Blood Price

Chapter One

The lake was red, as red as the girl's dress who skirted along the waters edge. The sky, a darkening pink streaked with scarlet that should otherwise be beautiful, was somehow melancholy. But that was alright, Elizabeth wanted company for her misery today.

Picking her way carefully over forest debris, she supposed that for any other woman, today would be the happiest the day of her life, or at the very least it would be a day of pride and perhaps relief, all fitting feelings for fulfilment of duty. But Elizabeth has never cared much for duty, a trait her father calls difficult, infuriating and responsible for his greying hair. She never cared much for decorum either, so when she heard the reason behind their hurried journey to Dreadfort -aptly named to her mind- she gave no thought to appearances when she fled the castle walls.

She was to be wed, to be sold off to the highest bidder with barely a thought and it was that callousness that had hurt. Her own house, House Smallwood, was far enough away that once married, she knew she'd be well and truly alone. If that wasn't bad enough, she was to become a Bolton, a house famous for their capacity for cruelty, her betrothed especially.

Betrothed. A word that seems to lodge itself in Elizabeth's throat every time she tries to speak it. She's so angry that her breath is coming out quickly now, her chest tightening as she tries to hold back emotion. Leaning back against a tree, the bark is rough beneath her back but she doesn't care. Doesn't care either that it's more than likely dirtying her dress.

She's walked so far that she can longer see the towers jutting out from the trees like twisted arms or the lanterns that always seemed to be watching. That's the only thing that's giving her comfort now, as her mind becomes a whirl of reckless dreams of running away. She allows her imagination to run wild only for a second before she laughs humourlessly at herself. As if she could ever survive alone, free from family name and money. She has no marketable skills. When she sings, dogs howl and when she sews, well that's just too embarrassing to even attempt anymore.

Deep in her own thoughts, Elizabeth doesn't notice that the woods seem to have become silent, as if the trees are taking a deep breath; waiting. She doesn't notice movement behind her. Doesn't notice that she is no longer alone.

She paints an intriguing picture, a flustered girl in red amongst leaves of green and golds, stains creeping up her skirt and twigs tangled in hair that can't quite decide what colour it is. She looks almost comically out of place with her surroundings while also remarkably at ease with them.

A snapping twig breaks the picture, the sound reminding Elizabeth horribly that these woods are not familiar. With a startled scream lodged in her throat she forces herself to confront the sound, only to find a young man staring back at her with large, impossibly bright eyes. His skin is so pale against the quickly coming darkness, shadows falling on the planes of his face - a face which is more amused than surprised by her reaction.

It's his proximity that she is first aware of, the realisation of how close he had come forcing her to take a step backwards. Even with the distance she had created, he still seemed too close.

Drawing her cloak close, Elizabeth forces herself to stand tall. "Can I help you?" She asks imperiously, doing her best to impersonate her mother at her most daunting.

"Perhaps," is all he says, taking a step closer.

The amused twist to his mouth kept her from giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed, and yet the glint to his eyes was almost enough to convince her to run screaming for the hills. She had heard the stories of what happened to women foolish enough to be alone with a man at night and now here she stood with one that put the stories to shame.

When he strode even closer, her eyes fell to the bow held confidently at his side. As she started to back up, he pursued her, never once taking his eyes from hers. He was dressed for a hunt and Elizabeth suddenly got the idea that she was the prey.

"Who are you?"

He stopped at the sound of her voice. "Whoever you wish me to be."

"If you have any regard for what I wish, then you would be gone," she tried to keep her voice strong, assertive as if she were much more capable than she looked, but even she heard the scared warble at the end. By the look of things so did he, his smirk stretching into a smile that chilled her.

Without waiting for him to answer, Elizabeth suddenly turned in a rush of red and ivory satin and fled into the trees. She couldn't hear him chasing her, but she didn't take any chances. She ran as fast as she could, barely sparing a thought to the thorns that snatch at her skin as she passes. She didn't get far.

Finally releasing the scream that had been creeping up her throat, Elizabeth is yanked backwards from the grip on her forearm that seemingly comes out of nowhere.

"If you touch me again I swear my betrothed will flay you alive!" In his surprise her assailant suddenly lets her go. "These woods belong to the Boltons," she said, trying desperately to sound braver than she felt. "As do I. I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you just how furious Ramsay would be if I were harmed." At the mention of Ramsay, she hoped he would take off without a backward glance. He didn't, but at least he was no longer advancing toward her. Instead he was still watching her with those unnerving eyes.

"Please tell me more about this Ramsay," the name sounded strange coming from his lips, as if it were unfamiliar to him.

"He's worse than his father, much worse. They say he kills for fun so imagine his delight at finding you."

He smirks and Elizabeth watches as he runs his hand delicately along his bow, yet he still doesn't come any closer. "If this Lord is as awful as you say, why would he care about you?"

"Because he loves me!" She would have laughed if she had heard anyone else be so foolish as to use 'love' and Ramsay in the same sentence, but right now this fiction was all she had.

The last thing she expected was for him to laugh, although in hindsight she probably should. "I'm telling the truth"-

She cuts off when he's suddenly in front of her, surrounding her. Terrified, she shrinks away from him.

"Please don't touch me," she says in a small voice.

"I can't touch you?" He leans in closer, his face close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. "But by your own admission you belong to me."

Scared, it took far too long for that statement to sink in and when it did, suspicion replaced fear.

"Am I to believe you are a Bolton?" She asked, surveying the stranger from head to toe. While his dress screamed wealth, there has been nothing noble in the way he had acted, commanding yes, but not noble.

"Is it that hard to believe?" He asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

"Creeping in the woods is hardly befitting a Lord."

"And trekking alone at night befits a lady?" She had no answer for that, but then he didn't expect one. "You're lucky I found you. Bad things happen to girls in these woods."

"You still haven't told me who you are."

"I thought that was obvious. I am Ramsay Bolton, your terrible and loving betrothed. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." With that he picks up her hand held loosely at her side, and places a whisper of a kiss, not on the top, but on her palm.

Startled, she snatches her hand away.

Ramsay Bolton. She was finally in front of the infamous bastard, the sharp lines of his face already confirming the tales of cruelty in her mind. She barely gets over her surprise before embarrassment floods her, as she recalls her using his name and professing his love for her. His smile, wide and wicked, said he was enjoying her discomfort.

"It warms me that you think so highly of me," he continues. "And here I worried ours was to be a marriage of convenience only."

Under his intense gaze, Elizabeth was suddenly aware of her dishevelled appearance. Except instead of righting it, she childishly hoped it may be enough to put him off. Still, she couldn't leave decorum behind completely.

Ignoring her surroundings, she dipped into a curtsy more suited to a castle, and raised her eyes to his. "The pleasure is mine my lord, I only wish we had met in more- appropriate surroundings."

Her fear hadn't disappeared, not completely. In fact she could still feel her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest every time he looked at her. Had he come into the woods to find her?

"I don't," he says with a smile that flashes teeth. "I hope our next encounters are as every bit as inappropriate as this one."

She didn't like the way he said that or the suggestion behind it. Betrothed or not, she was awfully aware that she shouldn't be alone with him. What is it her aunt had said about him? More wolf than any Stark and more hungry than any Targaryen dragon.

"Shouldn't we be getting back to the castle my Lord?"

"So soon?" His voice was soft, almost pleasant if it weren't for the smirk that accompanied it. The fear must have been obvious in her face for he rolled his eyes and said, "oh alright. It'll be my pleasure to escort you back."

With that, he places her hand in the crook of his arm and urges her towards what she hopes is the direction of the castle. Beneath her hand he is warm, his arm surprisingly muscled as they walked in silence.

As they broke from the trees and moonlight hits his face, she is surprised to find him handsome. His hair is dark with a slight wave to it and when he catches her staring, his eyes are a startling blue. She is not sure whether to be pleased or disconcerted about such a discovery. She had heard he was monstrous, so she had expected him to look monstrous too, or at least not so disturbingly appealing. It somehow made him even more of a threat.

There is a kind of careless elegance to the way he moves, a confidence that is both admirable and intimidating. She wants him to speak, to somehow seem more human or approachable, anything to lessen her anxiety at his side. She remembered what he had said about the woods being unsafe for girls and wondered if it was him that made it that way.

Born a Snow and made a Bolton. Sneaking another glance up at him, she couldn't help but think that Snow suited him more, suited his glacial eyes and expression of contempt. Not that she would ever tell him that of course. She had already been warned by her father that Ramsay does not take well to reminders of his illegitimacy.

When they find themselves at the gates of the Dreadfort that stretch open like a mouth ready to swallow them whole, the guards get one look at Elizabeth on Ramsay's arm and snicker as they pass. While it makes him smile, it makes her colour with embarrassment, imagining how it must look to others with her and Ramsay emerging together from the night. She knew she would have to explain to her mother before she got wind of this.

"What do you think of Dreadfort my Lady?" She was so startled that he finally spoke, that she almost tripped over her own feet.

"It's"- she paused for a word that wouldn't offend. "It's big."

"I suppose it is," he says with another flash of a smile. "Perhaps tomorrow I could accompany you on a tour of the grounds? It's not all cold walls and dark woods." She tried not to let her distaste at his suggestion show on her face, but it was hard under his scrutiny.

She opened her mouth to answer when thunderous barks drowned out her voice. The night was suddenly alight with growls, as teeth snapped at her as she passed.

Huge hounds, each of them as black as night, leapt at the gate that housed them and for a moment, Elizabeth forgot her fear of Ramsay. With a shout she moved closer to him, her side pressed up against his and her hand tightening on her arm. Her gaze was so focused on the hounds that she didn't see the almost hungry look on his face as he gazed down at her.

"Don't worry, they won't harm anyone with me," he said,his voice alarmingly close to her ear. She didn't move away though. The implication was clear; the dogs, his dogs would harm anyone who wasn't with him.

"I'm not usually scared of dogs," she says truthfully, as they depart. "But those ones seem particularly viscous." Like their owner, she thought as she glanced up at him. He said nothing, merely smiled as if she had paid him a compliment.

Despite her protests, Ramsay insisted in escorting her all the way to her chambers, a surprisingly airy room with a view of the lake. Although he was behaving courteously as he bade her goodnight, she couldn't forget the way he had stalked her through those trees.

After he left, the wicked promise behind his smile stayed with her all night.