Arrival at Porthaven
The carriage rolled through imposing gates, its entrance halted by two guards. "State your business," one demanded, his voice sharp.
Beatrice, a vision of grace, stepped forward. "I am Beatrice Lancaster, We are guests of Duke Greysen," she announced, producing a formal invitation. The guards exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Proceed."
As the carriage moved on, Jack stared, speechless. Porthaven was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The architecture, though aged, possessed an undeniable elegance. The townsfolk, impeccably dressed, radiated an air of refinement. It was a scene straight out of a fairytale.
"I've only seen places like this in movies," he murmured, more to himself than to Beatrice.
Beatrice turned, a curious smile playing on her lips. "Movies? What do you mean?"
Jack chuckled, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing. Just… admiring the view." He returned his gaze to the charming streets of Porthaven, his awe undiminished. The experience was far richer than any cinematic portrayal. He felt a thrill of excitement, a sense of stepping into a world he'd only dreamed of. This was an adventure, and it had only just begun.
The carriage finally drew to a halt before Duke Greysen's castle, a majestic structure that dwarfed even the elegant houses of Porthaven. As they disembarked, Jack was astonished. Dozens of maids, impeccably uniformed, curtsied in unison as Beatrice alighted, their movements precise and practiced. The sheer scale of the greeting, the silent reverence, left Jack speechless.
"Whoa," he breathed, eyes wide. "Is this what it's like to be royalty? Or at least, traveling with royalty?"
Beatrice, ever the picture of composure, offered a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Hardly royalty, Jack. Though I suppose a few curtseying maids do add a certain… je ne sais quoi." She paused, a playful glint in her eye. "Though I doubt they're curtseying for you."
Jack chuckled nervously. "Well, they could be. Maybe they mistook me for a long-lost prince or something."
Beatrice let out a short, amused laugh. "Oh, I'm sure they're quite capable of distinguishing between a prince and… well, you."
"Ouch," Jack said, grinning. "That's cold, even for you, Beatrice."
"Just stating facts," she retorted, a smile playing on her lips as they started towards the castle's imposing entrance. "Now come along, before they start curtseying to the carriage."
As they approached the castle entrance, a impeccably dressed butler materialized as if from thin air. His voice, smooth and polished, cut through the air. "My Lady," he announced, bowing deeply. "The young master, your… fiancé, is not yet arrived. However, the Duke requests your immediate presence."
Jack's jaw dropped. He stared at Beatrice, his eyes wide. "Whoa. Fiancé?" he whispered, his voice barely audible above the hushed sounds of the castle.
Beatrice merely raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. "Shut up" she murmured, before turning to the butler with a regal nod. "Lead the way."
With a silent flick of her wrist, Beatrice dismissed the two guards who had accompanied them. They stood, stoic and silent, while Beatrice followed the butler inside. Jack, still reeling from the "fiancé" revelation, found himself left in a grand sala with the two guards, their presence somehow both reassuring and unnerving. The silence was heavy with unspoken questions, and a growing sense of anticipation. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of his rather ordinary attire amidst the opulent surroundings. This was certainly shaping up to be an adventure far exceeding his expectations.
A beautiful woman, every inch a noble lady, appeared as if summoned by the very air of the grand sala. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, landed on Jack. "And who might this… interesting young man be?" she asked, her voice laced with a distinct air of amusement and challenge.
She slowly approached Jack, her movements deliberate and graceful, yet possessing an underlying tension that made him shift uneasily. Her fingers, long and elegant, lightly traced the fabric of his shirt. "You look… foreign," she murmured, her voice a low purr. "Tell me, who are you?"
"I'm Jack, and you? who are you" he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the sudden appearance of a sword at his throat.
Before he could inquire about her identity, a soldier, clearly in her service, unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming menacingly close to his neck. "Mind your manners, young man!" the soldier snapped, his voice sharp and threatening.
Jack's two guards, Harold and Howard, reacted instantly. With practiced ease, they unsheathed their own weapons, a faint blue glow emanating from the steel – a clear sign of imbued mana. They stood ready to defend him, their bodies tense, poised for action.
The noble lady, seemingly unfazed by the sudden escalation, raised a hand, a gesture that instantly calmed her soldier. "That's quite enough," she said, her voice retaining its cool composure. "Lower your weapons." She turned back to Jack, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "My name is Arabella Aurumnhart, the eldest daughter of Duke Greysen Aurumnhart."
Arabella's smile held a hint of something dangerous, a playful predator sizing up its prey. "Forgive my… enthusiastic… guard," she said, her gaze lingering on Jack. "He's rather protective. And easily startled by… unexpected guests." She gestured to the sala with a delicate hand. "So, Jack. Tell me, what brings you to the Duke's castle? And more importantly, what brings you to my attention?"
Jack, still slightly breathless from the near-sword-to-the-throat experience, swallowed hard. He glanced at Harold and Howard, who remained vigilant, their weapons still held loosely at their sides. "I… I'm here with Lady Beatrice," he began, choosing his words carefully. "She's… a friend." He decided against mentioning the 'fiancé' revelation for now. "We were invited by the Duke."
Arabella's eyebrows rose slightly. "Beatrice, you say? Interesting. I haven't seen her in quite some time. And you're a friend? How… intimate a friendship might that be?" Her eyes, sharp and observant, seemed to pierce through him, assessing his every word, every reaction. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills playing out in the opulent surroundings of the Duke's sala. Jack realized this was far more than a simple introduction; this was a game, and he wasn't entirely sure what the rules were.
"Actually," Jack admitted, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips, "I'm not that good with weapons."
Arabella's eyes narrowed, assessing his honesty. While a part of her suspected he might be downplaying his skills, another, more intriguing part found his unexpected vulnerability strangely appealing. The fact that he was merely Beatrice's escort, a seemingly ordinary man amidst the castle's grandeur, only heightened her interest. His facial features, indeed unique and unlike any she'd encountered in her life of privilege, sparked a curiosity she couldn't quite ignore. Having seen countless men, sons of nobles and even visiting royalty, this was the first time a man had genuinely piqued her interest.
"Since your mission is merely to escort Beatrice," Arabella purred, her voice a silken caress, "why not extend your services? Become my personal bodyguard, for instance?" The suggestion hung in the air, a proposition as intriguing as it was unexpected. It was a flirtation, a subtle test, a way to gauge his reaction, his worth, his potential. She was playing a game, and Jack, with his disarming honesty and unconventional charm, was proving to be a most interesting opponent. The daughter of a Duke, accustomed to power and control, found herself unexpectedly intrigued by this seemingly ordinary man.
Jack opened his mouth to decline Arabella's offer, but before he could utter a word, she grasped his hand, pulling him towards her private chambers with surprising strength. Shock and apprehension washed over him as he was led away, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts racing through his mind.
The door closed behind them, leaving them alone in a room far more intimate than the grand sala. Then, Arabella began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate, revealing the elegant gown to conceal something far more unsettling. As she shed the fabric, revealing the bruises marring her back, Jack gasped.
"See that?" Arabella said, her voice low and strained, devoid of the earlier flirtatiousness. "You're the first man I've shown this to."
The sight of the livid marks sent a jolt through Jack. He stammered, "What… what happened?"
"A curse," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "A wicked witch's curse. Every six years, on my birthday, a catastrophe strikes. These bruises… they're the mark of it." Tears welled in her eyes. "I've survived three already. I'm twenty-three now, turning twenty-four in three months. I… I don't think I'll survive the fourth."
Her confession was raw, genuine, stripped bare of any pretense. "When you arrived," she continued, her voice catching, "I sensed a surge of mana. I followed it, and found you." She looked at him, her eyes filled with a desperate hope. "I don't want to die yet," Arabella whispered, tears streaming down her face. The earlier flirtatiousness was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate vulnerability. "Not before I see Papa… healed. He's been so ill… and I want to see Liam… his wedding to Beatrice… to see him lead the Parthoven as a duke… He's so young, so ready… and I… I want to be there to see it." Her voice broke, the words tumbling out in a torrent of emotion. The strength and composure she usually exuded were shattered, revealing the frightened, heartbroken young woman beneath. This wasn't the calculating noblewoman; this was a daughter, a sister, clinging to the hope of seeing her loved ones happy and healthy. "I… I want to be there for them," she choked out, her body trembling. The weight of her unspoken fears and responsibilities hung heavy in the air, a silent plea for help echoing in the quiet room.
"Is it… is it true?" Jack asked, his voice barely a breath.
"Yes," she affirmed, her voice choked with emotion. "Please… don't tell anyone." A moment of silence hung between them, heavy with the weight of her confession. Then, she spoke again, her tone shifting, a glimmer of her earlier self returning, but tempered with a desperate vulnerability. "I know… I sensed it… you're powerful. You might be able to save me. And… I'll give you anything you want. Wealth, power… even myself. Please… think about my offer."
The weight of Arabella's confession hung heavy in the air. Jack stared at the bruises on her back, the stark reality of her situation sinking in. He'd come to Porthaven expecting an adventure, but this was far beyond anything he could have imagined. A cursed noblewoman, a desperate plea for help, a life hanging in the balance – it was a burden of epic proportions.
He looked at Arabella, her face etched with a mixture of fear and hope, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability that stripped away the earlier façade of regal composure. He saw not a manipulative noblewoman, but a frightened young woman facing her mortality. The offer of wealth, power, even herself, seemed almost secondary to the raw desperation in her plea.
He thought of Beatrice, her carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the gravity of this situation. He thought of his own life, his ordinary existence suddenly seeming insignificant in the face of Arabella's impending doom. He wasn't a knight, a hero, or even particularly skilled in combat. But he had a sense of responsibility, a growing feeling that he couldn't simply walk away. This wasn't just about a noblewoman's curse; it was about a life, a soul, desperately clinging to hope.
Taking a deep breath, Jack spoke, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Tell me everything," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Tell me everything about this curse. And then… we'll figure out what we can do." He reached out, gently covering one of the bruises on her back. The act was small, but it conveyed a promise, a silent vow to help, regardless of the risks.
Arabella drew a shuddering breath, her voice trembling as she recounted the origins of the curse. "My grandfather," she began, her eyes distant, lost in the weight of generations of suffering, "he… he killed a witch. A powerful one. Before she died, she cursed our family. Every female descendant, every sixth year of their lives, faces a catastrophic event on their birthday. And if they survive that… another follows every six years after. It's a cycle of death, a relentless punishment for his actions." She looked at Jack, her eyes filled with a profound sadness. "My mother, my aunts… all perished this way. I'm the next." She traced the pattern of the bruises on her back, each mark a grim testament to the curse's power. "This time… I fear it will be my last." The weight of centuries of suffering, of a family's tragic fate, rested heavily on her shoulders, a burden she now shared with Jack. The stakes had been raised exponentially. It wasn't just about saving a life anymore; it was about breaking a curse, defying the legacy of a vengeful witch.
The weight of Arabella's story settled upon Jack, a heavy cloak of sorrow and responsibility. He'd lived a relatively sheltered life, his own struggles seeming insignificant compared to the generations of suffering Arabella had described. The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow: he wasn't alone in his pain, his struggles; countless others carried burdens far heavier than his own. This wasn't just about a noblewoman's curse; it was about breaking a cycle of violence and despair.
As this understanding dawned, a change occurred within him. A surge of energy, a resolute determination, filled his being. Beside him, his white rapier, usually dormant, began to glow with a soft, ethereal light. The sight startled Arabella, who was still holding her dress closed at the back, shielding her exposed skin. The glow was unmistakable; it was Elara, his spirit guide, communicating with him, urging him to act. The message was clear: Help this girl.
The fear and apprehension that had clouded his mind moments before dissipated, replaced by a newfound clarity and resolve. This wasn't just a personal quest; it was a battle against a dark legacy, a fight for survival, and a testament to the enduring power of compassion and hope. He had a mission, and he would not fail.
Despite the daunting task ahead, the uncertainty of how to help Arabella, Jack felt a surge of conviction. He was determined; he would find a way. Standing up, he extended his hand towards her, a gesture of solidarity, a silent promise in the face of overwhelming odds. In this moment, the handshake wasn't just a formality; it was a pact, a commitment forged in the crucible of shared adversity.
Suddenly, a thunderous bang echoed through the room, shattering the fragile intimacy. The door burst open, revealing Duke Greysen and his ever-present butler standing in the doorway, their faces etched with shock and disbelief. Their eyes fell upon Jack, standing before his daughter, Arabella, whose dress hung open at the back, revealing the bruises that had just been the subject of a deeply personal confession.