Brother's Grim - Fenrir

Fenrir sat back against the throne. The hard wood as unyielding as the stone floor and pillars that made the ancient room. His long legs stretched out in front of him as the final echo of the door rang out through the empty space.

How long had it been, since the room had been filled with dancers? He could remember it clearly, almost smell the thick perfume. Hear the laughter, the buzz of excited chatter and the music from the band.

Whire had been the original summer Palace for the court. It was big enough to house fifty noble families, and there had once been space in the village for their staff. Part of him even missed the dancing. The Castle had come alive, with tournaments of strength and arms, music and art.

Now the ancient halls echoed, empty. The thin staff of seventeen, unable to keep up with the work required to maintain the monolith. The Castle would be a tomb for all of them. It had been over a hundred and fifty years since the last ball had been held.

He stretched out his fingers along the arm of the great chair. The original throne had been destroyed in a fit of anger, along with many of the furnishings in the silent rooms. It had even been decades since the last member of the Castle staff had joined them, never to leave.

Wynter had bought change. She hadn’t crossed the borders or Roses and so she was free, so far. Yet her life balanced upon the edge of the knife. She had invoked the ancient lore’s of protection, he hadn’t expected that.

He had underestimated her need for help. He closed his eyes, he only had himself to blame. He had been so determined to keep her away, that he had missed the warning signs. Now she would be here. On the edge of his senses, taunting him. In trying to protect the woman, had he doomed her?

Fenrir glared at the door, that her so called Brother’s had left through. He hadn’t liked them, at all. He’d kept just enough trade through the village, so that news came through. He had heard of Castle Ashton and the newly created Baron. The most recent noble charged guarding the southern borders of the Kingdom.

The King Fenrir had known, his brother, was long dead. One of his many great grandchildren now sat upon the throne of Beryn. Whire was a forgotten region, lost in the mountains, surrounded by thick forests. Ashton was new, a new Baron. A title that had been given to a general of the Kings’ army. Maybe times were changing in Beryn.

He took a slow breath, inhaling through his nose. They were looking for Wynter. He didn’t for a second believe that either man was related to Wynter. They shared nothing of her bone structure or colouring. Could one, or both have been a lover?

On his feet, Fenrir stepped down from the dias, the sun had started to fade behind him. Casting the room into grey shadows. He grimaced, hating that idea that either man might have touched her. That couldn’t be true? But she had been afraid of them, that was clear. She’d been afraid of the guests, frightened enough to invoke Protection.

Perhaps he should have killed her and ended the torture for himself. Because how could she ever learn to love a beast like himself? No, instead Fate would see her trapped within the Castle like all the other’s who lived in his employ. It was only a matter of time. He turned, roaring his frustration as his hand slammed into the back of the throne.

Splintered wood flew into the air, shattering the back as his hand passed through. Like a hot knife through butter. He kicked the throne, hating it, detesting it with every fibre of his cursed soul. Watching with grim satisfaction as it toppled back off the dais and fell. It broke on the hard stone floor. Limbs snapped and scattered.

‘I’ll ask the village carpenter to start building a new one,’ the long suffering sigh from the walls made him spin. Dorien detached himself from the shadow.

‘You want me to strangle you again?’ Fenrir growled at his oldest friend.

Dorien reached up, instinctively touching a hand to his throat. Hidden behind his neat white cravat were the bruises he’d been given the night before, when he’d been in the midst of change between wolf and man.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Dorien rolled his eyes. Despite their scuffle the night before, he was unafraid of the Prince and moved to stand beside him. They both stared at the shattered throne, silent.

‘Ashton’s soldiers?’ Fenrir looked at his friend, he trusted Dorien implicitly.

‘Gone, hurrying down the mountain. I’ve got four guards escorting them until nightfall.’

Fenrir smirked then, ‘still two days left of the full moon.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve no doubt that the ‘Brother’s’, grim, as they are, won’t trouble our lands any further.’

‘Or Wynter,’ Fenrir folded his arms across his chest. He’d hated it. The fear that had radiated from the woman. She was so bold and brave, he’d thought she might slap him when she’d first walked into the room. But so quickly, he’d watched her withdraw. All of the strength and brightness that made her, pulled within. Locked away and hidden. She had diminished herself, and when Dorien had announced the guests, she’d shrunk even further. As though she could become invisible.

As if he could ever ignore such startling beauty…

‘She needs to go,’ Dorien bared his teeth. ‘Keeping her here is a death sentence.’

‘For you or her?’ Fenrir glanced at his friend. Wynter had proven herself an able huntress the night before. If she’d shot Dorien, she would have hurt him. It was unlikely that she could have killed him, but it she got her hands on some silver, then who knew.

Dorien growled, the low sound rumbling from his chest as he looked up, eyes narrowed. ‘I went to visit her,’ he smirked, ‘she really is delightful.’

‘Why did you do that?’ Fenrir frowned, Wynter was better left alone. At the far edge of the Castle grounds. It was the only way he could think of, to keep her safe and uphold the ancient lore she’d invoked.

‘I took her weapons back,’ Dorien shrugged, ‘she’s going to stray.’

‘Genevive didn’t warn her?’

‘She did,’ Dorien shrugged, ‘your Cook doesbn’t care who she betrays with her kindness. But you know that your Lady isn’t going to stay put.’

‘She isn’t my Lady!’ Fenrir growled at his friend, towering over him. ‘She isn’t even a lady.’ But Dorien was unaffected and held his ground.

‘Then she’s just a common chit that’s got under your skin, Fin. Yet here she is, and she’s going to cause trouble. You know it in your blood.’

Fenrir turned away then, staring up through the beautiful arrangement of stained glass. Dorien was right. They both knew it. Wynter was going to be trouble. She was going to get herself killed, or worse, trapped here with the rest of them.

‘I hate you,’ he shook his head.

‘You hate it when I’m right,’ Dorien replied, smug. ‘Don’t stay up too late…’

Fenrir shook his head, walking away. There were still two nights left of the full moon. He could visit Wynter without giving himself away.

‘What are you going to say to her?’ Dorien called.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Fenrir muttered. His heart squeezed hard in his chest. Somehow, they needed Wynter to believe in the threats she’d been given. She needed to stay out of the Castle and away from Hart Wood.

‘It would be easier to kill her…’ Dorien sighed and Fenrir hated himself at that moment. Because he agreed with his friend.