The Grey Ones
The Open Cage: I

JUNIPER

From the moment the Duke of Noxborough made the announcement, Juniper disappeared from the world. She saw the crowd as they cheered and she saw the pleased smile on her father’s lips and the spiteful smirk on Lord Christopher’s face. It was badly bruised from the powerful strike the Vasaath had given him the day before, but that did not stop him from showing glee—and he made sure to show her that he had won.

After the announcement, a feast was held. Juniper did not say much. She kept her gaze down and pretended like she did not hear the vile things that were said about her by her father, the Duke of Westbridge, and her husband-to-be, Lord Christopher.

She tried to smile when the court ladies congratulated her and she tried not to show her discontentment all too well. She wondered as the evening began if the Vasaath was waiting for her—if he was missing her company, even, as much as she missed his.

The feast lasted far into the night and about an hour past midnight, Juniper excused herself. She withdrew to her room, but was followed by Christopher. He was drunk, but he was strong, and he forced her against the wall in an empty hall.

“You think you can just sneak away like that?” he growled, his breath reeking of spirits. “My wife will fucking learn!”

Juniper tightened her jaw tightly and muttered back, “I am not your wife. Not yet.”

The young lord chuckled spitefully before he hissed, “I’ll show you how I teach my women to obey.”

“You are a fool if you think you can touch me without consequences!”

He only laughed, a vicious laugh, before he forced his mouth onto hers in a greedy and violent kiss. Juniper was aghast and fought to push him away. When he didn’t move, she resorted to biting his already bruised lip so hard she drew blood.

He howled and stepped away, his hand at his bleeding mouth.

Juniper gasped, shocked by her own actions. She had hurt the Duke’s son, her betrothed—but when he saw the scarlet drops on his fingertips, he just laughed again. He was left-handed, and his strike was as unforgiving as it was sudden. She felt how blood filled her mouth as she fell to the floor. Her ears were ringing and she could barely feel the right side of her face. She waited for the next strike, but it did not come.

Instead, the lord just crouched beside her and said, “Oh, you will learn.” He gave her a last smirk, his lip still bleeding, before rising and leaving her alone on the stone floor.

Juniper was in shock. The sudden pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced, worse than her governess’s rod, but the shock and horror were greater still. She tried to rise, but her head was spinning too much. After a few attempts, she managed to get on her feet, but she could barely stand on her own. Slowly, while tracing the cold stone walls, she made her way to her room. Her vision was blurred and her ears still rung.

She cried. Never in her entire life had she felt such hopelessness in her heart. She had been struck, ravished, and humiliated; her first kiss had been stolen, defiled, and she had received nothing but the promise of a terrible future. One way or another, she had to find a way out of this engagement—she would rather die than marry that monster.

Before going to bed, she made sure to barricade her door once more, fearing she might get an unwelcomed visitor during the night if she did not. Sleep did, however, not bless her that night. The moment she closed her eyes, she felt the sting on her face even more. She was afraid—truly afraid. No one at Fairgarden cared enough about her to see, or even care about, what a heinous partnership she was being forced into; she was being left to the wolves. She was a stranger in her own home.

When morning dawned, she had lost all hope. She stayed in bed until Garret came knocking. She knew it was him, because no one knocked as softly as he did. There was, however, no energy left in her to rise.

“My lady,” said Garret through the door. “Your father is asking for you down for breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please, my lady… your father insisted that—”

“You can tell my father that I am not hungry.”

“He said he will get you down there even if he has to get the guards…” The man sighed deeply behind the door. “Well, to drag you down.”

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and proceeded to push the sideboard away from the door. When she opened to face Garret, she was not ready for the horrified hiss that escaped him.

“My lady!” He stared at her. “What has happened?”

Juniper realised that it was her face he was looking at. It did not hurt as much anymore, but it strained and she was swollen. For a moment, she thought it would be best if she just lied and said that she had had a bad fall, but she refrained. Why not tell every soul of Lord Christopher’s character and viciousness? Surely, no one cared about a woman scorned or beaten—but a good Duke was supposed to be benevolent and chivalric. Christopher was neither.

She took a deep breath and said, “This is how my soon-to-be husband has decided to brand me.”

Garret said nothing, but she could see the hurt in his eyes—and the guilt, like a tarnished veil.

“Tell my father that I will be down shortly.” Juniper straightened. “I need to ready myself.”

He nodded. “Yes, my lady. And, if there is anything you need, please let me know. There are salves, ointments… paints.”

“Thank you, Garret, but I have no wish to hide it.”

The advisor nodded and left.

Juniper dressed in a simple dress and braided her hair modestly. She had no strength to tidy herself up, and for whom would she make herself pretty? Her abuser? She would rather not. The looking-glass showed her a red and purple eye and cheekbone, swollen and misshaped. She quickly dried the tears that started to fall, and then she straightened her back and raised her head. She would not let them break her.

When she entered the breakfast parlour, her father glanced at her. He noticed her bruised and swollen face but only scoffed.

“I see you have fallen flat on your face,” he muttered.

Juniper said nothing as she sat down by the table.

Her father sneered and looked at Sebastian. “Have you ever met anyone as fumbling as your sister?”

Sebastian said nothing and shrugged. He stared down into his plate of food, his rosy cheeks even redder in the faint morning light spilling in from the tall windows.

“I don’t expect you to care, Father, but this was not a fall,” Juniper said, at last. “Lord Christopher felt as though he wasn’t pleased with me, so he decided to punish me.”

“Well, I’m sure you deserved it. After what happened down by the harbour, I’m surprised he settled for that.”

She gritted her teeth. Her father was a deplorable man, and yet, she couldn’t seem to cease being shocked by his foulness. She raised her chin. “I don’t expect the Vasaath to be happy when he learns that I have been hurt.” Whether or not that was true, she did not know. She could only hope—and hope, she did.

“Your precious Vasaath won’t know, because your little quest is over.” Her father glared at her, his jaw tightly clenched. “You won’t be going to the encampment anymore.”

She felt her heart stop. “What? What do you mean?”

“In fact,” he continued, “because of your reckless and preposterous actions last you were there, you are not fit to be outside Fairgarden.”

Coldness spread through her body as the words sunk in. “I don’t understand. You can’t force me to stay at home.”

“I can and I will.”

“I am your daughter,” she huffed. “Not you prisoner!”

“Yes, you are my daughter, and you are to be married,” her father said. “I cannot have you running about with savages doing Builder knows what! You will stay here until the wedding, Lord Christopher will claim you as his and hopefully put a son in you, and then you will be taken to Westbridge.”

“You cannot make me!” She flung from her chair, tipping over glass and plate. Everyone gasped at her sudden outburst, but Juniper would not sit down. Her heart was pounding, her face was throbbing, and the seconds passed agonisingly slowly as she waited for her father’s judgment—but she would not sit down.

“You will obey!” he bellowed, his face red.

Sobbing, desperate, she pointed at the gates. “I will walk out of those doors and never come back if you do this to me, Father.”

But the Duke seemed unfazed by this threat. “Guards will make sure you don’t leave the castle grounds. I’ve told them to use force if necessary.”

Juniper tried to reply, but she had nothing to say. Her world had shattered. She was a prisoner, shackled by neck, hands, and feet, and she had nowhere to run.

That day went by as through a haze. She did not speak to anyone, nor did she look anyone in the eye. She kept gazing out the window, and she had not realised before how much she truly enjoyed and cherished her freedom. But it was rare to truly appreciate something before it was gone.

Her father had ordered two guards to follow her every step, and they were ruthless. If she just walked a few steps too close to a door leading outside, they would correct her. They barred her windows in her room and they stood outside her door when she was about to sleep for the night.

They followed her, day after day. Lord Christopher was crueller and crueller each day, calling her names and forcefully touching her body in ways she did not like on occasions that were anything but proper. Her face was turning from an ugly shade of dark purple to green, and she had not spoken to anyone for two days.

But three days after the announcement, during supper, the two Dukes were discussing matters of war. Yes, it was decided that they were going to force the foreigners off their shores. They had greater numbers, and they hid behind their truce. The Westbridge army would aid them, but the Duke of Westbridge wanted the marriage between his son and Juniper to be completed and consummated before issuing the orders to his soldiers.

Juniper was boiling on the inside. Not only did the two fools think they could humiliate the Kas warriors—she had seen them spar, and that would be enough to kill any human soldier—but they also thought the truce was still intact. She could not help but smirk; for once, her miserable situation might lead to something good.

The Vasaath was not a man to trifle with; a bargain was a bargain and if one end wasn’t met, there would be no agreement. There would be no truce, and the façade they were hiding behind would crumble in due time.

“You can prepare all you want,” she then said, surprised by her own calmness. “The Vasaath knows this is war. Keeping me from the encampment was a mistake. He will retaliate, mark my words.”

Duke Arlington smiled a rather strained smile and said, “You know a lot about war and politics, do you now?”

“I know that the Vasaath and his army will crush any adversary coming their way, and that includes you.” She straightened herself and said, “To think you, a buffoon, could beat such a remarkable and powerful man? Don’t make me laugh.”

Her father’s face was red—purple, almost—as he tossed his napkin on the table and stood from his chair. He fixed his cuffs before striding up to his daughter and with a quick but decisive swing, he struck her over her already swollen cheek.

Juniper gasped as she fell from the chair, shocked and aghast. Her hand flew to her cheek and she felt warm liquid drip from her as scarlet drops stained the wooden floors. Looking up at her father, she saw him wipe her blood from his ring before walking back to his chair and resuming his dinner, as if nothing had happened.

Everyone around the room seemed as shocked as her—a Duke did not beat his children. And yet, he did.

She stood, furious and devastated, and marched back to her room. If it was not clear to her before, she now knew that she hated her father more than anything. Perhaps she did love him once, but that was a long time ago.

She could barely cry. A tear or two escaped her, but that was solely because of the pain—she had already shed too many tears over her father. She heard the guards murmur to each other outside her door and she knew that she would have to find a clever way to escape. She would have to find a way to the Vasaath, to warn him, and to tell him that her father needed to be stopped.

It was close to impossible to find a way past the guards. She tried pleading with them, tried to appeal to their better nature—she even tried to seduce them with her femininity—but the guards her father had appointed were fiercely loyal to him and did not take orders from a woman.

She had to patiently wait for an opportunity when they did not watch her, and she discovered that that opportunity presented itself at lunch seven days into her imprisonment—two big and strong men had to eat, but they were not allowed to eat in the same parlour as the lady. Usually, they were relieved by two other guards, given that Juniper was to be watched every minute, but on this particular day, their relievers were late.

Juniper had to act fast—any minute now, and the other guards could be on their way. The two burly men were hungry and frustrated, and their bellies rumbled.

Cocking her head to the side, she said, with the sweetest smile she could muster, “Oh, but why don’t you go and eat? I don’t want you to starve!”

The two guards looked at each other, but stood firmly in place.

“They by all means,” she continued and gestured towards the empty seats around the table. “Sit down, please! Eat! There’s plenty of food and I cannot eat it all on my own.”

“No, no!” said one guard. “Don’t let us disturb your lunch, milady! Suppose the lads will be coming soon anyway.”

“Oh…” Juniper tried desperately to devise a good excuse for them to hurry away from her. “Perhaps they stayed for dessert! I heard the cooks made sweet pudding. Lord Christopher loves it, and perhaps there is some left.”

Sweet pudding was the one treat the cook made that no one could resist. The guards exchanged looks before one of them hummed and said, “But we have our orders, milady. You are to be watched every minute of every day.”

She chuckled, as sweetly as she could, fluttered her eyelashes, and said, “I would never put you in trouble!” Then, with great effort, she made herself look sad and weak. “I wouldn’t dare go against my father’s wishes. I know my place.”

The guards seemed pleased. They bowed and left the parlour in a scurry.

Juniper didn’t waste any time. She snuck out of the room and through the corridors. Luckily, she had been a lonely child and her only pastime used to be running around Fairgarden, finding out its secrets. She knew which halls the maids and hands used to avoid, and she knew every way in and out of the castle—and would know even with her eyes blindfolded. She grabbed a cloak down by the hands’ entrance and covered herself up before she headed into the late summer afternoon.

She had to hide her face underneath the hood of the cloak. Before this day, she had only gone outside as herself, as Lady Juniper—never before had she gone outside as an anonymous young woman amongst the people. For a moment, she felt free. She had no eyes following her every step, no one grovelling after her to praise her to the Builder. She was simply one of the people.

The road towards the encampment was rather long, and it passed through the poorer districts of the city, but she would be inconspicuous—unrecognisable. The Duke wasn’t loved by everyone, least not the poorer citizens, and being the daughter of the Duke, walking about unchaperoned in those districts, was dangerous. Juniper tried to blend in, tried to look as plain as she could while walking along the cobbled stone streets.

She heard people talk about Duke Cornwall and Lord Christopher, about how Duke Arlington squandered time and tax money entertaining posh and spoiled Westbridge royalty, and about how much they felt for the Duke’s daughter for having to marry such a pig. Some, on the other hand, said that it was about time the Duke’s daughter finally did something good, spread her legs, and started to breed like a good, Edredian woman ought to.

She was rather shocked by some of the profanity that some people would utter—and especially men. It was worse than anything she had ever heard her father say. They spoke about her in ways that disgusted her, terrified her, and made her wonder what the populace really thought of the ruling family. Some said she deserved the noose, others said she deserved to be put in place by men who thought they were entitled to her body—did they truly want to hurt her? Rape her?

She hurried along the streets, tears prickling behind her eyes. The freedom she had felt when stepping out into the streets had disappeared and left her trembling. For a moment, she thought she might turn back, but then she heard the same kind of vicious laugh Christopher had uttered the night he struck her and she knew she would rather die than return to that nightmare.

She hurried her steps even more. In panic, she bumped into people back and forth and at one point she even dropped her hood. Men called after her, called her names, asked for her company, reached for her, but she hurried along.

She had quickly pulled the hood back over her head, but she was terrified someone had recognised her. What was even worse was that she started hearing the armoured guards marching down the streets, and she heard her name being voiced several times—they were already looking for her. Of course, they were. If they found her, they would drag her back and she would be locked into her room like a true prisoner.

It took her until nightfall to get down to the docks. When she finally saw the mighty Kas warriors guarding the entrance to the fort, she felt relief like a cold shower falling over her head. She almost stumbled trying to reach them and finally, it was as though the air left her and she reached her hand out for them. She knew them and their faces twisted in surprise and relief—and horror.

“Lady Juniper!” said one of them. “Are you all right? Why are you here? Why are you alone?”

Tears were on their way again but she pushed them back. “Please, I need to speak with the Vasaath. It’s important.”

The two warriors looked at each other and exchanged words in their language. Juniper could hear Kasethen, but nothing else made much sense. One left and returned shortly with Kasethen trailing behind, and the advisor stopped dead in his tracks once he laid his golden eyes on her.

“Ohkas-enaan! Lady Juniper!” said he. “What are you doing here? And what—” He stopped himself just as Juniper had pulled her hood down. His dark brows knitted and he reached out a gentle hand to raise her chin. “My lady, who did this to you?”

Juniper tried to tell him. She knew he would listen if she told him, but she could not get the words out of her mouth.

Kasethen seemed to understand and sighed deeply. “We did not think that you would return to us.”

“Is he very angry with me?”

The advisor clenched his jaw. “He knows it’s not your fault. But yes, he is angry.”

That little shred of hope that had lingered inside of her seemed to disappear. Even the Vasaath, the one she thought would protect her, had cast her aside. “He doesn’t want to see me. I understand. I will leave.”

“No. I cannot turn you away,” said Kasethen. “It’s in the middle of the night. Of course, we shall offer you shelter. I cannot offer you more than that—the invitation has to be extended by the Vasaath himself. Now, come with me, and I will speak to him.”

Juniper nodded. She understood the rules and the etiquette—she only feared that the Vasaath would be as hostile towards her as her own family was. But she followed Kasethen into the fort. The warriors all turned their eyes towards her and all conversation went quiet. Juniper kept her eyes on the ground.

She was taken into the Vasaath’s tent where she was asked to wait while Kasethen fetched the Warlord. While she waited, she felt her heart hammer so hard inside her chest, she feared it might burst. Would he throw her out? Would he hurt her? Would he kill her? Her father had broken their agreement, and did he perhaps think that she was part of that decision?

When he entered, as tall and as majestic as ever, she knew the answer. His eyes were dark, his teeth were bared, and his build was tense like a predator as he strode towards her. She gasped and stumbled backwards, knowing in her very bones that he would kill her if he got his hands on her.

“P-please, sir,” gasped she, “forgive me, I-I did not intent to—”

But his arms were long and before she knew it, he had caught her in a firm grip. His large hand pinched her chin and forced her face upwards. It frightened her more than it hurt her, but after everything she had been through to get to him, the disappointment devastated her more than he frightened her.

She held her breath. The Vasaath was close, his hand warm and coarse as his clawed fingers teased at the soft skin of her throat. Juniper was sure he could feel her racing heartbeat, and she wondered how many moments she had left in this life before he strangled her. His golden eyes were still dark, but drawn to the bruises on her face.

A deep snarl escaped him as he said, “Who did this to you?”

His voice was so unlike him, she felt the air she had been holding escape her—but she could not speak. Her body was trembling and she wondered what horrible fate awaited her now.

The Vasaath demanded an explanation. Even though he did not order it directly, his eyes proved it. But then, his grip softened, as did his eyes. His grip was no longer vicious—he was simply holding her. She felt his coarse thumb gently caress her, and to her surprise, the touch was neither possessive nor suggestive, but caring, and a storm of emotions welled up inside of her. It was the validation she had been seeking, the security she had needed.

“Juniper.” The way her name rolled off his tongue sent shivers down her spine. “Tell me, who did this to you?”

Such soft and caring words had been absent all her life, and it dawned on her that the Vasaath would not kill her nor throw her out—he would protect her, give her a place. It was strange, how the fear could turn so easily into trust, but at that moment, she knew that she was safe. It was the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, the deepness of his breath; she thought it was only rage, but she was wrong. Beneath the rage, there was worry, devastation, and relief. He worried about her. As the realisation hit her, she broke down in tears.

She could hear Kasethen say something in their language, and shortly after, she was shocked to feel the Vasaath pull her into his embrace. It was warm and secure, and she realised that this was something she had been starved for: intimacy, security, care. She buried her face into his chest and cried. He smelled of leather and spices, and it soothed her. He held her for a long time, and her tears had long dried. She did not want to part from him—she wanted to be held, forever.

Her whole body screamed as he slowly pulled away. The warmth disappeared, along with the sense of absolute security. Juniper wrapped her arms around herself.

The Vasaath looked at her and said, “Sit down and I’ll pour you some wine.”

“I’m cold.”

“The wine will warm you a bit,” said he. “Make yourself comfortable down on the rug. Wrap one of the furs around you.” A few moments later, he handed her a cup of wine, and as he did, he said, “You’re safe here.” There was something different in his voice, and he looked deep into her eyes and added, “with me.”

Unexpected shivers ran along her spine as she gazed into his golden eyes. She felt her cheeks flush and even though she knew it would never happen, she could not help but wonder how happy she would have been if Christopher, her husband-to-be, would cause such shivers—if anyone of her own kind would. She did as he suggested and placed herself on the soft rug and wrapped a fur around her. The wine did help with the warmth and soon, she felt safe and comfortable enough to drift away.

“Lady Juniper.” The Vasaath’s voice pulled her back. “As my guest, I cannot let you spend the night on the rugs. Go lie down in my chamber. It’s warm and private. I’ll sleep on the rugs.”

“No…” she hummed. “I cannot let you do that, sir.”

“I insist.”

She was too weary to argue and obliged him instead. She thanked him, bid him good night, and withdrew through the thick fabric that hung behind his desk. Inside, there was not much else than a bed. It was sparsely built but appeared to be soft and comfortable—and it smelled of him. Lying down, it was as though he was embracing her again, and she fell blissfully into a deep sleep.

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