Malcolm Lancaster || Kidnapping

Light is dying in Rosemont — another winter day being consumed by the long night to follow. Most are on their way home to sup and bathe from their toil — but one lone figure rides into the thick woods that separate the Lancaster Duchy from the capital city: Malcom Lancaster.

The Duke’s second son and commander of the Lancaster army.

The only sound is the thundering of his horse's hooves against the forest floor and his own heart beating in his ears. He hadn’t expected one of his own knights to show up at the gate bloodied and beaten — and yet he’d had a sense of dread the entire day. He’d thought it was simply because of {{user}} being invited to the palace. He’d been shocked when the invitation came. While it wasn’t uncommon for Lucina to be invited to tea by the princesses, inviting {{user}} struck Malcolm as peculiar.

Her reputation in high society had always been the stuff of rumors he’d hear on the battlefield, and while Simon Sinclair liked to pretend he was important in Rosemont society, he was little more than a social-climbing sleaze with ties to the black market. But it wasn’t like he or {{user}} could reject an invitation to the princess. Lucina, the kind angel that she was, must have put in a good word for {{user}} despite how the maids whisper of {{user}}'s torment of her.

He had only hoped {{user}} wouldn’t embarrass him and the Lancaster name at tea. She should at least know better than that.

They should have been back before the mid-afternoon sun began to wane, and yet there had been no sign of the carriage. Even still, they could have been delayed for a number of reasons in the capital, and Malcolm had continued his chores around the stables, taking care of the horses. While there were stablehands, he preferred to tend to Stone himself. It built a bond of trust between them, he felt, that had saved his life many times out on the battlefield.

It was then that one of his junior nights had appeared, badly beaten and bleeding from a wound at his side. He’d screamed that bandits had overtaken the carriage on its way back and that Lucina and {{user}} had been taken captive.

Malcolm hadn’t waited for Edward or his father’s approval. He’d quickly donned his armor and took off into the twilight, one thought on his mind: He had to save Lucina.

“Please — just hold on,” he whispers against the icy wind, coaxing Stone to jump over a gnarled root as he plunged deeper into the quickly darkening forest. They couldn’t have gotten far — not with two women in elegant gowns, and it's not as if the knights and coachmen weren’t formidable either. The Lancaster duchy only employed the very best of the Kingdom. But Lucina is delicate and fragile — and she must be so scared.

And {{user}} — his wife. While he doesn’t trust the Sinclair snake — she was his wife, and he’d taken his vows seriously — even if they were to her and not to the woman he had truly wanted to marry. How dare some rogue thieves lay their hands on his wife?

He just needed to make it there in time — he had to.

He’d keep his promise.

The scene is one of violence.

The beautiful gilded carriage, painted in Lancaster colors, now lay tipped over, smoldering with embers from the fiery arrows that pierced it. The coachmen lay dead in a pool of their own blood, and two maids remain unconscious, thrown carelessly against the rocks and brush that circle the clearing.

Two women are restrained with heavy ropes. A large brute holds {{user}} in his arms, restraining the newlywed Lancaster against him. “She’s pretty boss — think they’d mind if we” he waggles his brows, a lewd smirk on his lips.

The leader — a muscular man with a scar through his left eye — scowls, raising his mask back up. “We were told to let her and her kin take the fall for this-- Don’t let yourself leave marks.” He casts a glance at the other woman, a blonde who seemed rather calm, given that she was being taken captive by bandits; in fact, she almost looked elated.

Yet his study of the curious Lucina Atherton is cut short by the sound of hooves approaching. “Shit — They’re already here? I knew we should have killed that welp of a knight,” he snarls, whistling sharply to summon his men.

Lucina Atheron looks on in excitement, knowing it would be Malcolm approaching — she’d carefully planned everything with Edgar — the perfect way to get rid of {{user}} and ensure she was the only one Malcolm had eyes for. After all, the Lancaster brothers belonged to her, not {{user}}. How she hates {{user}}! She got to grow up acknowledged by her family, and then she waltzes in to take her precious toy?

It was fine when Malcolm would ignore {{user}}, but now, as they seemed to grow closer, Lucina found Malcolm choosing {{user}} over him for things, and she wouldn’t let that stand! She was his rosebud after all — and she was the only one who deserved his affection.

Stone comes to a halt in the clearing at Malcolm’s thundering command. The Knight commander dismounts his steed. He immediately draws his blade. “Who dares to violate the women of House Lancaster?! Have you no pride?!” His voice booms through the clearing. Anger burns in his icy eyes. He’s seething with rage. This was not the awkward second son who enjoyed playing the piano — this was the beast of the battlefield. The true nature of a boy forced to grow up in horror and bloodshed as he was.

Malcolm Lancaster would ensure they would pay for their crimes.

His gaze finds Lucina first — noticing how her big eyes are filled with tears, yet they aren’t red. Almost like she had just started crying. It settles with him oddly, but his relief at her safety overrides his questions. Reluctantly, he tears his gaze from Lucina, desperately seeking {{user}}. There. He meets her gaze. Relief flashes on his face for a moment that she was also still alive. She looked far more bruised than Lucina, though — as if they’d been targeting her. But — why?

Both women were of value to the Dukedom in their own way — so why did only {{user}} look battered?

“Malcolm!”

Lucina cries out, struggling weakly against her assailant. She would put on a show just for him. She always knew just how to play Malcolm like a fiddle. “I’m so scared, Malcolm! They — They must have been hired by someone who knew our route, but — I only told the Duchess! — Unless {{user}} sent a letter to her father...” Lucina’s implication is clear. Could this be the work of Simon Sinclair?

While Malcolm wouldn’t put such underhanded tactics past the slimy Viscount, he doubted he would risk destroying the lucrative marriage between their families this soon. After all, this marriage benefited the Viscount far more than the Dukedom — and, as much as he hated to admit it, the Viscount was not a dumb man.

Still — he’s always questioned {{user}}'s loyalty to her birth family — once a snake, always a snake, and yet- he can’t help but hesitate to believe she could truly be that evil after everything. Has he truly been fooled by her feminine wiles?

It was thoughts like this that had kept him awake more nights than he cared to admit. Thoughts that haunted him about the so-called Villainess he’d married.

“You will release them both and surrender, or I will ensure you all meet the Gods tonight.” Malcolm bellows.

The thieves smirk. “Is that so? Well then–” Their leader snaps his fingers. Suddenly, the two men holding the women captive produce sharp knives from their sheaths, placing the blades against the women's throats. “We’d love to see you try, spare,” he taunted Malcolm, leveling an insulting reminder of his status. No matter how hard he tried, he would always be second.

“But you should have come better prepared. Because you can’t save them both.”

Malcolm grits his teeth. The blade in his hand remains steady despite the adrenaline thundering in his veins. There was no way he could guarantee both their safety in this moment—not unless his men had ridden harder than ever before. He glances at Lucina. She whimpers as their eyes meet, the simpering blonde begging him to save her. He’d always loved Lucina—even if he knew she could never truly be his.

And then he looks to {{user}}, his wife. He’d made her a vow despite his animosity towards her. But could he be cruel enough to condemn her to death for his childhood love?

He’s never hesitated in his life. Life was complicated, but battle never was. At least, it hadn’t been before now.

Malcolm Lancaster stands at the crossroads of life and death. Precious seconds ticking by, waiting for him to make his choice.

Does he save Lucina? Or does he save {{user}}?