Sir Garo Rylan strode into the room, like a wholesome heaping of autumn handsomeness. He looked around with his amber eyes, bowing to King Rocheveron.


    “King Rocheveron, please excuse my tardy arrival for breakfast. I fear your beds are far too comfortable. I have overslept.” He chuckled and looked around the room. “I see I am not the only one. Judd LaMogre is not here either. I hope he has not become lost.”


    “Will you not sit down?” King Rocheveron asked, gesturing to the chair on his left. Garo Rylan nodded and moved around the table to sit. Verne looked at Rylan who was serving himself breakfast with carefree gusto and speaking lightly with the King. He glanced at the other three who didn’t know what to say or do. Verne gritted his teeth and returned to his chair, glaring at his breakfast as if it was what had thwarted him.


    “Has there been any word on Genovieve’s wellbeing?” Garo asked with such sincerity, the other diners would not have doubted his concern for his restored bride had they not borne witness to Aalis’ terror or given a hint that he was not the man he claimed to be.


    “Genovieve will be tended by a single maid who will accompany the royal physician to examine her this morning.” Rocheveron explained. “His initial assessment was, despite several bruises and a lack of nourishment, probably owing to her transport from where she was captured to Astaril, she was in excellent health.”


    “Ah yes, those who captured her.” Garo picked up a piece of bacon. “I would very much like to have a say in their punishment for what they put her through.”


    Caste’s green eyes were flinty. “Even though they didn’t know who she was? Or that her capture actually restored her to her father and husband?”


    “Duly noted, Deacon Undern,” Garo nodded, “restoring my wife to me, though they were ignorant of her true identity, will keep them from execution…but to have abused her so cruelly…I will not stand for that.”


    There was a loud clatter as Giordi dropped the jug of cream on the rim of his plate. Though unfortunate, it covered up Suvau cracking his knuckles. Caste glared at both of them, shaking his head slightly, seeing they were about three seconds away from trying to kill Garo Rylan themselves. Despite the thick air of animosity at the table, Garo was cheerful and pleasant as though he could not sense their ire.


    “It is my understanding LaMogre spent time with the captain and his men in Fort Mavour,” Rylan said as he enjoyed his breakfast, “I should like to confer with him on the level of penalty to be exacted. He must be a deep sleeper.” He glanced at the clock set in a lopsided four pointed star arrangement as if time was at the centre of all things. “Perhaps a servant should be sent to rouse him?”


    “I believe that would be wise.” King Rocheveron nodded to the head servant who bowed and left the room.


    Caste, Verne, Giordi and Suvau all found it difficult to continue to eat. They did their best to look as though they were at ease, pushing the food around their plates, wondering just how and when Judd would challenge Rylan who kept up a steady flow of conversation, unaware or uncaring of their tension.


    Then footsteps echoed hurriedly towards the dining room. Everyone stopped what they were doing to turn to the door. Everyone except Rylan who was enjoying his second helping of spiced bread. The steps approached the door then paused as if collecting themselves. Giordi wanted to roll his eyes at the delay and Verne was hard pressed not to grind his teeth. Suvau breathed in and out deeply and Caste yanked his hands out of his mouth, stopping himself from tearing at his nails.


    The door opened and Judd walked in, tucking his shirt into his trousers.


    “King Rocheveron, I apologise for my slumber,” he bowed, “I slept like the dead.”


    “I only wish I looked as well rested as yourself.” Rocheveron said with a light tone and waved Judd to the place on his right. “Will you not sit and enjoy some breakfast? I believe Sir Rylan would like to speak with you.”


    “I would very much like to do the same.” Judd said with only a light twitch in his jaw betraying the depth of his anger in the presence of Garo Rylan. He didn’t seem to be in a rush to confront the knight, sitting on the King’s right and admiring the breakfast feast. “It all looks delicious.”


    “Please, eat your fill.”


    Giordi felt Verne kick his ankle. He glanced at the archer whose bright blue eyes flicked towards Rylan. Giordi had been so relieved to see Judd, he hadn’t thought to look back at the knight but as he did so, he caught sight of unguarded emotion on the older man’s face. It was surprise and rage in one fiery blend, the corners of his mouth turned down as though Judd’s presence was an affront. Giordi glanced at Suvau and Caste and saw that they had picked up on Rylan’s animosity and exchanged worried glances.


    “What is it you wished to speak to me about, LaMogre?” Rylan asked tightly, struggling to recapture his mask of goodness and control.


    “Oh I think we can enjoy some breakfast before we plunge into business,” Judd said almost gaily, like a sparrow taunting a cat, “but first, King Rocheveron,” he turned to the grey haired majesty, “could we please ask Princess Genovieve to join us?”


    Rocheveron was understandably surprised yet nodded even as he signalled for a servant to do as he was asked and Garo Rylan frowned.


    “Forgive me but, is not the ‘Rite of Purification’ achieved on the condition of isolation?”


    “I hope the Order will concede to a slight variation in conditions?” Judd looked pointedly at Caste who nodded.


    “As long as the princess does not interact directly or without chaperone with Judd LaMogre.” Caste said as strongly as he could.


    “Of course.”


    “Then, I would also like to make a stipulation,” Rylan said in a darkened tone, “that you will address Genovieve by her title of ‘Lady’ for once she married me, she became Lady Genovieve as she is my wife.”


    “I will attempt to do so,” Judd promised as though Rylan was not glaring daggers at him, “however, I beg your prior forgiveness if, by a slip of the tongue, I call her Aalis, for that is how I knew her.”


    Suvau swallowed, hearing Judd’s emphasis on the word ‘knew’. It was as though he had put his fingers in the air and gestured in front of Rylan’s face which had the same effect as taunting a bull with a piece of red cloth.


    “LaMogre, is it my imagination…or are you goading me this morning?” Rylan challenged lightly. “I thought we put our differences behind us yesterday.”


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    “You certainly put me behind you yesterday,” Judd replied, “however, as gracious and condescending as you were to me, you will find me to be less so.”


    Rylan put his cutlery down. “And what do you have to accuse me of?”


    Judd put a piece of bacon in his mouth and chewed it. “Let’s find out, shall we?”


    Footsteps approached the dining hall again, hurriedly like Judd’s though softer and at the door they paused, a hand lightly knocking before the door opened and a young woman, a maid judging by the quality of her clothing, appeared.


    “Your Majesty,” she quivered, “the Princess Genovieve…”


    Judd, who had risen in anticipation, stared at the maid who shook like an autumn leaf in a winter breeze. Her face was as white as a sheet and she struggled to meet anyone’s gaze.


    “Where is my daughter?” King Rocheveron asked, fear causing his tone to quiver.


    “The Princess Genovieve…” The maid’s voice broke as she gave an unguarded sob.


    Judd stared at her, his bones as cold as ice. “Where is she?”


    “In her room…”


    Judd flung the door open before he’d heard the last of the maid’s words and sprinted along the corridor to the stairs, climbing higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go except the door where two guards stood, speaking softly before springing apart and trying to look official. Judd paid them no heed as he ran up the narrow stairs into the tower room, the physician standing near the top of the stairs. He protested in stammers but Judd swept past him to where Aalis lay on the marble floor, her eyes closed and her dreadlocks crushed like a cushion beneath her head.


    “Aalis!” He cried, kneeling by her side. “Aalis!”


    Her skin was as cold as the room around her. He could have been touching a statue. He cupped her face, trying to feel for a pulse but everything was a blur.


    “We found her like this only minutes ago…” The physician said from behind.


    “Aalis?” Judd begged. “Caste! Caste, help me!”


    “I’m here…” Caste froze at the sight of Aalis on the floor. “By the stars…”


    “I cannot tell. Caste…please!”


    Caste knelt by her side and put his long, nervous fingers against her wrist. Judd wrung his hands, watching Caste whose face was impassive as he laid Aalis’ hand back down.


    “Judd…I’m sorry…”


    “No! No, you didn’t wait long enough!”


    “Judd, there is no pulse! No breath…she’s…”


    “Don’t say it!” Judd roared. “Don’t!” He pushed Caste out of the way and scooped his arms around her body, drawing her into his lap. “Aalis…please wake up. Please…I was going to make you so happy…I was going to give you all the love you could hold and more.” Her face became dotted with Judd’s tears as he sobbed. “Aalis…not now…please…not now…”


    Caste was never more uncomfortable than when in the presence of extreme emotion. He stepped back, Judd’s anguish tearing at him so painfully Caste wished he could remove his own heart so he wouldn’t have to feel it.


    “What happened?” He asked in a broken whisper.


    “There was no sign of trauma, no wounds or bleeding apart from a little blood in her ear.” The physician explained softly. “She was on the floor when the maid and I arrived.”


    “Just like that?” Caste asked, studying Aalis’ body. “Her hand…it was like that?”


    He pointed to the hand on the far side. Aalis’ fingers were stretched out, her palm pressed against the marble.


    “Exactly so,” they both turned as the sound of a wheezing monarch reached them, “Your Majesty, I am sorry…”


    “My daughter!” Rocheveron howled, running to where Judd cradled Aalis’ lifeless body. “My beautiful, beautiful daughter…Genovieve…no!”


    The physician drew a vial out of his cloak and tipped a little of its contents onto a handkerchief. “Your Majesty, you must calm down. You are not strong enough…”


    “My daughter…Genovieve…”


    The physician didn’t ask permission, putting the cloth beneath Rocheveron’s nose, the strong vapour bringing down the height of his stroke inducing panic. He tried to help him rise, Suvau’s strong arms circling his chest and lifting him up even as he wept uncontrollably and was escorted down the stairs. Verne and Giordi had also entered the room, both staring at Judd as he rocked Aalis’ body in his arms, crying over her.


    “What…happened?” Verne rasped.


    “Probably what happened to Nicolin five years ago.” Caste said without confirming or denying anything. “No sign of a wound or trauma…apart from a little blood in her ear.”


    “What did you say?” Judd looked up. “Blood in her ear?”


    “That’s what the physician said.” Caste explained as Judd brushed Aalis’ dreadlocks aside. Somehow, he knew exactly which ear to look in. Judd shifted out from beneath her body and laid it down with tenderness, brushing her lips then standing up, soaked in sorrow. “Judd?”


    “Where is he?”


    Verne and Giordi stepped out of the way as Judd left the tower and stormed down the stairs, hearing the physician argue with Sir Rylan.


    “…must wait until the King has regained composure and health.”


    “You’re telling me I must wait for justice for the death of my wife? While she was in his care? After I suffered accusations from her brother that I was neglecting her! I will not! This is unacceptable! Out of my way, Maul!”


    “Rylan!” Judd bellowed and the knight looked up as he barrelled towards him, his fist striking his face hard, snapping his head back, causing the older, stronger and more experienced man to stumble. “You bastard!”


    “LaMogre! You dare strike me?”


    “I dare strike a murderer!” Judd was about to launch himself at Rylan but Suvau caught him. “Let me go! I’m going to tear him apart!”


    Rylan bristled as Verne, Giordi and Caste, as well as a dozen guards, came up behind the King, inserting themselves between the knight and monarch but not between LaMogre and Rylan.


    “You have the nerve to accuse me of murder? I who have only just found my beloved wife again to have her taken away from me by incompetents, fools…and cowards?” He snarled. “She was mine!”


    “She was not a possession. She is a person!” Judd strained against Suvau. “She was a person…and you took her life!”


    “It wasn’t meant to be her!”


    In the silence after Rylan’s statement, the knight drew himself up to his full height, like a cat that had made an embarrassing or damning misstep and was trying to make out that it intended to do so all along.


    “No,” Judd’s teeth were barred, “it was meant to be me. I felt death pull on me then fade…I thought it was a dream.”


    Sir Rylan’s fa?ade of goodness was well and truly gone as he looked down at Judd with disdain.


    “You were not worthy of her…yet you stole her from me…” He drew his swords and slashed against the bodyguards who had slipped around behind to attack Rylan from the rear. One was caught badly and the other leapt aside, grazed but still standing. “Treachery…assassinations…the so called noble blood of Andigre is over.” Rylan’s eyes darted to King Rocheveron. “You’ve already lost the throne. Give it to me…”


    “Never.” Rocheveron mustered a single strong word, righting himself to deny Rylan as firmly as he could.


    “Then you will lose it by force,” Sir Rylan’s eyes gleamed with lustful fire, “and if you think the overfed, satin clothed pompous military force of Astaril is any match for the might of the south, you are even more deluded in your superiority than I imagined.”


    “You really think we’d let you go to start a war?” Giordi mocked.


    “If you don’t…my soldiers have orders to open the gates of the Arena of Fort Verion and the gates of the upper, middle and lower bailey…and let countless monsters into Terra.”


    His words sucked the air out of the corridor. “You…even if the monsters ravaged your enemies, you would have to deal with an infested Terra.” Verne exclaimed.


    Rylan tilted his head with arrogance. “My soldiers and those of every knight of the wall forts, are not afraid of monsters. They know how to kill them. I wager yours don’t.” He held Judd’s stare without flinching. “Kill me or imprison me…and the result is the same.”


    “You’re lying…” Giordi whispered.


    “No,” Judd said quietly, “he’s not.”


    Sir Rylan smiled like the conversation was a friendly banter and not filled with death threats. “I rally my troops on the hillock before the northern border of Fort Verion where the mount of Maul burns directly behind.” He tucked on his coat and flicked up the collar. “If you are wise, you will meet me there and surrender…though I am quite hopeful you will continue to be fools.” He turned and glared at the bodyguard behind him and the other troops that had arrived. “Get out of my way.”


    “Let him pass…” Rocheveron said weakly and they watched as Sir Rylan strode between the two lines of soldiers that held against the walls with complete confidence and not as if he had just declared war in the stronghold of his enemy. He pushed open the doors at the end, disappearing from sight and Judd let out a shuddering sigh.


    “Your Majesty!”


    They turned to see Rocheveron collapsed on the ground, wheezing frantically, unable to catch his breath. No more thought was given to Rylan as the guards, Judd and his companions and the royal physician scrambled to keep the King alive.