Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

The words confused Edward. "You spoke with my squire?"

"Yes," she said. “He said you were shy."

Edward had never heard that particular word applied to him before. In fact, he had been scolded for boldness and discarding convention for cause so often, the description nearly made him laugh. Yet, in truth, around women, he did display some quiet uncertainty. "Yes, well. He’s a good and loyal servant."

"So I’d gathered? Willafrida smiled flirtatiously.

Edward felt a knot form in his gut. The idea of leaving seemed pleasant but rude. The comment required no response, but politeness deemed it his turn to speak. If he could not continue the thread of the current discussion, he had the obligation to turn to trivial talk until a new subject was broached. However, before he could find even a minor topic, she took over again.

"You’re going to the Tylantian contests?" Willafrida gestured him to sit beside her.

"Yes, I guess I am." Edward perched on the edge as invited, uncomfortable intruding on a woman’s sleeping pallet. "My squire talked me into it."

"He’s good at that, isn’t he?"

"Good at what?"

"Talking people into things."

“Sometimes," Edward returned, finding the duchess-heir’s comment strange, an obvious attempt at conversation that seemed awkward to him.

"Six of my suitors are already there, trying to win a duchy."

"That hardly seems necessary." Edward glanced around to indicate the citadel. "You have one already. Why would they need to win you another?"

Willafrida shrugged then smiled, lowering her eyes modestly. "I’m nobility, but most of them are just gentry. I think they want at least as high a title as me. You can understand that."

Prince Edward nodded, without commitment. He did not see why station should matter to a man and woman who loved one another. "I suppose so, Lady."

"You wouldn’t have to enter the contests to get a title, of course."

"No, Lady, I wouldn’t," To Edward, the conversation seemed inane, but he stuck with it, seeing merit in learning to chat with women. He wondered if all conversations with the fairer sex would prove as tedious and realized he already had the answer. He had loved spending hours with his mother, discussing emotions and aspirations, reading stories and poetry. His conversations with Kelryn seemed to flow as easily, and the thought of her made him grin. His first meeting with her had proven even more awkward. His throat had closed down, making words impossible, and it had taken all of his sense of honor to tear his gaze from her near-naked beauty. From that moment, he had known she was special. Though he hated the idea that Ritworth the Iceman menaced her as well as him, he had appreciated the excuse and necessity it had created. The injury that marred her grace made him cringe every time she walked, but it had given her reason to quit dancing for a time and join them. And her fast and eager acceptance of his invitation suggested that maybe, just maybe, she had some feelings for him in return.

"… a prince need to do so?"

Prince Edward started from his reverie, embarrassed that he had let thoughts of a woman preoccupy him so much he had become rude to another. Though he had not heard most of her question, he could divine the rest. If he guessed wrong, he hoped she would attribute his error to misinterpretation rather than inattentiveness. “I’m the younger prince. I have no claim to Alyndar’s throne, kingdom, or lands. I need to establish myself elsewhere, and Tylantis’ duchy will serve that need well." Edward gave the proper response by nature, and the doubts did not come until after he spoke the last word. "But mostly I’m going for the camaraderie and the thrill of competition. I have little hope I’ll win."

That attitude clearly surprised Willafrida as boastful certainty seemed a much more common conviction among highborn. For the first time, it took her several moments to formulate a reply. Before she did, someone knocked on the door, the sound deep and reverberating. Edward stiffened, naturally leaping to his feet. Willafrida clasped her hands in her lap and turned her head toward the sound. "Who is it?"

A solid bass wafted through the panel. "It’s Milnar, Lady. Is everything all right in there?”

"Everything is fine, Milnar," she called back. "I’m just getting ready for bed."

"Very well, Lady Willafrida. I’m sorry I disturbed you." Heavy footsteps retreated down the corridor at a rapid pace.

Willafrida returned her attention to Edward. "A guard. They check on me all the time." She patted the bed, indicating Edward should sit again. "You were just telling me you have no claim to Alyndar’s throne."

Prince Edward considered excuses for leaving now, but none seemed good enough this early in the conversation. Apparently, she had called him up only to chat and get to know him. It was way too soon to know whether or not they would prove compatible. "My brother, Leyne. He’s the crown prince.”

Willafrida made a wordless noise to indicate interest. The intensity of the sound suggested fascination with the brother rather than the conversation. Her next question enforced the impression. "Is he married?"

“No."

"How old?"

"Twenty-six.”

Finally, Willafrida turned the conversation back to Edward. "And you?"

“I’m not married either. And I’m eighteen."

Willafrida frowned, obviously surprised at the numbers.

Edward guessed the duchess-heir had a few years on him and it bothered her. Usually, noblewomen married men a few years older or sometimes, in the case of an aging ruler without an heir, decades older. He hoped age differences did not matter too much to women, not because of Willafrida but because of Kelryn. Conversation, comments overheard, and appearance indicated the dancer was a few years older even than Willafrida. Edward’s mother had taught him emotion took first precedence; and, for all his father’s wealth and power, she had married for love. She had come from a rich family, and status had never held attraction for her. She more often escaped than embraced the duties of being queen.

"Does your brother look like you?”

Edward pictured Leyne. He had never thought much about comparing appearances, although he had always envied his brother’s shrewd eyes and knowledge of court procedure. "In a general sense, I guess. He’s bigger than me, and he’s got dark eyes."

Willafrida’s gaze roved up and down Edward’s tall, firm frame as if to imagine someone larger.

The prince assisted the image. "Not taller, just more muscular. He’s the one to watch at the Tylantian contests. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t win.”

"Why would the crown prince of Alyndar need an eastern duchy?"

"My brother surrender a chance to pit his weapon skill against some of the best fighters on the continent?" Edward shrugged. "He’d sooner give up food. Besides, my father is strong and healthy. If Leyne waited for him to die before gaining land and status, he might not do so until his own sons became ready to take the throne." He added jokingly, "Assuming he ever marries, of course."

“Of course," Willafrida repeated, pensive.

The door knob rattled, echoing through the chamber. Before Edward could think to move, the door swung open. A portly, frizzle-haired gentleman approaching seventy stood in the entry, flanked by three guards in Schizian bronze and black.

"Father!” Willafrida sprang to her feet, the sudden movement nearly knocking Edward to the floor.

Prince Edward recaptured his balance and rose politely for introductions.

"What?" the duke stammered. "How?"

“I can explain," Willafrida started, but the duke gestured her silent.

"I don’t want to hear from you right now. Go to your bed."

Willafrida hesitated.