Distress: Day 8

Word Count: 48,023

Summary of Events:

Over the course of the next couple of weeks Olwyn learned a little bit more about Bælor, but nothing about the Black King — although she suspected that he was her uncle — and couldn't find the Prince of Sygæðelwulf anywhere, even when she unlocked all the locked doors in the fortress with some keys she'd found in her bedside table. Eventually she realised that it was possible the prince was in the Queen's bedchamber, and when it came her turn to help the Queen get ready for bed Olwyn found her suspicions were correct, and was even able to get a good look at him when the Queen went to admire his body, which was protected by a glass cover . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Olwyn edged close and looked. She nearly gasped.

Laying on what looked like an incredibly plush bed of satin was about the most handsome man Olwyn had ever seen.

His hair was the same rich, dark brown of a brown horse, a shade of brown that had no suggestions of redness whatsoever, but was just pure brown, and it hung somewhat long, untied, and with the same subtle waviness to it that Nuaða’s hair possessed.

The face was sober, serene, and rather noble, with noticeable cheekbones, a straight, sharp, and firm jaw, and an austerity even in the slumbering expression. No moustache or beard adorned his face, nor did Olwyn see any woad colouring his skin.

After the neck — which looked strong, but not thicker than his head — came the shoulders, which were of that nice, moderate broadness that Olwyn liked best, not being broader than a horse, but not being skinny and sickly-looking.

A cape of plaid that was dominated by green, but featuring all of the other common plaid colours — blue, gold, black, white, and red — came over his shoulders and covered the satin underneath him until his ankles and was clasped to his left with a handsome clasp that formed a complex knot and looked like the smith who’d made it had actually tied the knot with the heated metal, and not just made it look like he had done so by punching holes.

Lightweight black woollen sleeves covered his arms, over which came sleeves of mail, topped by the leather cuirass, this one dyed black and adorned with a white version of the same paw print which was on the banners of Sygæðelwulf.

About his waist was a black belt with silver adornments, an empty sheath clad with black leather held in place by handsome silver adornments that were mostly knot-work was affixed to the standard sheath-harness and lay beside his left leg while his hands, bare and also unmarked by woad, rested over the handle of his fine, symmetrical sword, whose handle end was adorned by a smooth wolf’s head.

His legs were clad with black woollen trousers underneath the mail and cuirass which only ended midway down his thighs — as they were supposed to — and tall, black leather boots that looked well made and actually had parts that came up over his knees.

He looked young, which surprised Olwyn a little bit — not that his age had ever been mentioned in the tale — as well as looking strong and powerful of build, like any man who had been at war for a long time was apt to look.

Olwyn was chilled by his appearance, for it was as the tale had said; he looked merely asleep, as if, were the lid removed and someone to shake him, he would open his eyes and be on his feet at once.