Morgan Rice - A Joust of Knights

Gwen felt something on her palm and she looked down to see Krohn licking her hand, then resting his head on her lap. She stroked his head as she sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, slowly orienting herself, the weight of her dream upon her.

Guwayne , she thought. The dream had felt so real. It was more, she knew, than a dream—it had been a vision. Guwayne, wherever he was, was in trouble. He was being abducted by some dark force. She could feel it.

Gwendolyn stood, agitated. More than ever, she felt an urgency to find her son, to find her husband. She wanted more than anything to see and to hold him. But she knew it was not meant to be.

Wiping away tears, Gwen wrapped her silk gown about herself, quickly crossed the room, the cobblestone smooth and cold on her bare feet, and lingered by the tall arched window. She pushed back the stained glass pane, and as she did, it let in the muted light of dawn, the first sun rising, flooding the countryside in scarlet. It was breathtaking. Gwen looked out, taking in the Ridge, the immaculate capital city and the endless countryside all around it, rolling hills and lush vineyards, the most abundance she had ever seen in one place. Beyond that, the sparkling blue of the lake lit up the morning—and beyond that, the peaks of the Ridge, shaped in a perfect circle, encircled the place, shrouded in mist. It seemed like a place to which there could come no harm.

Gwen thought of Thorgrin, of Guwayne, somewhere beyond those peaks. Where were they? Would she ever see them again?

Gwen went to the cistern, splashed water on her face, and dressed herself quickly. She knew she would not find Thorgrin and Guwayne by sitting here in this room, and she felt more than ever that she needed to. If anyone could help her, perhaps it was the King. He must have some way.

Gwen recalled her conversation with him, as they had walked the peaks of the Ridge and watched Kendrick depart, recalled the secrets he had revealed to her. His dying. The Ridge dying. There was more, too, more secrets he was going to reveal—but they had gotten interrupted. His advisors had whisked him away on urgent business, and as he’d left he’d promised to reveal more—and to ask her a favor. What was the favor? she wondered. What could he possibly want of her?

The King had asked for her to meet him in his throne room when the sun broke, and Gwen now hurried to get dressed, knowing she was already late. Her dreams had left her groggy.

As she rushed across the room, Gwendolyn felt a hunger pain, the starvation from the Great Waste still taking its toll, and she glanced over at the table of delicacies laid out for her—breads, fruits, cheeses, puddings—and she quickly grabbed some, eating as she went. She grabbed more than she needed, and as she went, she reached down and fed half of what she had to Krohn, who whined by her side, snatching it from her palm, eager to catch up. She was so grateful for this food, this shelter, these lavish quarters—feeling in some ways as if she were back in King’s Court, in the castle of her upbringing.

Guards snapped to attention as Gwen exited the chamber, pushing open the heavy oak door. She strode past them, down the dimly lit stone corridors of the castle, torches still burning from the night.

Gwen reached the end of the corridor and ascended a set of spiral stone stairs, Krohn on her heels, until she reached the upper floors, where she knew the King’s throne room to be, already becoming familiar with this castle. She hurried down another hall, and was about to pass through an arched opening in the stone when she sensed motion out of the corner of her eye. She flinched, surprised to see a person standing in the shadows.

“Gwendolyn?” he said, his voice smooth, too polished, emerging from the shadows with a smug, small smile on his face.

Gwendolyn blinked, taken aback, and it took her moment to remember who he was. She had been introduced to so many people these last few days, it had all become quite a blur.

But this was one face she could not forget. It was, she realized, the King’s son, the other twin, the one with the hair, who had spoken out against her.

“You’re the King’s son,” she said, remembering aloud. “The third eldest.”

He grinned, a sly grin which she did not like, as he took another step forward.

“The second eldest, actually,” he corrected. “We are twins, but I came first.”

Gwen looked him over as he took a step closer, and noticed he was immaculately dressed and shaven, his hair coiffed, smelling like perfume and oil, dressed in the finest clothes she’d seen. He wore a smug look, and he reeked of arrogance and self-importance.

“I prefer not to be thought of as the twin,” he continued. “I am my own man. Mardig is my name. It is just my lot in life to be born a twin, one I could not control. The lot, one could say, of crowns,” he concluded, philosophically.

Gwen did not like being in his presence, still smarting from his treatment the night before, and she felt Krohn tense up at her side, the hairs on his neck rising as he rubbed up against her leg. She felt impatient to know what he wanted.

“Do you always linger in the shadows of these corridors?” she asked.

Mardig smirked as he stepped closer, a bit too close for her.

“It is my castle, after all,” he replied, territorially. “I’ve been known to wander about it.”

“ Your castle?” she asked. “And not your father’s?”

His expression darkened.

“Everything in time,” he replied cryptically, and took another step forward.

Gwendolyn found herself involuntarily taking a step back, not liking the feel of his presence, as Krohn began to snarl.

Mardig looked down at Krohn disparagingly.

“You know that animals do not sleep in our castle?” he replied.

Gwen frowned, annoyed.

“Your father had no qualms.”

“My father does not enforce the rules,” he replied. “I do. And the King’s guard is under my command.”

She frowned, frustrated.

“Is that why you’ve stopped me here?” she asked, annoyed. “To enforce animal control?”

He frowned back, realizing, perhaps, that he’d met his match. He stared at her, his eyes locking on hers, as if summing her up.

“There is not a woman in the Ridge who does not long for me,” he said. “And yet I see no passion in your eyes.”

Gwen gaped at him, horrified, as she finally realized what this was all about.

“ Passion ?” she repeated, mortified. “And why would I? I am married, and the love of my life will soon return to my side.”

Mardig laughed aloud.

“Is that so?” he asked. “From what I hear, he is long dead. Or so far lost to you, he will never return.”

Gwendolyn scowled, her anger mounting.

“And even if he should never return,” she said, “I would never be with another. And certainly not you.”

His expression darkened.

She turned to go, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. Krohn snarled.

“I don’t ask for what I want here,” he said. “I take it. You are in a foreign kingdom, at the mercy of a foreign host. It would best be wise for you to oblige your captors. After all, without our hospitality, you will be cast into the waste. And there are a great many unfortunate circumstances which can accidentally befall a guest—even with the most well-intentioned of hosts.”

She scowled, having seen too many real threats in her life to be afraid of his petty warnings.

“Captors?” she said. “Is that what you call us? I am a free woman, in case you haven’t noticed. I can leave here right now if I choose.”

He laughed, an ugly sound.

“And where would you go? Back into the Waste?”

He smiled and shook his head.