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Sir Royce patted his horse’s side, then knelt beside her. Blanchette tugged kingswood from the forest floor and handed it to him. Her eyes shifted over his shoulder, between the dense trees, as she mentally scouted for the paths least overgrown and the most open.
“How long have you fought for Rowan?” she asked, rising to her feet and brushing off her cloak’s red fabric. Sir Royce’s mount lowered its head and grazed again, trimming the tall, deep-green foliage.
He hesitated, his eyes pooling with an emotion that hit her hard. “Almost a decade now. I fought under your father’s banner before him.”
Blanchette felt her breath catch, but she forced that bubbling rage back into her innermost shadows. When he offered no more explanation, she said, “What Rowan has told me about my father… some of the… atrocities he’d committed. They’re all true?”
Sir Royce grabbed his courser’s lead and guided him next to the stream. “No one knows the pain of grief and loss better than you,” he said, his voice slow and words careful. “You and Rowan are more alike than you’d care to wager.” He paused, patted the side of his horse’s muzzle, then pinned Blanchette with a pointed stare. A smile lifted the corner of his lip. “You remind me of her. Lady Dietrich was quite beautiful. Fierce and intelligent. There is something in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself… I know Rowan sees it too.” Blanchette scanned the woods… the ancient trees that stood like quiet sentinels. Images from her dream surfaced. She saw herself lying between them, her limbs tied with ropes, a black, sleek figure hovering above her. She heard the low growl reverberate through the woods, a voice in the wind. Blanchette shook it away and clutched the basket to her chest.
“We should return soon, my lady,” Sir Royce said, his gaze rising to a darkening horizon. Blanchette smiled, then motioned toward his flask of water, which he’d retrieved from his satchel.“Might I have some, sir?”
He returned her smile and passed the flask.
She sipped, then studied Sir Royce’s kind and weathered features. “His men—even those who were my father’s men—they all seem to like Rowan.”
“Nay, they don’t like him. They love him.”
She took another sip. “But why? Why him? Why the Black Wolf of Norland?”
Sir Royce paused, then came to his feet and patted his horse on the side of his regal neck. He gazed into the horizon at the looming castle that shot like an angry fist into the sky.
Blanchette’s hands shook as she fumbled with the vial and emptied its contents into the flask.
“Well, because he’s one of us,” Sir Royce finished after a thoughtful silence.
“Rowan was also my father’s man once. One of his closest advisers. My father knighted him—made him who he is today.” She could feel the heat rising in her voice. She fought it down, needing to keep the peace between her and this knight.
“That he did, my lady. His cruelty—his commands—shaped Rowan Dietrich into the Black Wolf. But knighthood isn’t a simple path. So many oaths we swear: protect the innocent, protect your king, and remain true. What is one to do, pray tell, when the king slaughters the innocent?” Now, the anger rose in his own voice. “Sir Rowan upheld his vow to us—to the people of Norland. That’s why we follow him. That’s why we love him.”
“And he betrayed his king.” I must act fast, she thought, or this shall spin out of control, and my chance will be lost. Fortunately, Sir Royce was petting the courser’s slender muzzle, his eyes distant as he gazed into the trees as if he’d see ghosts emerge at any moment.
“He did, Princess. And I pray he’d do it all again.”
She sighed and came to her feet, brushing off her skirts again. She stood next to Sir Royce and handed him the flask. “Us Winslowes have always been stubborn. It’s hard to stomach the words… but I can see it now. I see why you all love him so.”
Blanchette watched him drink from the flask and realized her words were true.
Sir Royce wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes took on a whimsical look as if he were watching something unfold inside his mind. “I met your father once before, you know. I came with Rowan to the capital on a campaign. To put a stop to some uprising. They were always shooting up, much like weeds. That time, your father ordered us to burn the village before the pirates could pillage it. Rowan asked about the villagers… the women and children who depended on us to protect them. ‘Kill them all,’ King Bartholomew ordered. ‘Burn them to the ground. Let the pirates forage their ashes.’ I…”
Suddenly, his eyes grew hazy, and his words became fragmented and slow. “Rowan… we left the castle… I… I don’t feel well, my lady.” Sir Royce’s grip failed him; the flask fell from his hand and tumbled into the stream.
His body heaved over as her concoction worked its magic. Blanchette watched as he battled to keep his consciousness. Hurriedly, she fetched the flask from the stream and filled it with clean water before tossing it into her basket.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered to Sir Royce as she climbed onto the courser’s back. Then she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and rode away from everything she’d ever known.
* * *
“What do you mean she got away?” Rowan tried to maintain the stoic demeanor he was so well-known for, but the anger in his voice betrayed him. Edrick was next to him, bent over the table and surveying a stack of maps of the sea. His head snapped up at the sound of Sir Royce’s voice.
The madness inside Rowan pushed through like water through a dam. He stepped closer to Sir Royce, his right hand subconsciously going to his sword’s pommel; the other hand found its way into the material of his comrade’s tunic.
Sir Royce looked like hell.
“She… I was a fool. She tricked me. Drugged me. I could barely see, sir. She got away with my horse! I?—”
“I knew we couldn’t trust her! Damn you, Rowan! Damn you!”
Rowan held up his hand and signaled Edrick’s silence. “Did you see which way she went?” When Sir Royce didn’t reply, Rowan wound his fingers in the tunic and nearly pulled him onto his toes. He shook him like a wolf shaking its kill between its jaws. The terror in Sir Royce’s cloudy eyes was palpable. “Answer me, or I’ll have your head for this!”
