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He wheeled round and thrust a hilt towards her brother. ‘Take this, Henry.’
‘Heinrich!’
‘I know your name. I simply refuse to dignify you with it.’
‘I will not fight.’ Her brother clasped his hands behind his back. ‘You are being ridiculous.’
Lance dropped the sword in his left hand, which fell to the floor with an ominous clatter. He lifted the other and pointed it, leaving the barest distance from Heinrich’s chest. Her brother stiffened.
‘Perhaps. Better a fool than a boor and a bully like you.’ Lance’s stance was lazy yet assured. He brought the blade forwards with a twist and flick. A button flew from her brother’s shirt. ‘Like the Crown Prince.’ Flick. Another button. ‘May he rot in hell.’ Flick. And another. ‘You knew he wasn’t faithful to Sara, that he’d never protect her, or love her. Yet you criticise me forimaginedfailings, when yours are veryrealand caused her harm?’
Heinrich stood, marble-white, the same colour as his ruined shirt. Lance stalked forwards, rapier at his side, bringing his own face mere inches from her brother’s.
‘Before I give you a scar to match my own, run along home like the coward you are.’ Lance’s hand gripped the sword tight, his knuckles pale.
‘You’re afraid for your own reputation, not for your sister. But remember, your King is my best friend. Whilst Sara is with me she’ll have the full force of his protection, not to mention your Queen’s. So take that back to your family, and choke on your aristocratic pride along with it.’
Lance turned his back on her brother, eyes blazing and fierce, like a golden warrior as he focused only on her.
‘George, before I do something ill-advised,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘please throw him out.’
Somewhere, far away in the house, the front door slammed. Heinrich hadn’t waited to be escorted from the house, storming out on his own. Sara’s whole body slumped in relief. She walked to Lance, his jaw still clenched, all hard and ferocious. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, be held, but by the look of him he wouldn’t welcome it.
‘What did Heinrich do to you?’ she asked, her voice trembling as she tried to control the leftover ripple of fear still coursing through her.
Lance handed his sword to George, who collected the other from the floor and left the room with them.
‘We both fenced at school. Heinrich was good, but I was better and hehatedit. Hated Rafe and I, as all the boys at the Kings’ Academy did. One day he challenged me to a fight with rapiers he’d smuggled from home.’ Lance clenched his hands then flexed his fingers. ‘I don’t believe he thought I’d go through with it, but I wouldn’t back down. When the time came he claimed to have injured his wrist. SaidIwas the coward if I refused to fight the person who’d offered to take his place. The school champion.’
Sara lifted her hand, then hesitated. The tightness around Lance’s eyes softened as she stroked her fingers over the fine scar on the side of his jaw.
‘You received this.’
‘They wanted to draw blood. Teach me a lesson. It was never a fair fight. Fortunately, a teacher caught us. The school sought to hush up the whole mess. I suspect your family did too, given my father’s carefully cultivated friendship with the King. Luckily for me, the blade was sharp and Lauritania had some fine plastic surgeons.’
Sara shook her head. She’d suspected her brother could be devious and cruel, but she’d had no idea what had happened all those years ago at school. There’d not been a hint of it at home.
‘Thank you. For seeing him off.’
‘I’ll doanythingto keep you smiling.’ His voice was a tortured rasp. ‘But be warned. I’m no one’s hero.’
‘You may not think so, but you’re a hero to me.’
His nostrils flared, his lips a tight line. It was as if he was still looking for a fight, after her brother’s inaction.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘There’s somewhere I haven’t shown you.’
Lance stalked to the door and thrust it open. She hurried to catch up as he made his way through long halls, past room after grand room she’d not yet explored.
‘Where are we going?’ Her breaths huffed as she attempted to match his long stride. Still he didn’t slow down, as if driven by some imperative to keep moving.
‘You’ll see.’
Lance kept up his relentless pace until they reached the southern side of the house, entering a long room with a rich red carpet. A bank of windows to the right overlooked a stretch of emerald grass that collided with a planted woodland. Scattered through the space were a few plush chaises facing a vast wall of portraits. Lance stopped, turned to the pictures and swept his arm wide.
‘I’d like to introduce you to my illustrious family,’ he said, his lip curled almost in a sneer.
She stared at the array of pictures. They seemed the same as the Morenburg Palace portraits, and those of her own family home. The aristocracy cataloguing their imagined magnificence for all to see.
