re an excellent multi-tasker, Talac. I sense you’re intrigued by all these wild tales of the mythical Beast of Gloomenthrall and no doubt intend to pursue the subject until you’re satisfied you have all the answers in that direction. My little educational side project will hardly burden you, I’m sure. Besides, according to you, I shall find nothing but tales of hearts and flowers amongst the widows and orphans.”

“This mead is surprisingly excellent.”

Brandth allowed for the change in subject.

“Let’s pray the food is of similar quality, as I fear, given the number of ladies, that we shall be here for a while.”

“I’ll look into finding a training space for the men tomorrow. Practise will help keep them honed and occupied.”

“Good idea. And you’ll sleep in here. This sofa is lumpy but should be adequate for your needs.”

“I’m sure the facilities provided for my men will prove just as adequate. They’re housed near the stables, which is located off the Keep’s inner main courtyard.”

“That fact did not escape me. Horses and men-at-arms are valuable creatures, housing them inside the Keep strikes me as an important measure if there is something… big you need to protect them from. Something too big to hopefully get through hideously narrow windows.”

Brandth waved a hand at the window Talac had been standing in front of earlier.

“Then I should be with my men, near the horses, better to protect them both if something big does choose to make an appearance. I would see them all safe.”

“Really. What about the risk to… me? The windows may be decidedly narrow but his Lordship felt compelled to cross them with silver bars as an added deterrent. Which suggests that at some time in the past the… big thing attempted to breach the Keep itself. No, you’ll sleep on the sofa, given it’s my life that hangs in the balance, it’s my final word on the matter.”

“Fine. But I know that’s not your only motive.”

“Oh?”

“You think I don’t know how often you have to barricade your door of a night in order to keep the more motivated - sweet and charming - young ladies out, the ones who think to seduce you into choosing them?”

“Well, yes, that may have factored into my thinking. Given that you, Talac, with all your dark scowls and interminable brooding make you a proficient guard dog.”

“Best you remember that I bite.”

“Yes. Yes. So very scary. But mark my words, one day, very soon I hope, you shall meet your match. She will ignore your bite. And she’ll expect words of a poet and deeds of a gentleman worthy of her. Your skill with a sword will prove all but useless in the quest to win your lady love’s heart.”

“You’ve been listening to too many young ladies hopes and dreams. I have no intention of marrying anytime soon, but am sure my future wife will be of a practical mindset, and value the security and protection I can provide above all else.”

Mead snorted out Brandth’s nose, wiping it away, he coughed to clear his throat, then laughed.

“Security and protection, you say? Heaven help you, man. I believe you’ll have more luck finding the Beast of Gloomenthrall than a woman such as you suggest.”

“Excellent, as I have said, I have no interest in meeting or marrying any woman right now, but I do find myself very, very intrigued by all these stories regarding the Beast.”

“Hah, perhaps you shall encounter both mythical creatures on your quest.”

Outside lightning flashed suddenly, punctuating Brandth’s words. The room growing darker still as the rain turned even heavier.

“Gods, Gloomenthrall, whoever named this place knew what they were doing.”