Around noon, a small band of travelers, led by three mounted warriors, approached the Borderland settlements. The weather was perfect for a journey—spring sunshine warmed the air, a gentle breeze rustled the emerald treetops, and the clear, cheerful songs of birds rang out like enchanting music. This spring felt like the start of something new and unknown.
“I’d consider it an honor if you’d stay at my estate, my lord. It’s not far now… Rest from the road and spend the night. The rest of the men can settle at the inn nearby,” one of the riders at the front of the group said, addressing the other two.
“I won’t say no. I’m much obliged for the invitation,” Erik replied, squinting as he tilted his face toward the wind and sunlight. His thick black hair was tied back in a ponytail, though a stray lock had escaped and fallen across his forehead. Though the count appeared somewhat at ease, he was always on guard. The weight of immense responsibility as the lord of Grandwell lands rested on his shoulders, and enemies lurked all around. It was hard to say who posed the greater threat at the moment—his neighbor Ralph from the nearby domain of Martenshire, a member of the Marten family, or the Vikings, who frequently raided the estates of feudal lords.
Erik was a seasoned strategist and warrior, upholding the ideals of his late father, George, who had once sworn allegiance to King Alfred the Great to help unite the Anglo-Saxon counties into the single kingdom of Wessex. Erik had also earned the king’s favor through his bravery and loyalty. He partially fulfilled the duties of an alderman, organizing military units that he personally led and trained.
Erik’s fiercest enemies had always been the Martens of neighboring Martenshire. Their raids on Grandwell lands during his father George’s reign had brought countless deaths and devastation. Marten warriors burned border villages and savagely destroyed everything in their path.
Since taking power, Count Erik had built a strong army and secured the borders of his domain with reliable defenses. His subjects loved and respected him as a feudal lord, while his enemies feared and despised him.
King Alfred held the count in high regard, as the Grandwells had proven their loyalty time and again. The monarch often welcomed them at his court in Winchester, not just as important guests but as members of his council.
“Welcome to my humble home, honored guests!” Nicholas Lowed, the owner of the small estate, dismounted and gestured for Count Erik and his half-brother Peter to enter the house.
The Lowed estate was part of the Borderland settlement under Erik Grandwell’s domain.
“The master’s back!” someone from the household shouted, and suddenly everything burst into motion. A flustered yet joyful woman rushed out of the house and threw her arms around Nick in a tight embrace.
“My dearest, we’ve got guests… very important guests! Tell the servants to set the table. Everyone’s hungry and tired from the road,” Nicholas said, pulling his beloved wife close. He had missed her dearly during his campaign.
“Of course, my love,” Mrs. Lowed replied, a bit overwhelmed, casting curious glances at the distinguished visitors. It wasn’t every day you hosted Count Grandwell himself, along with his brother, in your home.
Seylin Lowed, an elegant lady with perfect posture and a steady gaze in her gray eyes, was both a gracious hostess and a caring mother. She was a true pillar of support for her husband, who loved her above all else.
“And where are my sweet girls? Why aren’t they here to greet their father?” Nick asked tenderly, tilting his head to the side as he looked at his wife.
“Marie’s in the garden, and Demi… well, as usual, she’s practicing her archery,” Mrs. Lowed said, pursing her lips in disapproval. She believed archery was no pursuit for a lady, and besides, Demi needed to learn refined manners. Otherwise, she’d never find a worthy husband or true happiness. Mrs. Lowed loved the girl dearly and wished only the best for her future.
Demi Lowed wasn’t Seylin and Nick’s biological daughter but their niece. When she was just a toddler, her parents perished during the horrific raids by Marten warriors, who brought death and destruction, burning peasants’ homes and slaughtering innocents. The settlement was nearly wiped out, but Demi miraculously survived.
She was taken in by her father’s brother, Nicholas Lowed. Demi’s childhood home had been reduced to ashes, and in its place, the villagers built a small wooden church dedicated to the Holy Virgin Mary. Demi was only three years old at the time, and few memories of that tragic past remained—only the little church stood as a whisper of what once was, a reminder of a horrific history where enemies had stripped the girl of her parents and her home.
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“Call the girls to the table. Have them change and join us for lunch!” Nick said to his wife, his booming voice filled with joy at being back home with his family.
“Dad! Dad’s home!” His daughter Marie came running from the garden and threw herself into his arms. Clearly, the servants had already spread the word of the master’s return.
The young girl was strikingly beautiful, with large gray eyes and thick, light-brown hair braided down to her waist. Silky strands were neatly pinned back with delicate silver hairpins. Marie loved flowers, light pastel dresses, and refined manners. She resembled a fragile doll, someone to be cherished and protected.
Lowed happily hugged and kissed his daughter, then introduced her to the important guests. Marie blushed slightly and bowed her head in greeting.
“Marienne Lowed,” she said politely, giving her full name as etiquette demanded. “Dad, let’s go find Demi! She’s out in the back courtyard practicing archery. We can show our guests around the estate while we’re at it.”
Since the guests hadn’t yet entered the house, they decided to stretch their legs after the long ride. A young stable boy led the horses to the barn to be watered and fed after the journey.
A narrow stone path wound through a dense orchard toward the back courtyard. The guests strolled leisurely, taking in their surroundings. They had never visited the loyal Lowed family before, as Erik had only recently appointed Nicholas as a trusted steward and legal owner of this Borderland estate.
In the back courtyard, there was a small cleared area with sturdy oak benches and neatly stacked logs for firewood under a shed. Beyond that stretched a meadow, and immediately, a slender figure in a black cloak caught their eye. The girl was inspecting a target hanging from a tree trunk.
“Uncle Nick!” she called out joyfully, her voice clear and bright as she sprinted toward the arriving guests and her uncle. As she ran, the hood fell from her head, revealing long, thick chestnut hair that fluttered in the wind. Silky strands tangled and tousled, and her large, expressive brown eyes burned like little flames. Demi launched herself at Mr. Lowed, wrapping her strong, slender arms around him in a tight hug.
“You’re gonna squeeze the life out of me, my sweet child! I’ve missed you all so much!” Nick chuckled, kissing her on her rosy cheek before gently easing her back. “We’ve got guests… Lord Erik Grandwell and Peter Grandwell, in person. And this is my niece, Demitri Lowed. She’s like a daughter to me.”
Life was full of surprises, but nothing could have prepared her for this. When Demi’s eyes met Erik’s, her heart fluttered like a startled bird. Their gazes locked, deep and endless. She felt shy and lowered her head, unable to withstand the piercing, burning intensity of his stare. Those eyes! Like anthracite abysses, fiery and consuming, they stirred a reverent fear, a tremor, and unfamiliar, confusing emotions. His tall, dark figure was like night falling suddenly in the middle of a sunny day. The count wore a leather cloak adorned with silver patterns over a chainmail shirt, paired with high boots fastened with metal buckles. His long, jet-black, wavy hair was tied back in a ponytail, his sharp cheekbones and straight nose framed by a small scar on his left temple.
Demi bowed her head in greeting, her cheeks flushing crimson. In that moment, she felt like a small, defenseless kitten, overcome with the urge to disappear, to hide, or to sink into the ground.
“What a chilling stare…” Demi shivered but quickly composed herself and offered a polite smile to the guests.
Peter, the count’s half-brother, returned a warm smile. He brushed a strand of light-brown hair from his forehead, his clear gray eyes kind as he looked at her. The young man was the son of the late George Grandwell and a servant. As a bastard, he had no claim to title or inheritance, unlike Erik, who was born of George’s lawful marriage to Lady Amelia Middleton, who had passed away many years ago. The widowed count had mourned his wife, but that hadn’t stopped him from sharing his bed with a servant.
Erik was ten years old when Peter was born. He accepted and grew to love his younger brother, as did their late father George, who supported his illegitimate son in every way. After all, blood was blood.
Erik inherited the county, while Peter became his loyal aide and right-hand man. The brothers had grown up together, learning and training under the guidance of seasoned warriors since childhood.
Demi smiled back at Peter with ease and warmth. He struck her as friendly and approachable.
“Over there is our orchard, to the right are the stables, then the pasture and oak groves, plus some outbuildings and a small forge,” Nick said, showing the guests around his property. “Now, it’s time to head back to the house for some food and rest.”
“I’m starving like a wild animal! I barely ate anything this morning!” Demi’s voice was clear yet slightly husky, an unusual contrast to her slender frame and graceful figure. Her sharp, almost abrupt movements and faint hint of polished manners stood out. Demi’s nature was like a gust of unpredictable wind, but her warm, expressive brown eyes radiated kindness and sincerity. One could even call her a beauty.
“Change into something nice and come to the table, my dear!” Lowed called after his niece as she dashed toward the house, heading to her room.