A Broken Castle

This letter is written in a practiced hand, dated Augustus 20, year of our Lord 360.  The edges of this parchment are scallop cut and decorated with a lightly embossed floral pattern.

To the hand of  Trinity ab Brayston;

My Dearest sister, I must admit I am missing our silly squabbles in my absence. Braiding your hair up was one of my greatest joys and now I find myself missing that too. I hope all is going well for you at home. I have a bit of news for you my sister.

You are to be the Marquessa of Brayston. It may come as a shock, it may not- but this next bit most definitely will. Her Majesty has approved my marriage to Baron Kaerrick de Winter of Cort. It has been decided that you shall receive my title and powers and I will become the Baroness de Winter. You are more groomed for the position of Marquessa and fairer of looks than I, you have my best wishes and the blessing of the Lord upon you.

There are many things to occur in the coming months, but I will visit you either before the wedding or at the very least after with my betrothed- or husband depending the timeline. I love him.

I also love you.

Be well,

Katarina ab Brayston

It is 5 years ago – I am fourteen;

The wind rushes at us, betraying my pale skin into a pink flush. The crisp fall air has chilled the trees, leaves turning various colors of red and orange til they fall upon the ground.  My heartbeat thumps in my ears, barely sounding over the hoof-beats of Calypso. We’re at a full out run through the countryside, a good hour away from home and as such not under the watchful eyes of the castle. No one around to yell at me to slow her, or that it is unladylike to ride without a saddle.. and Dav let us not forget the fact my long, beyond my waist, chocolate-pitch hair is being allowed to tangle in the wind.

Suddenly Derrik comes weaving out of the trees atop his glorious white charalian bred gelding, faster than us and letting out that deep laugh of enjoyment. He doesn’t yell at me, being my personal guard since I was ten and he a mere sixteen the man understands I enjoy being free when I possible..

The dream becomes fuzzy around the edges, the sound of my laughter joining his as we pull up at the edge of a small rocky ledge.

I don’t want to wake up yet… Argh…

This entry is written in a practiced, elegant hand.

Clearly not formal, it is a personal writing.

I am at a loss as to what I should be doing in the capitol these days. When I arrived over a year ago, I think, I was so scared but ready to take anything that came at me.. These days I find there was little to be scared of except more loss. My faithful guard, Derrik, passed away and the Justiciar ab Porter.. Regilus. That was a terrible thing, to have lost the two men so close together. Terrible more that I allowed myself to get so close to Regilus. Foolish, that little girl within me falling in love with a man I could never have. Arien the words my father would have spat at me, I can not even imagine.

Enough of that nonsense.. I need to quit standing around in this pretty cotton-silk dress waiting on Casimir to come strutting by looking devious and handsome.. Go get back into my armor and train.. Training sounds good.. Wonder if Loken de Ronthe is about..

~Kat

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