Crimson Outlaw

Lady Elswyn stared at the gauntlet below her. It was such an ordinary article of clothing: leather, five-fingered, with no decoration or stitching. A glove. So ordinary a thing. Only a glove. For her, it signified the world's end. She raised her gaze to the herald who had carried in the gauntlet and contrived a sarcastic smile. "How thoughtful of the Margrave to worry over my comfort. But do tell him for me that the castle is thoroughly warm, and should I ever need a glove, I possess dozens already. Oh, and inform him that if he wishes to send me a gift next time, he might at least send both gloves. It leaves a far finer impression." The herald answered her smile in full. Why shouldn't he? He had every reason in the world to grin, whereas she certainly had none. "You know perfectly well this is no gift, Lady Elswyn," he said, his tone lofty and insolent. "The gauntlet is not meant for you. It is meant for your father, Count Cedric. The Margrave von Ravenhold herewith casts down the gauntlet and proclaims a feud against him and everyone he shelters within his walls." Lady Elswyn rose. Seated, she had been almost level with the slitted eyes of the small man who had come to announce the ruin of the life she had known so far. Now, upon the raised dais at the far end of the hall where her father's chair stood, she loomed above him. It improved her mood a little, though only a little, because she knew the effect was false. Control belonged to the man before her. He stood alone in her house, in her father's castle, ringed by her father's servants, and yet he held the power. Or rather, the power belonged to his lord. "Would you be so kind as to have your father brought here, Milady?" the herald asked. "So he may take up the gauntlet, as custom requires?"