The Blackberry Queen

Cling—cling—clang.

Swords clashed in the courtyard of the Palace of Eau-Claire. Countless pairs of eyes remained fixed on a most gripping duel. An old master—his blade dulled, but his mind sharp—parried and countered his student’s attacks with practised ease. The apprentice, meanwhile, fought with all the fury of a dark-maned lion.

Oscar Rivière, twenty-three years old, was the heir to the Duchy of Rivière. Though many described him as distant and observant, in combat, he regularly delivered the most fiery performances. When a deft thrust sent his mentor’s sword spinning into the dust, enthusiastic applause rippled through the gathered crowd.

Günther returned the training weapon to the rack and joined his student, clapping his hands in turn.“You fought well today—again.”

Oscar wiped the sweat from his brow as the sun began to bathe the duchy in its finest light.

“You say that as if I didn’t just defeat you, Günther,” he remarked stoically.

“I spotted a few openings that could have cost you your life. Fortunately, I still care about my wages,” his mentor joked.“Don’t go easy on me. I’m no longer a child,” Oscar protested.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a shadow crossing one of the great windows along the castle façade.

His father.

Oscar sighed without even realising it. Günther raised an eyebrow, lifting his gaze toward whatever the young man was watching.

“A ghost?” the mentor asked.

“Worse,” the heir muttered, before turning on his heel.

In the early afternoon, the sun watched over the valley. Soldiers alternated between patrols and guard duty. The scent of fresh bread perfumed the town; the clinking of spits and the bright colours of ribbons crowded the streets.

From the heights of the castle, Oscar observed the bustle below, one hand resting against the windowpane. The castle felt so cold by comparison.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Abélie, a young servant, polishing a vase. He was just beginning to turn his attention back to the distance when he frowned. Wasn’t that the fifteenth time she had cleaned that vase?

“Abélie.”

The young woman jumped, her grip tightening around the feather duster, as though caught red-handed.

“Yes, my lord?"

“Are you spying on me again?”

She cast guilty glances to either side before clearing her throat.

“Me? I wouldn’t dare, my lord.”

Oscar turned to face her, one hand on his hip.

“Don’t try to fool me. We’ve already discussed this. If you don’t stop this nonsense, you’ll end up getting caught,” he warned her sternly.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving to clean a painting that was already spotless just a few steps away.

“If I may say so, my lord, you’re the only one who ever notices my… bad habits. You, and that old fox.”

“Of course you won’t fool Günther with such a poor performance.” He pointed out, his patience wearing thin. “Get to the point. What do you want?”

Beneath her foolish airs, Abélie smiled.

“I overheard your father muttering with one of his close advisors.”

Oscar’s gaze hardened. His father?

“Go on. But choose your words carefully.”

Abélie nodded and spoke slowly, mindful of her surroundings.

“He mentioned an arrangement. A deal was successfully concluded. Something concerning you. Unfortunately, my curiosity nearly got the better of me—I almost broke a glass, and I couldn’t hear any more.”

“I told you you’d end up getting caught,” he warned again.

“He suspects nothing. But whatever it is about you… It sounded serious. If you’d like, I could investigate further.”

She suggested with a grin. Oscar dismissed the idea outright.“Don’t do anything foolish. And stay out of sight. I won’t save you if you end up in the dungeons.”

“Of course, my lord… But if I hear anything new, I’ll come tell you.”

Without waiting for dismissal, she skipped away. Deep down, Oscar wondered whether it was truly wise to indulge the young woman’s strange obsessions. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. In his small study, Oscar reread and sorted letters of little importance. He was only permitted to handle repetitive grievances and a few requests for credit—nothing more. He had received sufficient education in financial matters. But his father kept a firm grip on the duchy’s economic affairs. And Oscar knew exactly why.

He stacked the letters absently, his thoughts still lingering on his training. Perhaps he could practise archery tomorrow. Or even horseback archery—if he left early enough, it might be possible. He needed to become stronger… The unsteady pile collapsed onto the desk after an inadvertent sweep of his hand. Oscar ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He pushed his chair back, gathered the letters, and rose. Some fresh air would do him good.

He was not strictly required to deliver the sorted correspondence to his father in person. Although he was paranoid, Andreus usually entrusted the servants with such transfers—proof enough of how insignificant this portion of the mail was.

Still, Oscar insisted. Simply because it mattered to him.

He knocked on the office door. Two light taps. No response. His heart pounding, he knocked again—two firmer knocks. He heard his father’s dry voice tell him to enter.

Acerbic.

Oscar drew a breath and stepped inside.

Andreus barely glanced at his son, buried in paperwork.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve brought you the mail you asked me to sort, Your Grace,” Oscar replied simply.

Matching action to words, he placed the small stack in a corner of the desk. Only the scratching of a pen answered him. Oscar waited, then eventually cleared his throat. The pen stopped with a harsh scrape.

“Yes?”

“Will you let me know if it’s properly sorted?”

“Oscar, I trust you’re capable of sorting such insignificant correspondence. Otherwise, it would mean I failed your education,” his father replied curtly.

“Then perhaps you could grant me greater responsibilities?” Oscar ventured. “I’m ready,” he added.

For the first time, Andreus lifted his amber gaze to meet his son’s blue eyes. His furrowed brows carved lines across his face. A few strands of grey disrupted the dark hair he had passed on to Oscar.

His gaze remained cold, despite its warmth of colour.

The duke seemed about to speak, then sighed. He dipped his pen back into the inkwell, just as he buried his head once more in his work—and his poor decisions.“Go. It no longer matters.”

“What do you mean by that?” Oscar tried, but his father cut him off sharply.

“Go. I said go. And don’t disturb me again!”

Oscar could almost feel the walls bristle. His blood roared in his temples. He lowered his head and took his leave, the door slamming shut behind him.

When the sun set, Oscar made his way to the dining hall, a knot in his stomach. It was always the same.

He passed Günther on his way to mass, where he would likely dine with the other soldiers. Oscar envied him.

The dining hall was empty when he entered. A servant brought his supper in silence, eyes lowered. Then, nothing. No sound disturbed his meal—not even the flicker of a candle. It was almost always the same.

He ate quickly and excused himself from an empty chair. At night, only the owls hooted.

Rising at dawn, Oscar prepared to go to the library to further his education. He crossed paths with Abélie, her gaze averted. He would have liked to stop her, but she walked quickly—and she was not alone. That was unusual for her; she usually greeted him with a sly little smile.

At the library, the young man tried to focus on his book, without success. He wasn’t foolish—something was afoot.

Was his father finally going to grant him real responsibilities?No. That didn’t sound like him. Perhaps he had struck a deal with a rival noble? Or maybe he would allow Oscar to patrol with the soldiers?

No… unlikely. Impossible, even.

The entire morning passed in turmoil and questioning.

At noon, Oscar headed toward the dining hall, stomach growling—only to be intercepted by Günther.

“The duke requests your presence, Young Master,” he said, jaw clenched.

Oscar flinched.

“‘Young Master’, hm. That doesn’t bode well,” he retorted.

“He’s waiting for you,” Günther repeated, dodging the remark.

Oscar inhaled and nodded, unwilling to press the matter. The weapons master was tense.

He turned on his heel and walked stiffly toward Andreus’s study. He was about to find out.

He entered without knocking—one of his rare acts of rebellion. Andreus lifted his head, annoyed.

“Knock, Oscar. It’s the least courtesy demands.”

“You sent for me, Your Grace?” Oscar interrupted.

Andreus shot him an angry look. For once, he set aside the ever-present pencil in his hand. He rubbed his temples and gestured toward one of the chairs.

“Sit.”

“I would prefer to remain sta—”

“Sit,” Andreus ordered.

Despite his defiance, Oscar sat.

Andreus rubbed his temples once more, then clasped his bony hands atop the desk. Oscar opened his mouth, but Andreus cut him off.

“You are going to be married.”

And suddenly, Oscar was speechless. Andreus did not care; he continued.

“To the Duchess of the North. Lady Brynn Wingfall. Though she is older than you, she is a good match. I would have liked to keep you at Eau-Claire, but she insisted that you come live with her. After all, she is the sole guardian of her duchy.” He paused. “You will return to Eau-Claire regularly, of course, and—”

Oscar heard nothing but a dull ringing. His father’s lips moved, but no coherent sound reached him.“…but you’ll see to that in time. The Wingfall family is financially secure. They rely on mining operations, and this alliance could benefit us greatly.”

Oscar flinched. Breaking the monotony of the monologue, he struck the desk weakly with his fist.“So you’re selling me? Is that what this is?” he shouted. “You’re marrying me off to a stranger for money! Father, I have no intention of marrying under these conditions!”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Andreus replied coldly. “You are past marriageable age. It is time you honoured our house. Lady Brynn seems to be a woman…” He searched for the word. “A woman. She will surely please you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Andreus rolled his eyes, reclaiming his pen.“That’s true. And I don’t need to concern myself with it, because it doesn’t interest me. All you have to do is go, marry, and honour the House of Rivière.” Andreus cut Oscar off before he could respond. “You’ve spent years yearning for greater responsibility. This is the most vital of all, Oscar—the responsibility of ensuring the future of our house. Of securing our place on the grand stage of aristocracy. Are you incapable of that?” He fixed his amber gaze on his son. “Will you disappoint me?”

When Oscar left the study, his throat was tight. His heart thundered in his skull as he clenched his teeth. Suddenly, the corridors felt infinitely longer than before. The windows seemed too large, the murmurs of the staff too… piercing.

His bed felt like stone.

He didn’t even have time to dwell on it. His study, his books—he would have liked to prepare more thoroughly. He grabbed his sword, his mother’s necklace, and a few books. The servants would prepare warm clothes.

The next morning, dew dotted the meadows. A few soldiers on horseback flanked a carriage bearing the arms of Rivière. Standing at attention, Günther waited, his gaze burning—no doubt sharp resentments simmered beneath the surface. As for Abélie, carrying only a simple suitcase, she looked subdued. Her freckled face was lowered more than usual.

The sun had not yet risen; the surroundings lay in a dim half-light pierced by a few pale rays. Oscar stared at the windows. No movement. The castle remained stubbornly lethargic.

He wouldn’t even receive a farewell.

And just like that, the procession set off—toward the lands of the North.