Castle Mroczna
Hector Cruz had come a long ways on this, in his mind somewhat asinine, mission. A trip to some far-off castle owned by a family who ruled over a county that by all rights, no longer existed.
It didn't even include more than a single village, and passing through it was a miserable affair; dark, dingy, though to the credit of the peasants that lived there, relatively well kept. But said peasants eyed him with fear and suspicion.
Who would even continue living in a place without the ruling family? But of course, news had reached the ears of his betters that perhaps some strange circumstances led to their erasure in the annals of inter-court politics and the web of nobility across the land. And that the family still lived in some form.
He shivered and sneezed on his horse. His entourage consisted of only two bodyguards and a pubescent boy meant to keep all their effects and supplies in order. The young lad was... helpful, but clearly not suited to this sort of travel.
The boy did not complain, but his incessant sneezing grated on Hector's nerves far more than his own.
But upon seeing the castle, Hector felt somewhat uplifted; it was weather-worn, clearly, this icy clime a rather poor claim for any noble, but the windows were lit, it was not crumbling, and he felt a sense of warmth and civility from it. Given that the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon, that made the castle seem even more inviting.
Perhaps the Family Mroczna was not so dead after all.
"Come, we are nearly there!" he shouted, but his voice was quieter than he wished owing to the cold. At least it wasn't snowing.
They arrived at the gatehouse, crossing over a small bridge over a ditch surrounding the castle, sat on its hilltop overlooking the grey land around.
He was about to order one of his men to knock or otherwise grab the attention of whoever might have lived there, but the doors creaked open slowly.
He was expecting guards, or at least someone in martial garb, but no. To greet him was a rather well dressed man, fitted with servant's attire, but very finely made. It made Hector raise his brow a little; for a family who was seemingly lost to the attention of the other nobility, and once deemed to no longer exist, they seemed like they could afford finery well enough.
Hector did wonder how... this land did not seem that rich.
The man bowed his head politely, and looked up at Hector with a neutral but entirely professional expression.
"To whom do I speak, that visits Castle Mroczna unannounced?"
Hector narrowed his eyes a little; quite presumptuous of this servant, to think a family with such little fame could expect to command such authority.
But even the smallest of nobles could have big heads. Their servants, though, weren't always so firm as this.
He decided it was best to humour the man, and by extension, the Family Mroczna; he was an emissary, after all.
"I am Hector Cruz, of his Eminence Enrique Hansa, Duke of Cardon. I come here on his behalf to speak to the head of House Mroczna, and perhaps arrange an accord between our two Houses."
The man's face did not change.
"You are not expected. But we have not had emissaries in some time. My Mistress bids you welcome."
Mistress? So it was a woman at the head of House Mroczna. Hector allowed himself a small smirk.
Maybe that was why this family had gone unnoticed for so long... and why the castle seemed to be in good order.
"We will need to stable our horses," Hector said.
"Grayson will tend to them," the man said, another walking out from the shadows of the gatehouse in heavier garb for the weather.
"Very well," Hector said, before turning around to the boy on his horse. "Take the horses with this man and make sure nothing untoward occurs." He pointed to one of his bodyguards. "You go with him."
"Yes, sir," the boy answered shakily, stricken with the chill. The bodyguard simply nodded and joined him as Grayson led the horses away, Hector and the other guard dismounting.
"I assure you, that is not necessary," the first man spoke.
"And I assure you, there is nothing offensive about ensuring security. We do not know each other, after all. I'm sure your Mistress will understand."
There was the barest twitch in the servant's lip, possibly of contempt, but he hid it well.
Hector did not confront it. If the man could not help but take insult, then that was his concern. They were not that important to be worth the benefit of doubt.
"This way. We will bring out wine and bread for you," the servant remarked, beckoning Hector and his guard to follow.
"Very good," Hector agreed.
The wine was very good indeed, Hector swishing it about in the glass as he stood in what looked like a lounge, just on the other side of the foyer.
The place was old, and it wasn't as extravagant as some of the manors he'd been to. But it was kept clean enough, even if there were thicker layers of dust here and there. What mattered to be clean, was quite clean.
The glass his drink came in was crystal clear, and had some silvery metal embellishments at the top of its neck, reminiscent of leaves.
The red wine itself was an incredibly rich flavour, perhaps the best he ever had. He wondered how they could've made it... perhaps they had something worthwhile after all.
Then there was the food. It was simple, bread was bread after all. But it seemed like it had been baked fresh that morning, and it was pleasantly fluffy.
The fruit that came with it, some green apples and dates, were also quite juicy, and rather welcome after such a long journey. He sighed, however, wishing he had some fresh beef to sink his teeth into.
Oh well, the hospitality shown thus far was quite pleasing to him. It was the kind of respect he believed himself owed as an emissary... even if Cardon wasn't the most influential Duchy.
Enrique was clearly trying to expand that. Likely by seeing if he could absorb this inconsequential locale and make use of it. Hector wasn't sure if the plan was all that sound, but it wasn't his place to question his Duke's ambitions. Merely ensure that he didn't ignite a war with a neighbouring domain.
The art of negotiation.
Still, he was wondering where this so called 'mistress' was... or any of the family, for that matter, he'd only met the servants.
Hospitality aside, he wondered if
this
was a form of disrespect. He grumbled silently, but made no show of it.
His two guards were off sipping their own ale provided to them, the boy sitting out in the foyer on his own.
Such was the time taken, he had opportunity to examine himself in a small mirror set atop of a small stand next to a rather exquisite wooden globe of the known world.
He normally kept his short black hair in good order, but the hood he wore to keep himself warm had rather mussed it up. Attempts to settle the wayward strands weren't entirely successful, and his head had a slightly spiky quality to it currently. It would have to do. Fortunately, he kept his face rather clean - the roads could get quite muddy, and this land was especially slushy - leaving his small moustache neat and trim, contrasting with his paled skin. He did not see as much sun as some claimed he should, but he did not think it too concerning. He got enough.
He subconsciously ran a hand down his maroon shirt, over the subtle bulge around his gut... if not enough sun, perhaps he did need to move around more. But then again, he was only thirty and looked the part, he was past his prime, even if he considered himself decently attractive when he was. It wasn't so bothersome, there were plenty of women for him to enjoy, with his station.
He looked at his pants, and grimaced when he spied the faintest splashing of grey mud at the lowest cuffs around his ankles, his shoes more noticeably dirty, even if he had done his best to wipe them down. It wouldn't do to make a mess of this place when he was trying to gain their favour, even if they were insignificant politically.
And then his eyes traced back up to his face; his blue eyes were slightly sunken and squinty, perhaps from fatigue, perhaps from mild annoyance. His slightly rough face was a little tense as well, and he started to think that it was annoyance, his vaguely rounded countenance pulled taut and his brow furrowed subtly.
Annoyed because he had been waiting a while. Was it normal for House Mroczna to keep envoys and visitors waiting so long?
Then, footsteps approached.
Coming down from the stairs was a woman, but she was not clad in servant garb; her slender form was wrapped in a black dress with silver embellishments like buttons and brooches tying it all together here and there. Her face was covered in a black, silken veil, and her head was covered with a hood. Her black shoes were dainty, but clacked on the stairs with every footfall.
He couldn't see much of her face, but her lips were pursed in a thin smile. And the air she carried herself with... commanding, authoritative, important.
He wondered... was this the 'Mistress'? She looked rather young, even with what little he could see.
She approached, and held her gloved hands together in front of her body.
"Welcome to Castle Mrocnza," she greeted. "I am Aniela, Eldest Daughter to Lady Katarznya Mroczna, Mistress of the House. I have been told you wish to speak to my Mother?"
A daughter? And one that seemed so fetching at that, from what little Hector could see.
