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Chapter Text

Primrose, proud lady of the House of Azelhart, knees cut with the dirt of her father’s grave, hummed a soft sigh.

She knew she ought to be getting back, after all, there were so many preparations that needed to be made. Still, she could not tear herself away from her father’s side, just as it was when she was a child.

It had been ten long years since the suicide of Geoffrey Azelhart, the once proud and noble head of the House of Azelhart. Primrose still could not divine what drove her father to such an end, but with the weight of the house on her shoulders, she could not spare a moment to grief.

Even in these moments, with her finger nails bitten to the quick, her hem lined with dirt and leaves, Primrose felt more content than in the ornate, glittering palace of House Azelhart.

Rising from the ground with some effort, Primrose felt a shadow fall over her. She turned her head, the eldrite necklace cold and heavy on her throat. Recognizing who it was, the tension in her shoulders gave away.

“Simeon,” she smiled brightly. “You didn’t have to come all this way for me.”

Simeon, soon to be Lord Azelhart, smiled warmly at her. His hair was stark against his blue coat, gold buttons flattering the cream of his cravat.

“It is not a punishment to look upon such a lovely sight,” he amended as he offered Primrose his hand. “If this is what my future troubles look like, I welcome them.”

Primrose blushed. While their friendship had always been a solid, sure thing - amid the chaos and horror of her father’s death, it was Simeon’s steadfast companionship that assured her that she’d never want another man by her side.

“You flatter me,” she took his hand. “Thank you for the red dahlias you left for me with Arianna, they were beautiful.”

“A beautiful flower for a beautiful flower,” Simeon tucked a curl of hair behind her ear.  They continued to walk, hand in hand, and Primrose felt effusive with adoration for this man who she would soon call her husband. She didn’t know what she would have done without him.

Once they reached the gates, Simeon stopped, his hands on Primrose’s shoulders.

“Prim, you should be more careful in traveling alone.”

There had been much unrest in Noblecourt lately, and Simeon had become very protective of her. While this was a natural quality for her husband to be, Primrose found herself irritated. She did not like being treated like a child.

“I hardly call a visit to my father’s grave traveling,” Primrose countered.

“Be wise, Prim,” Simeon admonished. “The Obsidians grow in power by the day and they now send their thugs to pillage our neighboring towns. I don’t want anything to happen to you, that’s all.”

Primrose thought about the reports she had heard about the men with the markings of crows. She was glad her father was not here to see such things. Still, she kept the cold comfort of a rapier underneath her robes.

“I can handle myself, Simeon. As the lady of the house, I have to make sure that everything is in order. I certainly can’t do it if I never leave the manse.”

“Other nobles seem to manage without lifting a finger,” Simeon laughed. “My dear Prim, what am I ever going to do with you?”

His eyes were warm, amused. There was something possessive there, too. Primrose wasn’t sure if she liked it. With a shake of the head, Primrose cast away her doubts. This was Simeon, the boy she had grown up with, the man who had been by her side through it all. She trusted him implicitly. 

“Marry me, I hope,” Primrose shot back with a smile and they stepped into the house together.

At twenty three, Therion certainly knew his way around a tavern.

For his age, he considered himself gangly and inauspicious, which was truly a blessing considering his career choice.

Although choice was a funny way to put it.

He really need to put his guard up here though, the upper echelon tended to be more critical than most. Therion thought Noblecourt was an apt name for the place, too, as he eyed the gaggle of the elite peppering the tavern.

So far he’d managed around 1,000 leaves, which would buy him a few nights at the local inn while he pilfered to his hearts content.

The mead slid down his throat, a familiar and welcome sensation, an old friend.

“… I heard they ordered a thousand roses from S’warkii and even a few dancers from Sunshade.”

“Pfft, don’t be stupid man! They wouldn’t employ dancers from Sunshade for such an event. It’s Lady Primrose after all.”

“Yeah,” the other patron agreed. “But Simeon has eyes, doesn’t he?”

Both men snickered to one another before ordering another drink loudly.

So, a Lady Primrose was to be wed, and soon by the sound of it. A wedding would be an excellent place to collect a king’s ransom. Or in this case, Therion thought with a smirk, a Lady’s ransom.

He had to get himself invited somehow, or pretend to be a merchant for the festivities. There had to be dozens upon dozens of merchants catering to the event, he could easily pretend to be one of them.

Therion took one last sip of his drink, eyeing a gold coin purse by an otherwise occupied patron. He smiled.

Noblecourt was proving to be fortuitous indeed.

Chapter Text

Cordelia Ravus was one of the kindest women Primrose had the honor of knowing. Cordelia’s fortune was no laughing matter either, which was a relief to Primrose because she never need question their friendship.

Both women found each other during a dire time in their lives and bonded quickly over the grief of losing their parents. Cordelia often joked that if not for Primrose, she would have turned into one of those haughty nobles they both loathed so. And when scavengers tried to prey on the grieving Cordelia by offering companionship in exchange for a purse, Primrose had swiftly disabused the notion that Cordelia needed any more companionship other than hers. Where Cordelia’s gaze was soft and malleable, Primrose had steel in her eyes.

So when Cordelia wrote to Primrose asking if she could trouble her and stay at House Azelhart for a few days, Primrose laughed deeply and wrote back ‘If you don’t make haste and arrive within 3 days, I shall never forgive you.’.

Simeon was away in town, hosting a meeting between the Lords to breach some sort of solution to the ever encroaching bandits. He had not invited Primrose, and this slightly bothered her. Was she not Lady Primrose Azelhart, head to one of the oldest and most powerful houses in Orsterra? Then again, in marriage, those duties would inevitably fall on his shoulders, so Primrose stayed silent.

It was a difficult adjustment to make as her father has groomed her to become the head of the household, not the wife of one. Still, Primrose knew how passionate Simeon was about making good changes for the laborers in town and this type of governance she could respect and demure to. Still, something in her felt uneasy.

Cordelia arrived that morning, her carriage gilded gold, the crest of Ravus manor proudly etched on the wood paneling of the doors. She was the picture of good health and kindness, her halo of golden hair resting at her neck, short as she always wore it. Her lapis lazul dress complimented the blue of her eyes, which were warm and sparkling in the morning sunlight. 

Heathcote followed behind her as was typical. Primrose rushed to greet her and they both caught each other in an excited embrace, babbling.

“I’ve forgotten my manners,” Primrosed laughed. “Hello, Heathcote.”

Heathcote bowed silently and trailed. He had been with Cordelia since the death of her parents and continued to be loyal to a fault. Primrose deeply admired him and was doubly glad that Cordelia had him by her side in Bolderfall.

“You look well, Cordelia,” Primrose beamed at her companion, happy to have a friend to talk to.

“I was just in Clearbrook,” Cordelia replied sunnily. “I met with an apothecary who gave him the most heavenly tonic. It has given me the best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

“Well I certainly hope you’re willing to part with some of it, I could use a good sleep.”

“Of course, Prim! Why, you must be so excited with the upcoming wedding, it’s no surprise you’re unable to sleep.”

The suggestion was not lost on Primrose, although the fact that Cordelia Ravus was making it certainly surprised her into a laugh.

“Ah yes, I suppose it’s time to see if all those things I heard at the tavern are true.”

“Prim!” Cordelia admonished but laughed all the same.

—

Therion had been in Noblecourt for five days and the place was wearing on him.

The glades were perfectly manicured, the nobles were as complacent and easy to steal from as usual, but he was starting to be recognized by the locals of the tavern and that was the last thing a thief wanted.

Instead of mining the tavern for information and ale, Therion made his way to House Azelhart.

Might as well get it over with, he thought as he crept through the gardens and hid behind a mammoth oak tree. The tree looked as if it was several thousands of years old, and with a huff, Therion imagined that the lord of the house probably had it harvested from the ruins of Hornburg. Those with unlimited purse strings truly did not know what to do with all the gold they carried. Luckily, Therion was charitable enough to relieve them of that burden.

From this vantage point he could see the front door. He heard a carriage approaching and stayed out of sight.

The front doors of the manse flew open and a girl ran out. Therion’s eyebrow arched. Certainly not a girl, definitely a woman. She had a body the dancers in Sunshade would kill for. He speedily surmised that this must be Lady Primrose. Quite headstrong, it seemed. Or at least unaffected by the strict and unreasonable conduct ladies of the court were held to.

He couldn’t see her face clearly as she turned away to greet the arriving party.

The carriage that had arrived clearly belonged to a noble. It looked vaguely familiar …  As the visitor in question stepped out, Therion suddenly realized that it was a carriage from none other than Ravus manor, and the visitor was Cordelia Ravus.

Prospective profits skyrocketed.

A man followed closely behind Cordelia. By his way of address, he seemed like a servant. The man glanced over in Therion’s direction.

Impossible , there’s no way that old man could have seen me .

The man’s gaze lingered but then drifted back when Lady Primrose spoke to him.

Both women headed into the manse, the man ever trailing behind him.

Therion couldn’t believe his luck. Two of the most powerful nobles in Osterra practically unguarded, rife for the picking. If he could pretend to be a fabric merchant or a errand boy for a flower shop … He could easily swindle thousands of leaves from the two women.

With a glint in his eye, Therion retreated back to town.

—

Simeon exited the hall, his boots thundering on the steps.

His meetings with the lords had been victorious. He had expected as much, for how could a group of bumbling fools object to his carefully laid plans? His eyes caught the glint of rubies and diamonds on the jeweled fingers of the men seated around him, agreeing to his every word, clueless to his deceit.

The idea was to lead a group of sellswords into the neighboring forest to hunt down the whereabouts of the hideout of the Obsidians. Then, obliterate them all. The lords were more than behind this idea, as long as they wouldn’t have to take part in the bloodshed. Their nails were neat and clean as they rested on the ornate table of the hall. Simeon self consciously curled his own hands. He knew they were clean, too, but the doubt still made him second guess himself.

Soon to be Lord Azelhart he would finally be seen as an equal to these men, if not greater in power and riches. But he also knew that he would always be seen as the lowly nobody that had to marry into that power.

Simeon realized he was curling his hands too tightly, and his nails had drawn blood from his palms. He forced himself to breathe, relax.

He thought of Primrose. Lovely, sweet, innocent Primrose. Lying in wait at House Azelhart, ready to be his bride. It was all she had ever wanted, ever since she was a child. Her father pushed her so that she could be a strong leader, but it only made her an easier target. How easy it was to ensnare her with sweet words.

His brothers wore the mark of the crow proudly, but this was not a point of pride Simeon could partake in. After all, how would Primrose react if she saw that mark in their marriage bed?

No, he had to keep her by his side until she produced an heir. The appearance of normalcy in their marriage was of utmost importance. After that … she could fall pray to some unknown, incurable disease. How theatrical, how delightful.

Simeon stepped into the carriage, a peaceful smile on his lips.