It had been about an hour since Uldred had once more locked herself away in her quarters. Niklas was able to keep a measure on the time because he had spent every moment of it sitting with his back against the door she had bolted shut, occasionally turning back over his shoulder to shout through the thick wood and into the room beyond, begging that she come out. But to nobody’s surprise, his efforts were to no avail. It was most likely that the Lady herself had already retreated deep into the cavernous mound of comforters and cushions she had assembled in the middle of the unlit room, which remained nearly pitch black even in the middle of the day due to its thoroughly drawn and shuttered windows. As Niklas sighed in exasperation and rubbed his eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time, he noticed Hemsley stealing around the far corner to make his approach.

  “How is he?” Niklas asked him, his brow pinched with worry.

  “Resting, m’Lord.” Hemsley replied. “He says it weren’t his first time.”

  Somewhere Belfort sneezed.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll have to order a new dining room table.”

  Hemsley grinned apologetically. “Think of what a crisis that woulda been but a month ago, when we had no money nor any means to craft a new one.”

  “Aye.” Niklas laughed. “Send off another order to Tukk. I’m sure they will be grateful for the chance to work on something other than spears.”

  With that the servant bowed and returned back around the corner from whence he had come, leaving Niklas alone once again. A few more minutes of crushing silence passed there in the hall before Niklas heard the faintest sound of rustling blankets from inside the room. It sounded like Uldred was having trouble finding sleep, and was instead left fitfully tossing and turning in her bed.

  “...Uldred?” He called to her then without thinking, and he heard the rustling pause in response. Surprised that she was actually listening to him, Niklas continued on. “Why won’t you show anyone your face?”

  Another beat of silence passed, causing Niklas to worry she didn’t intend to respond after all, and he sighed softly to himself and rubbed at the back of his neck to soothe the ache that had set in during his long vigil.

  “It’s ugly.”

  His head shot up in surprise, for she had answered him! Sure, her words were almost childishly simple, and her voice was thick with a certainty that was equal parts naive, defiant and deeply wounded, but it was an answer nonetheless!

  “W-why do you say that?” He stammered out, desperate to keep the conversation going. There was another worrying moment of quiet before she replied again.

  “I hurt it...” Her usually strong, resonant voice was muffled not just by the thick of wood of her bedroom door, but also by the many blankets that no doubt lay atop her on that massive bed.

  “How did you hurt it?” He replied, his voice light with genuine curiosity.

  He heard further creaks and groans from the mattress inside as she was surely working to unearth herself from beneath the woolen burrow she had created for herself.

  “My. Father. Took. Me. Hunting.” She began, and every word she spoke sounded as if it took her a considerable effort to admit. He heard the sound of her sucking in a shaky breath before letting it out again, long and slow, doubtlessly in an attempt to steady her frayed nerves.

  “I was… this many years old-” She continued.

  I cannot see your fingers, dear! Niklas thought to himself, though he dared not say it aloud. He settled for shaking his head in silent exasperation as she continued.

  “-when my… the Count took me on my first hunting trip. It was morning. And very cold… I could see my breath in the air. The Monster had been… eating animals, and eating people, too. Then it ate the Hunter sent after it, so my Father decided to deal with it himself.”

  Niklas clenched his teeth, recalling how formidable Nayantara had proven herself to be when she had slain one on her own. A Monster that can defeat a Hunter must have been an especially gruesome adversary…

  “It was ugly, and so… big.” She continued, her speech remaining stilted and awkward, yet despite her evident discomfort she continued to recount her tale. “Like an impossibly fattened, swollen man, a dozen times larger than one should be.”

  “I can’t imagine it.” Niklas commented aloud, a shiver running down his spine as her words brought terrible memories of his own Monster encounter to the front of his mind..

  “It was pale, hairless. Its mouth… had angry red gums and jagged yellow teeth. Its skin was so dry it was cracking all over, and they leaked this smelly green stuff...”

  He heard her let out a ragged breath, and he guessed that this next passage must be particularly difficult for her to recall.

  “I hit it with my sword, even though the Count had told me not to. It was what the last Hunter had done, too. When I cut it… that green liquid under its skin nearly spilled all over me, before the Count pulled me out of the way. But it still splashed over me…”

  “...Oh dear.”

  Now her voice began to shake. “It got on my gloves and my sleeves and my coat, so fa–the Count took them off me right away… but my f-face…” Her voice broke then and she began to sniffle. She was probably crying, but trying not to let him hear it.

  Niklas knew to not push his luck. So he sat at her door in silent vigil while she wept. He bellowed out his cheeks with a deep inhale and then blew it all slowly out from his lips. He could now feel the weight of her past sitting heavy on his own shoulders, and he slouched forward a bit where he sat. Suddenly, he heard a frantic rustling of blankets and the wooden bed creaking loudly, soon followed by Uldred’s heavy footfalls rapidly approaching the doorway where he sat. He stumbled to his feet in alarm, turning just in time to hear the lock release with a click and see the door crack open! There, in that moment, Niklas finally looked upon the face of his wife–or at least part of it, for the right side remained hidden behind the edge of the door, so only her grisly, ruined left half could be seen.

  “There! Is this what you wanted to see?” Uldred demanded of her husband.

  Between the startling suddenness of her approach and the shocking reveal of her terrible scars, Niklas could barely muster enough presence of mind to draw breath! He could only stare at her, unblinking, with his mouth agape, before he dumbly took a small step closer towards her.

  Whatever the liquid was which had spattered her those many years ago, it appeared to have had a caustic quality similar to acid, for most of her skin had peeled and curled painfully away from her flesh, leaving a rough, leathery scab-like surface behind. It was a muddy red, with a texture which appeared much like that of melting wax, speckled with flecks of gray where films of dead skin had attempted to mend over the years. The marring spread unevenly, beginning at the center of her mouth and chin and stretching all of the way behind her ear, which was in a wretched state itself, having been shriveled up and melted by the attack. A discolored, burned line of it even stretched up and cut across her eye, ending just after her eyebrow, which it bisected. Beneath the mangled skin of her face, sinew and muscle could readily be seen, as well as a number of her teeth, those of which were visible having yellowed over years of exposure. Mercifully, her eye itself had been mostly spared and appeared to still function well, although a few dotted marks showed where small drops had fallen on her temple and forehead.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Instinctively, Niklas lifted a hand up towards her, but this caused her to flinch and retreat back a step herself, her gaze falling to the floor to avoid his. As she pulled away he halted in place so as not to upset her further, though he looked at her now with a peculiar expression–not one filled with disgust, but rather with concern.

  “It… must have hurt a lot. And likely still does, even now.” He murmured, his soft words flitting across the hushed, fragile, liminal space that yet existed between them. “Are you alright?”

  At that, Uldred’s single visible eye widened, and she froze, staring down at him in surprise, before violently slamming the door shut in his face! He heard the lock click back into place, and a heavy thud then erupted as she fell to her seat and propped her back up against the door, similar to how he had sat moments ago.

  “Go away!” She growled out. “I don’t want to talk anymore!”

  Niklas paused before the door for a moment more, hesitating. “Uldred, I--”

  “Go!”

  She said nothing more to him after that, although even with several inches of thick wood between them he could still hear her ragged breathing. Finally he sighed, turned away, and began to meander back down the hall.

  That must have been the wrong thing to say… He thought dejectedly.

  Little did he realize that back behind that closed door, Uldred had tumbled to her seat upon the floor because her mighty, tree-trunk legs had lost all their strength and could no longer support her. Her strong, dependable body trembled like a leaf caught in a gale, her heart fluttered and pounded terribly, and every part of her countenance which had escaped damage was flushed a bright, unmistakable crimson!

  Why’d he say that?!? She asked herself, her mind racing to the point of dizziness. Everyone who sees my face gets scared, takes a step back, or makes that awful, grossed-out expression! Why’d he come forward instead? Why’d he ask me that?

  Then she folded her arms around herself, pursed her lips as best she could around her ruined mouth, and even stomped her feet a little bit against the floor, although she couldn’t muster her usual strength. Her heart refused to stop racing with anger and annoyance, and yet, also with a giddy, bubbling sort of excitement.

  “God, I hate that man!”

  Sometimes, while he walked down the long and winding corridors of Castle Petrice, Niklas swore he felt like he was going mad. Every so often he would hear a strange creak or a groan as if someone was walking along the hallway behind or ahead of him, hidden just around a bend. This time, the issue seemed to have become much more frequent and pronounced than usual.

  No doubt these halls are rife with the regretful spirits of past Noblilty. He mused to himself as he again peeked back over his shoulder, and once again found nothing but an empty corridor.

  He had been making his way from the Countess’ chambers back towards the top of the spire which housed his own. This course which took him Eastward, away from the kitchen and the infirmary, which no doubt currently housed the servants, and similarly far from the courtyard where he had last seen the two Hunters. There was no logical explanation for this haunting, this recurring, vexing walking noise which dogged after him from all sides!

  I should hurry along, then! Niklas thought, quickening his gait.

  Yet so hurried and distracted was he that he didn’t detect the presence around the next corner from him until he crashed headlong into it! Niklas cried out, more in frightened surprise than in pain, as did this unknown entity.

  “My Lord!” Called Rochester, standing hobbled over his walking cane. “Are you alright? What is the matter?”

  His heart thumping painfully in his chest, Niklas gripped at the front of his shirt with one hand, while steadying himself against the nearest wall with the other.

  “Rochester! By God I forgot you were here! You gave me quite a fright, I was worried I was being chased about by a spirit.”

  The injured man laughed, which evidently strained his lungs, as his chuckles quickly devolved into a series of coughs. After taking a moment to recover his voice, he replied. “That is understandable my Lord. You were laid out in bed about as long as I was, although you were not conscious. I would imagine it is difficult to keep track of things while in such a state, or immediately following it.”

  Niklas rubbed the back of his head, his fright now giving way to embarrassment. “Still… that is no excuse to mistreat a guest.”

  Rochester merely shook his head, turning then to gesture down the hall. “Shall I walk you to your quarters?”

  “I would be honored.”

  So on the two of them went, wobbling about as best they could on bodies equally weakened from their own terrible exertions. They were not unlike two storm-battered scarecrows trying to hold themselves aloft upon limbs of straw. They chatted casually as they went, for neither man knew much about the other. Feeling much more comfortable with his unexpected companion, Niklas did not fret for the whole rest of the journey, even as the portraits of Petricians past leered menacingly down upon them from the walls.

  Finally, as they reached that familiar spiral staircase leading up to his chambers, Niklas took a few steps up, before turning back to wish his acquaintance farewell.

  “I’m afraid this is where I must depart, my friend.” He said.

  “On the contrary,” Rang out the gruff voice of Elder Crawford. “You’re going to be coming with us!”

  Niklas recoiled in shock as he took in the sight of these new, even more unexpected guests! For behind the two of them now stood a handful of large and menacing men, one of whom had locked poor Rochester’s head and neck within his arms. At the center of them stood Crawford, rage writ plainly upon his face.

  “Take him.” Barked the Elder, and two of the large men did just that, promptly grabbing Niklas by either arm and dragging him from the steps!

  “What do we do about him?” Asked one of the men, gesturing towards Rochester.

  Crawford turned and looked at the Otkornian man with disdain. “No loose ends.” He replied matter-of-factly.

  His men, who despite their obedience, already appeared rather nervous about the scheme they were currently assisting with, now exchanged unsure looks between each other, cold sweat beading upon their brows. Crawford sighed in exasperation before drawing a large hunting knife from his trousers. He then suddenly approached and drove it into Rochester’s gut as he hung helplessly in the henchman’s grip!

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  He withdrew the blade and stabbed it in again, and again, and again until Rochester’s tan-colored tunic was sopping with crimson blood, his life’s essence pouring out to stain Crawford’s forearms and hands as well!

  “R-Rochester!” Niklas cried frightfully, struggling against the iron grip of his captors, who also watched the violent scene in wide-eyed surprise.

  “Unhand me! Do you not see what he has just done??” Niklas demanded, his eyes spilling hot tears even as his voice sharpened with fury.

  The two men turned their heads slowly away from their leader to stare down at him instead, their eyes glazed over and blank. Meanwhile, Rochester’s mangled carcass fell to the now--stained carpet beneath him with an awful wet, meaty splat where it lay, unmoving. Crawford knelt down to wipe his soaked hands upon one of the few clean spots left on the back of Rochester’s garments.

  “Foreign bastard…” He muttered under his breath. Then he rose back up to a standing position, and turned to approach the small Count where he was still held captive.

  “You’ve lost your damn mind--”

  Crawford simply reared himself back in one wide motion before putting his entire body weight behind a fist he swung directly towards Niklas’ face–and then everything went black, and Niklas knew no more.