A Joust of Knights. Morgan Rice
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to reveal – but they had gotten interrupted. His advisors had whisked him away on urgent business, and as he’d left he’d promised to reveal more – and to ask her a favor. What was the favor? she wondered. What could he possibly want of her?
The King had asked for her to meet him in his throne room when the sun broke, and Gwen now hurried to get dressed, knowing she was already late. Her dreams had left her groggy.
As she rushed across the room, Gwendolyn felt a hunger pain, the starvation from the Great Waste still taking its toll, and she glanced over at the table of delicacies laid out for her – breads, fruits, cheeses, puddings – and she quickly grabbed some, eating as she went. She grabbed more than she needed, and as she went, she reached down and fed half of what she had to Krohn, who whined by her side, snatching it from her palm, eager to catch up. She was so grateful for this food, this shelter, these lavish quarters – feeling in some ways as if she were back in King’s Court, in the castle of her upbringing.
Guards snapped to attention as Gwen exited the chamber, pushing open the heavy oak door. She strode past them, down the dimly lit stone corridors of the castle, torches still burning from the night.
Gwen reached the end of the corridor and ascended a set of spiral stone stairs, Krohn on her heels, until she reached the upper floors, where she knew the King’s throne room to be, already becoming familiar with this castle. She hurried down another hall, and was about to pass through an arched opening in the stone when she sensed motion out of the corner of her eye. She flinched, surprised to see a person standing in the shadows.
“Gwendolyn?” he said, his voice smooth, too polished, emerging from the shadows with a smug, small smile on his face.
Gwendolyn blinked, taken aback, and it took her moment to remember who he was. She had been introduced to so many people these last few days, it had all become quite a blur.
But this was one face she could not forget. It was, she realized, the King’s son, the other twin, the one with the hair, who had spoken out against her.
“You’re the King’s son,” she said, remembering aloud. “The third eldest.”
He grinned, a sly grin which she did not like, as he took another step forward.
“The second eldest, actually,” he corrected. “We are twins, but I came first.”
Gwen looked him over as he took a step closer, and noticed he was immaculately dressed and shaven, his hair coiffed, smelling like perfume and oil, dressed in the finest clothes she’d seen. He wore a smug look, and he reeked of arrogance and self-importance.
“I prefer not to be thought of as the twin,” he continued. “I am my own man. Mardig is my name. It is just my lot in life to be born a twin, one I could not control. The lot, one could say, of crowns,” he concluded, philosophically.
Gwen did not like being in his presence, still smarting from his treatment the night before, and she felt Krohn tense up at her side, the hairs on his neck rising as he rubbed up against her leg. She felt impatient to know what he wanted.
“Do you always linger in the shadows of these corridors?” she asked.
Mardig smirked as he stepped closer, a bit too close for her.
“It is my castle, after all,” he replied, territorially. “I’ve been known to wander about it.”
“Your castle?” she asked. “And not your father’s?”
His expression darkened.
“Everything in time,” he replied cryptically, and took another step forward.
Gwendolyn found herself involuntarily taking a step back, not liking the feel of his presence, as Krohn began to snarl.
Mardig looked down at Krohn disparagingly.
“You know that animals do not sleep in our castle?” he replied.
Gwen frowned, annoyed.
“Your father had no qualms.”
“My father does not enforce the rules,” he replied. “I do. And the King’s guard is under my command.”
She frowned, frustrated.
“Is that why you’ve stopped me here?” she asked, annoyed. “To enforce animal control?”
He frowned back, realizing, perhaps, that he’d met his match. He stared at her, his eyes locking on hers, as if summing her up.
“There is not a woman in the Ridge who does not long for me,” he said. “And yet I see no passion in your eyes.”
Gwen gaped at him, horrified, as she finally realized what this was all about.
“Passion?” she repeated, mortified. “And why would I? I am married, and the love of my life will soon return to my side.”
Mardig laughed aloud.
“Is that so?” he asked. “From what I hear, he is long dead. Or so far lost to you, he will never return.”
Gwendolyn scowled, her anger mounting.
“And even if he should never return,” she said, “I would never be with another. And certainly not you.”
His expression darkened.
She turned to go, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. Krohn snarled.
“I don’t ask for what I want here,” he said. “I take it. You are in a foreign kingdom, at the mercy of a foreign host. It would best be wise for you to oblige your captors. After all, without our hospitality, you will be cast into the waste. And there are a great many unfortunate circumstances which can accidentally befall a guest – even with the most well-intentioned of hosts.”
She scowled, having seen too many real threats in her life to be afraid of his petty warnings.
“Captors?” she said. “Is that what you call us? I am a free woman, in case you haven’t noticed. I can leave here right now if I choose.”
He laughed, an ugly sound.
“And where would you go? Back into the Waste?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“You might be technically free to go,” he added. “But let me ask you: when the world is a hostile place, where does that leave you?”
Krohn snarled viciously, and Gwen could feel him ready to pounce. She shook Mardgi’s hand off of her arm indignantly, and reached down and laid a hand on Krohn’s head, holding him back. And then, as she glared back at Mardig, she had a sudden insight.
“Tell me something, Mardig,” she said, her voice hard and cold. “Why is it you are not out there, fighting with your brothers in the desert? Why is it that you are the only one who remains behind? Is it fear that drives you?”
He smiled, but beneath his smile she could sense cowardice.
“Chivalry is for fools,” he replied. “Convenient fools, that pave the way for the rest of us to have whatever we want. Dangle the term ‘chivalry,’ and they can be used like puppets. I myself cannot be used so easily.”
She looked at him, disgusted.
“My husband and our Silver would laugh at a man like you,” she said. “You wouldn’t last two minutes in the Ring.”
Gwen looked from him to the entrance he was blocking.
“You have two choices,” she said. “You can move out of my way, or Krohn here can have the breakfast he so heartily desires. I think you are about the perfect size.”
He glanced down at Krohn, and she saw his lip quiver. He stepped aside.
But she did not go just yet. Instead, she stepped up, close to him, sneering, wanting to have her point made.
“You might be in command of your little castle,” she snarled darkly, “but do not forget that you speak to a Queen. A free Queen. I will never answer to you, never answer to anyone else as long as I live. I am through with that. And that makes me very