Quoted By:
>SELECTED: Young Lady Frida Vancewell, the cunning viper of Montbrun
<span class="mu-s">Fenegan, 16th Day of Kostrimun, 883 A.C.E. – Montbrun – Castle Vance</span>
Far from the usual trappings of furs, beast skulls and other barbarous fancies favoured by the less developed nobles of the mountains, The great hall of Castle Vance was adorned with fine tapestries and curtains much in keeping with those houses that appreciated the arts that the great Court of the realm boasted.
The hall was well lit, servants streaming to and fro to keep the torches burning and add to the table bedecked with an array of delicious plates that could feed a dozen men. Despite this, only two sat there, an elderly man and a young woman. The wizened Lord Vancewell picked at his food, scowling occasionally at some slight not yet addressed or some wrong not yet avenged. As for the pale young thing, her food remained untouched.
Frida’s attention elsewhere, absentmindedly turning the dirk over in her other hand as she examined its every aspect. The blade was needle thin, closer to a letter opener than a weapon, but still very fine work. A side-project of some master-smith, perhaps. Her eyes moved up the blade balanced neatly between two long fingers, delicate and manicured, to the ivory handle twirling upwards into two entwined swans that formed the bejewelled hilt. Between the two swans the shine of a small ruby, tiny even, glittered like a shiny rock at the bottom of a deep pond.
As the heiress to Lord Lukas Vancewell’s fortune, inheritor of a great house favoured by Duke and Royal both, Young Lady Frida Vancewell had been showered with gifts since she was even close to the eligible marrying age. Beautiful riding horses, extravagant dresses, dazzling jewelry all from the many eager families of those suitors that sought her hand. In terms of value, or suitability for a noble lady, this token hardly compared.
But no one had ever gifted her a dagger before. She found that fact gave her a lot to think about.
<span class="mu-i">“You shouldn’t play with knives at the dinner table, my sweet.”</span> Lord Vancewell grunted between mouthfuls of roasted chicken.
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