Page 2

One thing she was certain of? Elara leaned forward, moving her black queen to H2. “Checkmate.”

Eamon stared at the board, more surprised than he should have been if he were paying close mind to the game. But he was not, as usual, and Elara had capitalized on it. Finding an opponent’s weakness was always, as her father taught her, the first step to victory.

“You . . .” Eamon continued to shake his head “continue to amaze me, Elara.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you for the kind compliment. You are a worthy opponent,” she offered.

“And you, my dear, are a liar,” he said, laughing.

“I did not specify in which area,” Elara qualified, as Eamon was one of the most skilled swordsmen in all of England. “I bid you a good eve,” she said, standing.

Eamon lifted his goblet in a silent toast as she walked from the hall. The corridors were dark; only light from the wall sconces illuminated them. And she should retire. However, Elara felt restless and decided instead to make her way to a private courtyard that had been a sanctuary for her these past years. Its fountain, the sound of falling water, would help calm the worry that had crept into her chest since she and Eamon spoke of her father.

Arriving at the wooden door on the other side of her sanctuary, Elara gave it a pull, opened the door and stepped inside.

Chapter

Two

“Did you see him? Alden knocked the poor man to the dirt.”

The knights’ quarters were rowdy all throughout the day but even more so in the evenings. After filling their mugs with ale throughout the meal, those who did not seek out female companionship came here to loudly retell stories from that day’s training. They sat in the center of a large chamber, ten knights to a room. Behind them, their beds were separated by partitions, offering some measure of privacy as they slept. Though Alden believed in their cause and would gladly sleep on the hard earth to see King Stephen dethroned, a private sleeping chamber was something he looked forward to most upon their victory.

Alden attempted to stare down his friend, but Darien paid him no mind. He enjoyed being the heart of the gathering and would not heed Alden’s silent warning. Unlike Darien, he preferred not to attract notice.

“Is that not the reason we train?” said Sir Aldric Langley, son of one of the most influential barons who had publicly declared for Matilda.

“But the ease with which he did it,” another man said.

Alden sharpened his sword, listening but not offering any conversation. They spoke of his strength, and while it was true Alden was likely the strongest of all in this room, and perhaps of all those knights who trained at Castle Blackwood, each and every one of them was something Alden could not claim to be.

A knight.

He could train every waking moment, become the strongest man in all of England, wield a sword or hammer as well as anyone, but he could not knight himself. So he remained quiet, having nothing to offer to the discussion.

“Is your father built the same?” Aldric asked.

Alden looked up. All eyes were on him, waiting to see if he would respond. He rarely spoke of himself and even less so about his family. Surrounded by earls’ sons, men who would someday rule England, Alden had no wish to talk about himself.

“Aye,” he said. “As was his father and his father before him.”

“Is it true your ancestors forged Excalibur?”

That question was from Sir Corwin deMonteforte, nephew of the empress they were all here to support. It had impressed Alden that the man did not receive, nor ask for, any special treatment, including quarters of his own. Alden respected him enough to answer the question.

“Nay,” he said. “’Tis a rumor that began many years ago, likely because my ancestors have been forging the swords of kings since my great-grandfather.”

Those kings included the one who currently sat on the throne, but none seemed inclined to question the fact, for which he was grateful. He had no quarrel with the men whom he fought alongside, but would defend his family’s honor above all. His father took coin from wherever it came, and the royal family offered more of it than most. Men came from all over England, and Scotland and Ireland too, seeking out his father’s handiwork, with good reason.

“A blacksmith’s son,” Aldric said. “The strongest among us.”

Alden met his gaze, his own unwavering. Though he could not tell if the baron’s son meant it as an insult, Alden’s experience told him such a thing was likely.

Looking away, the knight stood. “Who has an empty mug?”

Alden and Darien exchanged a glance. Darien shook his head ever so slightly. He obviously believed Aldric said the words in good humor and was telling Alden to stand down. Though it went against his nature, he did so, aware of his own tendency toward perceiving insults, even when they did not exist. None at Castle Blackwood had made him feel unwelcome before, and Alden wanted to believe this was not an exception.

As they refilled their mugs, Alden stood. Sheathing his sword, he wordlessly made his way from the chamber, only to have Darien follow.