Wind whistled in the gaps in his armor. Sieger’s chest heaved as he raced down the list. Regulus brought the lance down, couching it in the crook of his arm. He aimed for Carrick’s heart. The lance slammed into Carrick’s chest, sending a shudder down his arm. Carrick’s lance hit Regulus’ helm but bounced off. Regulus’ lance bent and shattered, making the bones in his arm vibrate. Carrick flipped backward off his horse.
Under his helm, Regulus smiled.
He reached the end of the arena and wheeled around. Pages rushed to help Carrick to his feet, but he pushed them away and strode off the field—albeit with a slight limp. Regulus pulled off his helm and looked at Adelaide. Her wide smile accentuated her round cheeks. He would do anything for that dazzling smile. She nodded at him while she applauded. He looked at Carrick, exiting the gate at the end of the arena. Carrick looked back and held up a fist.
The message was clear. This meant war. Carrick’s feud was only getting started. Regulus’ spirits fell. What had he done?
Regulus’ last couple matches were close—he won by only one point in the semi-final, and was losing the final joust by three points until he unhorsed his opponent. But he won. He had to admit, he enjoyed the cheers. Between the thrill of the joust and the applause and Adelaide’s smiles meant for him alone, he felt like he could fly. The exhilaration of winning buried even worries about Carrick’s plans for revenge.
He rode Sieger to the middle of the arena and dismounted in front of Baron Carrick’s box. Servants carried in a narrow, tall wooden podium and a set of steep wooden steps. They placed the podium in front of Carrick’s box with the stairs behind it. Once atop the podium, Regulus removed his helm to cheering from the spectators.
Baron Carrick moved to the barrier at the end of his box, standing a couple arm’s lengths away. He raised his hands. The noise of the crowd hushed.
“Lord Regulus Hargreaves of Arrano,” the baron said, his voice ringing out over the arena. “Today you have demonstrated your horsemanship, your skill with a lance, and your prowess on the battlefield.” Cheers. A smile tugged at the corner of Regulus’ mouth, but he focused on looking dignified.
“You have thrilled and entertained with your expertise and strength and impressed with your precision,” the Baron continued. “You have earned our respect and admiration and honored the lady whose token you wear.”
Regulus’ gaze darted toward Adelaide, a small smile breaking his serious deference.
“You have tilted and emerged victorious. It is my honor as host of the Etchy Tournament to name you champion of the joust!” Baron Carrick applauded and the crowd joined in. As the cheering quieted, the Baron turned. A servant handed him a bulging leather pouch and a dagger with a handle inlaid with swirling ivory and sheath inset with small circles of mother-of-pearl. “In recognition of your triumph, I award you the prizes of the joust.”
The Baron held out the pouch of coins and dagger. Regulus tucked his helm under his arm and retrieved the prizes of coins with a bow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Baron gestured for him to turn around, and Regulus turned and faced the other side of the arena. “I present to you your jousting champion, Lord Regulus Hargreaves of Arrano!”
Regulus bowed as the crowd hollered and whistled and applauded. Large groups stood, honoring the champion of the joust. Honoring him. Some ladies waved handkerchiefs and scarves at him. A few even blew him a kiss. His face heated, and he looked to Adelaide. She was looking right at him and grinning, apparently not noticing the other ladies. He breathed a sigh of relief, even as part of him enjoyed the unusual attention. Harold had walked into the arena during the prize ceremony and held Sieger’s reins. Regulus handed him the pouch of coins and dagger. He took the reins and remounted. Sounds of praise followed him out of the arena.
After changing out of his armor and a quick, cold bath, he set out to find Adelaide. He held the prize dagger in his hand. He had to ask a few servants and a couple knights for directions, but soon enough he found the Drummond’s and Adelaide’s tents. Adelaide sat on a stool in front of her tent, combing her glossy dark hair. Regulus held his hands and the dagger behind him as he approached. She spotted him and smiled.
“Congratulations, champion of the joust.” Adelaide stood and set the comb down on the stool. “What brings you to our humble tents?”
He laughed. “I heard a rumor there’s a beautiful lady here who fancies me. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Adelaide feigned shock. “That’s a scandalous rumor. You should be ashamed.”
“If loving her should make me ashamed, then I am the most ashamed man in Monparth.”
She snorted and shook her head.
“Okay, that sounded better in my head,” he admitted. “But I do have a reason for being here, other than seeing your smile again.”
She blushed. “Oh?”
“Three things, actually.” He brought his hands in front and presented the dagger on his palms. “I haven’t been able to think of anything other than giving you this since Baron Carrick handed it to me. It is beautiful yet strong. Elegant yet dangerous. Like you.”
“Regulus...” Adelaide ran her fingertips over the sheathed dagger. “But this is yours.”
“And I want you to have it. I can’t think of a better owner.”
Her fingers brushed his palm as she picked the dagger up. She pulled the dagger out of the sheath and admired the blade, assessed its weight and tested its balance. Rubbed her thumb crossway over the edge to check its sharpness. He grinned as she evaluated the dagger in much the same way knights considered a new sword.
“Are you certain?” She slipped the dagger back into the sheath. “This is exquisite. The craftsmanship is superb.”
“An exquisite dagger for an exquisite woman. I can’t think of a better gift to start our courtship.”
Adelaide’s gaze snapped up to his eyes. “Our...” Her lips parted in what looked to be pleasant surprise.
He took her hand, his heart stuttering with nerves far worse than those before a battle. “I was hoping you would be favorable to me asking your father for his permission to court you? I won’t be able to yet. My business for my friend will take me in the opposite direction, and I’d rather ask him in person than by letter.”
“Yes,” she murmured. Then louder, “Yes!”
“Smart decision to ask in person,” Minerva said from the side. “Father turned down several potential suitors for his daughters over the years because he said asking by messenger demonstrated either laziness and lack of resolve or cowardice. Caused quite a fight with our half-sister Dulcina on one occasion.”
Goosebumps prickled his arms, and he looked to Adelaide. “Is your father likely to turn me down?” He could do better for his daughter than a bastard.
“Father can be...protective.” Adelaide sighed. “But if you ask him bearing letters from myself and Minerva, that should help.”
“I’ll write a letter of recommendation, if that will help,” Gaius said, walking around a tent and putting his arms around his wife. His eyes narrowed. “Assuming there’s no more nonsense like last night.”
“No, of course.” Regulus nodded, a lump in his throat. “Definitely. Thank you.”
“You said there were three things,” Adelaide reminded him.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Baron Carrick said the lady whose token I wore during the joust may dine with me at his table tonight. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to tonight’s feast?”
“I would love to!” She looked at Gaius and Minerva. “If...that’s all right.”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “As if anyone could stop you, anyway.”
SUPPER PASSED PLEASANTLY. Carrick sat with his parents, but he sat on the opposite side and didn’t address Regulus or Adelaide the entire meal. After supper, he occasionally caught sight of Carrick laughing with other knights or dancing and flirting with various ladies.
He and Adelaide danced and laug
hed and talked. She told him about her mother taking her away to a cottage in the woods from age four to seven, until she no longer caused fires or made her hands emit light by accident. All to keep her abilities secret. How it took years for her and Minerva to get close after that, and how her half-siblings treated her with suspicion or indifference. They talked around her magic, never using the word and keeping their voices low.
He talked a little about his childhood. How he lived at Arrano with his mother, calling Lord Arrano Father despite Lady Arrano’s protestations—until the birth of a legitimate son when Regulus was six. Then his father sent him away to live with a distant cousin halfway across Monparth. He mentioned training as a knight but never being treated as an equal. But instead of recounting sob stories about his cousin’s cruelty, he focused on humorous tales, such as the time Drez got boxed on the ears by a cook at fourteen after he tried to flirt his way into stealing food.
Adelaide laughed. “So the noble household Dresden joined, that was your cousin’s? Was he already there when you arrived, or did you meet him later?”
Regulus glanced away. He didn’t want to lie to her, but Drez was sensitive about that. “You can’t tell him I told you.”
She chuckled, her confusion evident. “All right...”
“And don’t think worse of him.” He hesitated. “Or me.”
Her forehead wrinkled.
“When I was eleven,” he said quietly, thankful for the music and party conversation to cover his voice, “my father decided I needed a servant. He sent money to his cousin, who found Dresden’s family. They needed the money.”
“He...” Adelaide tripped, and they stopped dancing. “He was your servant?”
“I held his indenture for seven years. I should have released him sooner.” Regulus forced himself to meet her eyes. “He was my only friend. I asked him to become a mercenary with me, and he did. And when I became a lord, I knighted him. He’s my brother, not that I deserve him.”
As Adelaide stared, he tried to interpret her expression. It wasn’t judgement or distaste, she looked...pleased. She dropped his hands and embraced him, laying her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, despite the glares from couples trying to dance around them, and kissed the top of her head.
The night ended too soon. But before everyone headed back to their tents, Adelaide kissed him again. Her kiss both set all his senses on edge and dulled them at once. The crowd around them faded like dying embers while his all-encompassing awareness of her lit his heart on fire. But then her sister was there, and he had to say goodbye. His chest ached as he watched her leave.
His knights walked back with him. After Carrick’s attack, they had no intention of letting him wander unprotected. Perceval carried a torch, illuminating their way as clouds obscured the moon. The men laughed and discussed the ladies they had danced with and the amounts of mead they had drank. Their jocular mood vanished as they arrived at the tents to find chaos. One tent had collapsed, as if something had fallen on it. No fire or torches burned as they should. Scattered ashes and scuff marks in the dirt indicated a scuffle.
“Harold?” No response. Regulus’ pulse quickened. “Harold!”
“Over here.” Coughing. “My...lord.”
Regulus snatched the torch from Perceval and darted toward Harold’s muffled voice coming from the other side of a tent. The others followed, murmuring their surprise and concern.
Harold sat on the ground next to Sieger, who was lying on his side, his nostrils flaring and chest heaving with labored breathing.
“Sieger?”
“I...I tried to stop them, my lord.” Harold looked up. Dust covered his face, except where streams of tears had washed the dirt away. Dried blood covered his mouth and chin, and his nose had a new crooked bump. A green and purple bruise blossomed around his right eye. “There were too many.” Harold coughed and winced, putting a hand to his chest. “Four of them. Their faces were covered. I’m sorry...” He choked back a sob.
Regulus fell to his knees and laid a hand on Harold’s shoulder, his gut twisting. “Harold...” He looked over his squire, noting his disheveled clothing and the blood covering his hands. Rage burned under his skin. “How badly are you hurt?”
“Mostly bruised.” Harold coughed and groaned. “Maybe a cracked rib.” He looked at Sieger, his lower lip trembling. “The blood is...it’s Sieger’s.”
Regulus’ breath caught. He moved around Harold and held out the torch. Sieger whinnied painfully and raised his head. The torchlight reflected in his eye, open so wide white showed around the edges. Regulus’ gaze fixed on Sieger’s legs. They had sliced his legs.
The low-life cowards had beaten his squire and cut his horse’s legs.
Rage burned down his throat and lit an inferno in his chest. Blood-soaked cloths wrapped around the lower part of all four of Sieger’s legs. Regulus clenched his jaw. The torch in his hand snapped in half as he squeezed it. Without a word, he strode away.
“Regulus.” Dresden ran after him. “Regulus!” Dresden grabbed his arm. “Where are you going? You can’t attack the son of a baron without proof.”
“I’m not,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tell the men to tidy up the camp and get a fire going. Get Harold to a cot. And put a tent over Sieger. I’ll be back soon.”
Dresden stopped as Regulus broke into a jog. “Where are you going?”
“To get Adelaide.”
Chapter 31
“ADELAIDE!” THE PANIC in Regulus’ voice chilled Adelaide to her core.
She pushed Giselle aside and ran out of her tent, not caring that Giselle had eased the lacing on the back of her dress and that it sagged a little around her shoulders.
Light from a nearby torch reflected in Regulus’ wide eyes. His scar pulled at his skin, wrinkling against his grimace. “I need your help,” he panted. “Please.”
“What’s going on?” Gaius walked out of his tent, followed by Minerva. “Lord Hargreaves?”
“Please,” Regulus begged. “I need your...I need your help.”
“Help for what?” Gaius demanded.
“Regulus, what’s wrong?” Adelaide placed a hand on Regulus’ forearm and his shoulders sank further.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His chest heaved. “Harold and Sieger. They’ve been attacked. They’re hurt.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Harold says he’s all right, but...I...he—I’m not sure he is.” Regulus hung his head. “And Sieger...” His voice broke. “I—I might have to... Please.” He took a shaky breath as his shoulders quivered, and her heart cracked. “I... I understand if you can’t help. But...I had to ask.” He met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I had to ask.”
Fear slid like ice down her spine. Someone could find out. But he looked so broken. Nolan might already know, anyway...
“This is my fault,” he whispered, looking away.
“Nolan,” she guessed, anger melting away her fear.
Regulus shook his head. “He was mingling with other nobles all night. But he has to be behind it.”
If Nolan was behind the attack, and if Nolan suspected her magic, healing Regulus’ horse would confirm her power. But if Nolan was behind the attack, it was likely because he hated she had chosen Regulus. It wasn’t Regulus’ fault, or hers. But she understood his guilt.
Regulus lifted his head, hope dying in his pain-filled eyes. “It was selfish to ask. I’m sorry.” He turned to leave, but she slipped her hand down to grip his shaking hand. Her gut wrenched.
“Take me to them.”
He paused and gave her a relieved smile. “Thank you.” He started forward, but Minerva stepped into his path.
“Adelaide—”
“I can help.” She met her sister’s glare with determination. “Mother always encouraged kindness. If I can help, I will.”
“Adelaide,” Minerva repeated, her tone harsh. “You—”
“This is my decision, Minerva. Mine.” Adelaide led Regulus
around Minerva, their hands still clasped.
“What is going on?” Gaius’ voice crept toward a shout.
Adelaide looked back at him. “You might as well know. Come on.” She looked to Regulus, and he led the way, his footsteps rushed. Gaius followed.
After several minutes of hurried walking, Regulus slowed. They rounded a tent and Dresden looked up from a fire in surprise. “She came?”
Adelaide raised a brow at Regulus. He turned red. “Dresden has kept more secrets for me than I can count. I know I promised—”
“It’s all right.” She understood. She never could keep things from Minerva for long.
“Where’s Harold?” Regulus asked.
Dresden pointed at one of the tents, and Regulus led her inside. Estevan and the blond knight—Caleb, if she remembered correctly—stood as they entered. Caleb held a soiled, wet cloth in his hand. Harold laid on a cot in the middle of the tent.
“I gave him my bed,” Estevan said. He looked at her. “Why’s—”
“Wait outside,” Regulus said. Caleb and Estevan glanced at each other uncertainly but left the tent.
Gaius crossed his arms. “I’m not waiting outside.”
“That’s fine.” Adelaide knelt next to the cot. Harold’s eye was bruised, his nose broken. His breath came short and sharp, his face pinched. Her hands felt clammy. What if she couldn’t help him?
Regulus knelt on the other side of the cot, his eyebrows knit. “Can you help?”
Harold watched Adelaide with wide, confused eyes. She wet her lips. “I’ll try. Where does it hurt most, Harold?”
“My—” Harold groaned. “Ribs.” He placed a trembling hand over the left side of his rib cage. “It’s a dull pain, but sometimes, it,” he winced, “it feels like I’m being stabbed.”
She pushed his shirt up. Blue bruises covered his left side. Regulus cursed under his breath.
“Are you a physician?” Harold sounded bewildered.
“No.” Gingerly, Adelaide prodded Harold’s ribs. He grimaced. Her fingertips brushed a sharp edge. Harold yelped, and she drew her hand back and bit her lip. Self-doubt chilled her. Regulus grabbed Harold’s hand and put his other hand on Harold’s shoulder, steadying him.
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