The Crow That’s After Me
Chapter 2 —
The North and the Crow
The further north they went, the rougher the road became. Snow piled up, melted, and froze again, turning the path into thick mud. If they had used an ordinary carriage from the capital, it would have broken down long ago and left them stranded. It was lucky—perhaps unlucky—that they had switched to a sturdy northern carriage.
Two weeks after joining the knights of Barcian, the carriage finally came to a stop.
“Lady Elena, we’ve arrived at Barcian Castle,” said Sir Arthur, clearing his throat as he opened the door.
Elena took his hand and stepped down. In front of the gate, a small crowd had gathered to get a look at her. She took a deep breath and returned Sir Arthur’s fur cloak, which had kept her warm during the journey.
He had been right—the northern cold was far harsher than she had imagined. Even with the thick cloak, she had shivered the whole way.
Elena took her first step toward the castle gate. Her silk shoes were quickly soiled by the muddy snow. So be it, she thought, straightening her back and meeting the gazes fixed on her.
Her pale blonde hair and blue eyes stood out starkly among the northerners, who mostly had black hair and dark eyes. The eyes watching her were filled with both curiosity and suspicion—sharper, even, than the icy northern wind.
But Elena walked forward proudly, as if she could not feel the cold.
“The Grand Duke of Barcian is expecting you, Lady of Selremga. Please follow me,” said the butler who had come to receive her.
Inside the castle, everything was plain and practical—built only to withstand the cold. It was nothing like the lavish palaces of the south, where every corner gleamed with gold and luxury.
“Was your journey peaceful?” the butler asked politely.
“Thanks to Sir Arthur, I arrived safely,” Elena replied.
Even so, her thin silk shoes were no match for the chill that seeped up from the floor. She couldn’t help but glance longingly at the butler’s thick leather boots. By the time they reached the great hall, she caught herself drifting and quickly composed her expression.
“The Lady of Selremga enters!” the doorkeeper announced loudly.
The chatter inside stopped at once. Dozens of eyes turned to her, their gazes sharp as needles. Elena crossed the wide hall slowly, aware of every sound—the faint swish of silk brushing the stone floor.
At last, she reached the high dais where the Grand Duke of Barcian sat. Bowing gracefully, she knelt.
“I greet the Grand Duke of Barcian. I am Elena Selrem.”
“You may rise.”
When Elena lifted her head, she froze for a moment.
The Grand Duke was far more handsome and refined than she had imagined, but his jet-black hair and even darker eyes were enough to make her tense.
No one could better fit the title King of Crows. His eyes—cold and deep—seemed to pierce straight through her. Is the northern wind this cold too? Elena wondered.
“Your clothing is not quite suitable for the mistress of the North,” he said.
Surrounded by northerners wrapped in black fur, Elena in her white silk dress looked fragile and foreign—almost strange. It was the traditional southern wedding gown, elegant but utterly impractical for such cold.
The Grand Duke looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.
“The northern chill cannot break my wish to show respect to Your Grace,” she answered calmly.
To her surprise, the Grand Duke laughed. Rising from his seat, he approached her, and only then did she realize how tall he was. She had to crane her neck just to meet his eyes. His broad shoulders looked large enough to hold three women her size at once.
“So, to you, adornment matters more than life itself. Truly, my bride is a southern lady,” he said lightly.
Elena’s cheeks flushed red. Even the guards by the far wall could probably see her embarrassment. She hadn’t expected him to twist her words like that, especially while looking so polite.
“I wonder how many winters my bride will survive in the North,” he added, his tone laced with hidden meaning.
“You must be tired after such a long journey. Rest well until the wedding,” he said finally, motioning to the butler.
The butler stepped forward. “Please follow me, my lady. I’ll take you to your room.”
After bowing to the Grand Duke, Elena turned and followed. She could feel the quiet laughter and whispers of the courtiers behind her, as though mocking the southern woman who dared to come north.
So this is my welcome, she thought bitterly. She realized her situation was not so different from that of the Crown Princess—both trapped in unwanted fates.
She sighed, torn between missing her nanny and feeling grateful the old woman didn’t have to suffer this humiliation beside her.
“This will be your chamber, my lady,” the butler said.
Elena scanned the room. Aside from a few dark tapestries and sturdy furniture meant to block the draft, it was bleak and cold—like the underground cells of the palace.
“We prepared it with great care, awaiting the Grand Duchess’s arrival,” the butler said proudly.
Really? she thought, watching him. But his sincere expression made her hold her tongue. She would simply have to get used to life here.
“This way, please. I’ll show you the bedchamber.”
Behind the sitting room was another chamber, its most striking feature a bed draped with red curtains.
“This room is connected to His Grace’s chambers,” the butler explained.
The symmetrical design was similar to the southern style. Elena nodded slightly.
“And the key?” she asked.
“The key to the door between your chambers, my lady, is held by His Grace,” he replied awkwardly.
So, he had no intention of giving her access. Elena hid her displeasure and nodded. I’ll get the key eventually, she thought.
“And this is Mary, who will serve you from now on.”
“It’s an honor to serve the Lady of Barcian,” said a young maid, bowing deeply.
Elena flinched at the title—Lady of Barcian. It was true, soon she would no longer be known as the Lady of Selremga.
Only one maid? she noticed. That alone told her enough about how she would be treated here.
“Rise,” Elena said softly.
The freckled girl straightened, her eyes bright and curious. She was young, and her innocent gaze was almost endearing.
“I’ll count on you,” Elena said, taking the girl’s hand gently. Mary’s eyes sparkled.
“I’ll leave you to rest now, my lady,” said the butler. “If you need anything, ask Mary. She’ll prepare your bathwater as well.”
“I’ll get it ready right away!” Mary said cheerfully, darting out. Her quick steps made Elena chuckle. After the butler left, Mary returned with steaming water for the bath and began to help her undress.
“Do southern ladies really dress like this? You’d freeze solid wearing this here,” she said, touching the smooth white silk with wonder.
“The south is very warm,” Elena explained. “But we don’t have snow there.”
“No snow?” Mary gasped, hopping in surprise. Elena laughed softly, but Mary looked doubtful—as if her mistress were teasing her.
Still, it didn’t matter. Northerners, like southerners, were born and buried in their own lands. Few ever saw beyond them.
“Is the water warm enough, my lady?”
Sinking into the wooden tub, Elena felt her month-long fatigue begin to ease. There were no flower petals or fragrant oils like in the capital, but this simple warmth was enough.
“Mary,” she called.
“Yes, my lady?”
Mary had been secretly touching the ends of Elena’s long golden hair, but jumped as if caught.
“You may touch it,” Elena said with a smile. “Tell me—what kind of man is the Grand Duke?”
Mary’s cheeks flushed, but her fingers stayed tangled in the silky strands. “I don’t know him well, my lady. I’ve only seen him from afar. I’m sorry I can’t say more.”
“That’s all right,” Elena said.
“Well… it’s just…” Mary started, but quickly shook her head. Whatever she wanted to say, she swallowed it back.
Elena didn’t press further. Asking servants about their lord rarely yielded useful answers anyway.
The Grand Duke of Barcian, she thought. A man opposite of the bright, charming men of the capital. Cold and sharp, like a crow. Could she ever get used to such a man—let alone accept him?
Not that she had a choice. By tonight, she and the Grand Duke would belong to each other.
Watching a droplet roll down her shoulder, Elena slowly closed her eyes.
After her bath, other maids arrived to help her prepare for the wedding. Mary carefully dried her hair and noticed the golden comb among Elena’s belongings.
“Would you like to wear this one? You had it on when you first arrived,” she asked.
Elena stopped her from looking for another. “That will do. It’s my most precious thing.”
“Was it a gift?” Mary asked innocently.
Elena smiled faintly. “It was from my nanny, the woman who raised me. We parted on my way here…”
Her smile faded into quiet sadness. In this strange, lonely place, that small comb was her only comfort. Mary sensed her mood and said nothing more.
When the maids brought the mirror, Elena didn’t look at her face. She only checked that the golden comb was firmly in place. Feeling its weight in her hair, she imagined her nanny beside her—just for a moment, it gave her strength.
