Chapter 7

  Arthur Gendrel

  Arthur was blinded by the sun as they left the dark interior of the castle. Raising his hand up, he desperately shielded his eyes. “Good grief,” he muttered.

  His uncle emerged from behind him seemingly unaffected, Lord Jason’s necklace still clutched in his fingers. “Let’s find Ser Xavier.”

  “Can we go to the town square afterward?” Arthur asked. He was rather excited to partake in the festivities.

  “Of course.”

  Making their way around the courtyard, they found Ser Xavier Larston lounging beneath a tree. Somehow, the knight had procured an apple, and was in the midst of enjoying it when they approached him.

  Having spotted them, he stood up at once and swallowed, the apple still clutched between his hands. “My lords,” he greeted.

  Arthur burst out laughing. “Where did you find that?”

  “The kitchen, my lord. I asked rather nicely, and the kind lady obliged.”

  “It’s good to see that you are being well-fed, Ser Xavier,” his uncle commented. “May we ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Ser Martin unfurled the necklace for him to see. “Lord Jason Roost has kindly gifted this to my niece, the Lady Olivia. Would you take it back to Hildan for us?”

  “My, what a fine thing it is. ”He marveled at its beauty. “It would be my honor.”

  Arthur's uncle smiled. “Thank you, Ser Xavier. If you speak with Lord Cosway, he’ll grant you a proper escort for the way back.”

  “Do you know where I may find him?”

  “Er…” Ser Martin hesitated for a moment, searching around them.

  “I’m sure he’s lurking in his castle, somewhere,” Arthur chimed in. “Do you need us to come with?”

  Ser Xavier shook his head. “No need, my lord. I can go find him.” And off he went.

  After the knight had gone, Ser Martin turned to look at Arthur. “Shall we head off to the festivities, then?”

  “Of course.” He smiled. “After you, uncle.”

  Descending the hill from the castle’s gate, they made their way to Cosway’s town square. Upon arrival, they were met with a roaring mob of common folk.

  The streets were no less crowded than they had been prior to his meeting with the lovable Jason Roost. In fact, they must have gotten even more packed than before. The summer festival was truly in full swing.

  There were so many people and stalls lining the streets that Arthur couldn’t even see what they were selling. Even his uncle, who was quite tall, was also struggling to see over them.

  “I hope you brought enough money, uncle,” he said.

  Ser Martin looked at him, raising a brow. “There’s no need to fear, beloved nephew. Have you forgotten what House we are?”

  He could hear the coins jingling around as his uncle presented a rather hefty-looking purse. Hand outstretched, he offered it to him.

  Arthur smiled as he took it. “Of course not, uncle.”

  “There’s more where that came from. Now, try not to lose it.” Ser Martin wagged his finger at him. “Lots of pickpockets will be running around this time of day, especially when it’s so crowded like this.”

  Arthur could see that the streets were still crammed with hundreds of people. Crowding around every stall like a pack of hungry dogs, they fought each other in a desperate bid to get ahold of exotic goods. By the time those poor merchants had sold out their wares, their stalls were left in a sad state of disrepair.

  Witnessing the chaos, he felt reluctant to go in there with only himself and his uncle. What if the mob turned its fury against them, for whatever reason? He didn’t feel comfortable about risking it.

  “…Perhaps we should wait till it clears out later, uncle.”

  Ser Martin was a little confused. “Were you not eager to go, only a moment ago?”

  “I still am, but… I would rather not deal with being surrounded by a mob.” He wearily looked on as a stall selling what looked to be ale was ransacked and torn down.

  “…I see what you mean,” Ser Martin said quietly. “Very well, then. How about we get some rest for now, and I’ll come and get you when the mob has settled?”

  Arthur was delighted by the idea, smiling. “Agreed.”

  Turning around, they made their way back up to Castle Cosway.

  Olivia Gendrel

  She was trying not to fall over. Carefully balancing herself with her arms outstretched, she slowly placed one foot after the other as she made her way along the garden wall.

  “Quite impressive what you’re doing there,” said Aimon. He had that sarcastic voice of his again.

  Olivia came to a standstill, shooting him a vicious glare. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” He had the audacity to try and laugh it off.

  “Whatever stupid game you’re playing with that incessant mockery of yours,” she snapped, though a playful smile tugged at her lips. “I am trying to concentrate.”

  Aimon put his hands up. “By all means, my lady.”

  Ignoring him now, Olivia refocused her attention to the wall beneath her feet as she went at it again. Arms outstretched, bit by bit, she made her way across with every careful step.

  It was a gorgeous day outside. The sun’s warmth kissed her skin, and the skies were a clear, brilliant blue. Whenever she had time for herself, she chose to spend much of it in the garden of Hildan Keep. Whether it was reading, taking a walk, or simply marveling in its beauty, she loved it here.

  This was perhaps the most vibrant and colorful place in all of Galeria. Nestled within the heart of Hildan Keep, it was filled with golden statues, fountains, and a vast collection of different plants, trees, and flowers accumulated over the course of many years.

  The garden, besides her bedchamber, was perhaps the only place where she could really find a sense of peace and quiet—except when Aimon or Anna were around, of course. Today, she was stuck with Aimon, the secondborn son of Lord Haldur Mosenclaw. Although she found him repulsive at times for his treacherous antics, she still thought of him fondly—as a friend.

  They had first met at the age of six, when Lord Mosenclaw was given the great honor of visiting Hildan Keep with his family. At the time, Olivia had been told that the Mosenclaws bore no daughters, and so she had resigned herself to being stuck with her sister. However, upon being introduced to them, that’s when she and Aimon first saw the other.

  While his older brother accompanied their fathers, she and Aimon went along with their mothers to the garden. Anna, the firecracker that she was at the age of four, was busy taking a nap at the time, to recover from her earlier tantrum.

  For the both of them, it had been a gradual companionship. Although silent and shy at first, it was Aimon who made the first move, and their first game together had been tag. After that, it was hide and seek in the garden, and later during dinner, it was a game of who could hit each other the most with spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. She couldn’t remember who won in the end, but while their fathers had erupted in laughter, their mothers had been quick to put an end to their antics, dragging them by their ears out of the dining hall. By the time the Mosenclaws left for home, she and Aimon had become accomplices in mischief.

  After that day, the Mosenclaws would consistently come to Hildan on occasion. Because of Olivia and Aimon’s chaotic nature, however, each visit was a rather tumultuous one, and so as time went on, they wound up visiting less and less.

  When the boy turned thirteen years of age, he moved to Hildan Keep to begin squiring for the mischievous Ser Andrew Gendrel, the second and youngest brother of Olivia’s father. From there, their friendship continued to blossom ever more. Although they had both matured in some way as they grew older, there still remained a trace of impishness between them.

  “See that bird over there?” Aimon asked.

  She brought herself to a halt, squinting to find it. “Where?”

  “There.” He pointed toward one of the smaller hamura trees. “I think it’s a cardinal.”

  Finally spotting the red bird nestled within some branches, Olivia’s eyes lit up as she squealed in delight.

  “Oh, pretty little thing! If only I could draw it…” She sighed in disappointment.

  “Would you like to see something?” Aimon’s lips had that mischievous grin of his.

  Olivia gave him a suspicious look as she stood there, waiting. She wondered what he was up to this time. “What?” she asked.

  Chuckling, he threw a small rock at the cardinal. Although he missed, the rock came dangerously close to its nest, causing the cardinal to flutter off and flee.

  She screamed, jumping down from the wall. “What are you doing?” she demanded, pulling him back.

  Aimon was still all smiles when he turned to her, but his glee quickly faded after he saw her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

  “Why did you do that?” She wasn’t exactly angry, but she wasn’t pleased either, nor was she amused by his “prank.”

  Aimon only answered her with silence, lowering his head in shame.

  “…I don’t know,” he said. “…I thought it would be funny.”

  Olivia scoffed, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe it. The audacity of this boy! “Funny? What’s so funny about attacking a poor, defenseless bird like that?”

  “It wasn’t quite so defenseless,” he quipped. “Did you not see how fast it flew off? And poor?” Aimon chuckled as he extended his arms out. “Look where it’s living! That is not a poor creature, I assure you.”

  She scowled at him, crossing her arms. “Are you serious, Aimon?”

  Merely shrugging in response, he said in a half-hearted voice, “Well, my deepest apologies, then, Lady Olivia.”

  It felt like a blood vessel was about to pop in her head. Clenching her fists tightly, she brushed her way past him to where the cardinal’s nest was. Carefully raising herself on her toes, she found it safe and unharmed. Olivia sighed in relief. Thank goodness.

  Then she saw the eggs, all three of them. Each one was a pale blue and spotted with dark brown specks, their surface shiny and smooth. In his ignorance, and quite frankly, stupidity, Aimon had nearly destroyed them.

  Turning back around, she gave him a nasty glare. “Come here and look,” she ordered. “Now.”

  The boy sighed, making his way over reluctantly. “What?”

  “I said look.” Her eyes were cold.

  Grabbing onto a branch, he hoisted himself up slightly and peered into the nest, spotting the eggs. It was then that she saw him take a gulp, the kind you take when you just know you’re in deep, deep trouble.

  “Now, do you see the consequences of your actions, Lord Mosenclaw?” she asked him mockingly, her voice bitter.

  Tightening his lips, Aimon slightly backed away from her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—“

  “Don’t.” She cut him off. “Just… don’t. First, Madam Ava, now you…” She exhaled deeply. “…I need some time alone.”

  “Okay… I’ll… I’ll go. I’m sorry.” He turned around in defeat, shuffling his way out of the garden.

  She watched him go, her anger faded, yet lingering still. Walking away from the nest, she went around the garden in silence to ponder.

  Why did he do that? Was it to please her? He certainly should have thought twice before doing so, and he certainly had not pleased her. Not one bit. Aimon had defiled her sanctuary and could have hurt an innocent bird and its offspring. Foolish… so foolish of him! She shook her head in disbelief.

  Mischievous as he was, Olivia didn’t expect him to harm a poor, innocent bird for a stupid prank of his. Seething in frustration as she brooded over it all, she sat herself beneath one of the larger oak trees. She didn’t understand. This was where she was supposed to repose herself, to be at peace, and yet… here she was, angry and upset.

  The thought of what had happened only made her more uneasy. Did she react too harshly? Was she overthinking? What would she say to Aimon later? That she was sorry for “acting out?” Ugh…

  Ultimately, she figured it couldn't have been her fault. Although she valued their friendship, there had to be lines drawn that could not be trifled with. It was Aimon who had committed the act, after all. He was one who threw that stone. He was the one who violated the tranquility of this garden, not her.

  She curled up into a ball, her lips pouting. Today has just been horrible, she thought. But it couldn’t possibly get any worse, could it?

  As if the Lord Himself had just answered her question, Olivia caught a glimpse of Anna strolling into the garden. Alert, her head perked up as she warily watched her sister come up to her.

  Anna usually had something to tell her, and it wasn’t necessarily always something good. Whether it was rumors from the capital, rumors from other lordships, or even rumors within Hildan Keep, that girl was sure to hear of it.

  “Olivia!” she sang out. “How are you, sister?”

  “Someone is in a good mood today,” Olivia remarked. She scooted over to make room as Anna sat down. That giddy face of hers soured when she saw Olivia’s.

  “And… you seem like you’re not in a good mood,” she said quietly. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s nothing.” She looked away, trying her best to appear unbothered.

  “Oh, it’s something,” Anna countered, inching herself closer, to the point where they were touching shoulders. “Come on, you can tell me. That’s what sisters are for, aren’t they?”

  Olivia tightened her lips, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, she hesitated, but alas, relented.

  “It’s about Aimon,” she confessed. “Something he did today made me upset, is all.”

  “Oh, lover boy?” That was the nickname Anna had coined for him. Olivia hated it. “And Madam Ava as well, I bet?”

  Olivia couldn’t help but smile at her mentioning. Her sister knew her all too well. “Yes,” she replied. “That wicked hag, too.”

  Her sister covered her mouth as she giggled. “Well, tell me about Aimon. What did he do this time?”

  “Well, we were walking around… Just talking, and then, out of nowhere… he throws a stone at a cardinal!”

  Anna gasped in shock. “A cardinal, you mean one of those adorable little red birds?”

  “Yes!” Olivia shouted, rather passionately. “I don’t know what his plan was… but he just threw that stone at the poor thing after pointing it out for me. Worse yet, I looked, and there were three baby eggs.”

  “The nest had babies in it?” Her sister was outraged. “What a villain! Gross, horrible character he is.”

  Olivia cracked up at the sight of Anna’s aggrieved face. “Well, no,” she laughed. “Not babies, but eggs.”

  “They’re the same thing.” She scoffed. “And my point still stands about Aimon’s terrible virtue.”

  “You’re not wrong about that.”

  Anna sighed. “…I still can’t believe you fancy him.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Olivia furrowed her eyebrows at her. “Who?”

  “Aimon Mosenclaw!”

  “What?” She was confused.

  “You heard what I said,” Anna went on. “You refuse to even give a thought on Jason Roost, yet Aimon Mosenclaw is the one you actually bother to care about. Of all people, Olivia, him!”

  “I don’t fancy him, Anna, what gives you that notion—“

  Anna clapped her face in frustration, pulling on her cheeks. “Yes, you do, Olivia. Everyone knows! You can’t hide it, nor can you refute the accusations.”

  “What—“ She sat there dumbfounded for a moment. “I do not fancy him, Anna! I’ve known him since we were six. We’re just… we’re just friends. That's all.”

  “Right…” Anna was clearly unconvinced. “Sure. Let’s say that’s the truth of it, Olivia.”

  She rolled her eyes at her younger sister. “Fine.”

  Chuckling for a bit, Anna put on a more solemn face. “But seriously, I’ve never liked him.”

  “You never have,” Olivia acknowledged. “But, you know, the both of you are actually quite similar.”

  “Well, that hurts.” She rubbed her shoulder as if she were injured.

  The both of them laughed at it. “It’s true,” Olivia said. “You’re both like… a chaotic force that destroys everything you touch.”

  Her face reflected a sense of bewilderment. “I’m the chaotic one?”

  “Yes, you’re like a firecracker, ready to explode any time.”

  “No, no, no,” Anna countered. “May I remind you…”

  “No—“ she tried interrupting her, but Anna simply just overpowered her voice.

  “May I remind you,” she continued. “That you and Aimon were known as the actual chaotic ones around the castle?”

  “…Okay.” Olivia conceded that point. It was hard to argue against, anyway. “Perhaps as children,” she tried to justify herself. “But… now?”

  “I would sort of agree that you've gotten better,” Anna said. “But heavens no, you were not the model daughter at the age of ten.”

  The two of them laughed together about it. As they were still reeling, their mother's voice called out.

  “Olivia! Anna! Where are you? It’s time for lunch!”

  Anna slapped Olivia’s shoulder before springing up to her feet. “Race you there!”

  “That’s not fair—“

  “Life’s not fair, love!” she shouted back as she ran.

  Grumbling, Olivia got up and sprinted after her.

  Arthur Gendrel

  “Here, have a taste of this, my lord.” Ser Rufford offered him a warm, freshly-baked loaf of bread. At first glance, it looked rather ordinary.

  Arthur raised his brow at him. “Something special about this, Ser Rufford?”

  He brought it up to his face for inspection, taking note of its plain exterior. It smelled ravishing.

  “Of course, my lord. Have a try, and see for yourself!” The knight looked on eagerly.

  Arthur shrugged. “Very well, then.”

  Raising it up to his mouth, he bit down with his teeth and tore off a huge chunk of it. His eyes widened at once as he chewed. A taste of cheese.

  “How do you like it?”

  Arthur took another bite, a second bite after that, and then a third, before answering Ser Rufford’s question. After swallowing the last one, he smiled widely in approval.

  “It’s delicious,” he said. “What’s it called?”

  “Cheesebread.”

  “Oh.” Arthur cracked up. “Of course,” he said, chuckling. “What else would it be called?”

  “Not a clue, my lord.” Ser Rufford perked up his eyebrows, and the others erupted in laughter.

  Ser Martin looked around the square, which had thinned out considerably over the course of the day.

  “A wise move, Arthur, in choosing to wait out the crowd,” he said. “Less of a ruckus.”

  “I heartily agree, my lord,” concurred Ser Jonas Love. The knight was especially happy. He had already taken the luxury of stuffing himself full with various meats, pastries, and candies, and so was on the verge of keeling over. One could have thought that he was drunk. His rosy cheeks and clumsy movement certainly would not have proven otherwise.

  You haven’t even gotten to the ales yet, Arthur thought as he smirked at the sight, laughing at him inside of his head.

  The sun was beginning to set, its last dying rays sinking beneath the horizon. A vibrant orange hue cast itself over the town.

  “Gorgeous view, isn’t it?” Ser Rufford took a bite from his own loaf of cheesebread.

  “Indeed, it is,” Arthur replied. “It’s starting to get late, though.”

  His uncle gestured back to a nearby tavern, called Bessie’s. “Is it time?”

  Ser Rufford and Ser Jonas were more than delighted. “I think it is,” Ser Rufford said with glee.

  As they went toward Bessie’s, Arthur and his uncle had to help poor Ser Jonas stand upright and walk. Carrying him up a few steps, they brought him inside of the tavern after a bit of struggle.

  It was rather loud inside, with many a guest having come to drink the night away after a long day of shilling away their coins. Men crowded themselves around tables, laughing and cheering with each other over a pint or two. Arthur admittedly felt a little intimidated by such a large and merry gathering, but he figured it was too late to back out now.

  They were soon greeted by a rather plump looking lady, a bustling figure whose face had been powdered white, lips painted a dashing red, and eyes boldly outlined in black makeup.

  Arthur felt strange seeing her. She was certainly a new experience for him.

  “Hello, there!” she chirped, her face dazzling with excitement. “It is an honor and privilege to welcome such handsome looking men to our humble establishment. Will you be staying the night?”

  Even his uncle looked a bit jarred. “Err… no,” he answered. “We are here to have a taste of your most delectable selections, and have a good time.” Ser Martin flashed as charming as a smile as he could.

  The lady’s eyes widened as she gasped, clapping her hands against her face. “You’re Ser Martin,” she shouted. “Aren’t you?”

  Arthur flinched, taken aback by her sudden outburst. He thought that she was a touch too enthusiastic for his liking.

  Ser Martin kept his friendly composure, however, merely smiling at the woman. “Indeed I am, my lady.”

  “Come, this way. I have just the right spot for you.” She took his arm without warning, dragging him toward one of the open tables near the tavern’s hearth. Arthur and Ser Rufford were left to hurriedly carry Ser Jonas in pursuit of them.

  Flinging off the empty tankards, she waved her hand dismissively. “Ignore that,” she said with a smile. “Come, come, have a seat.”

  When Ser Martin was finally released, he gingerly sat himself down. Arthur and Ser Rufford followed next, only taking their own seats after Ser Jonas himself had been settled.

  “Now, my worthies,” she said. “What would you like to drink for tonight?”

  The lady had that beaming smile of hers again. Her excessive enthusiasm made Arthur feel rather uneasy. Although he was sure of its goodhearted nature, it was one that felt… too friendly.

  “We’ll have an ale each,” Ser Jonas said with a grin.

  “One for all four of you?”

  Ser Martin raised his hand. “No, no,” he objected. “I won’t be drinking much tonight.”

  “Aw, that’s a pity.” Jonas grin faltered. “I’ll have an extra, then.”

  “So, four ales in total?”

  “Yes, madam,” Ser Jonas gave her a wink. “May I ask what your name is?”

  The woman looked flattered, her eyelashes fluttering. “Well—“ she said as she fanned herself. “I’m Bessie, good ser, and your name is?”

  “Jonas Love, a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Taking her hand, the knight planted a soft kiss. “I have heard so much about you.”

  Arthur cowered in second-hand embarrassment. He couldn’t bear to watch what was unfolding. Disgusting…

  Giggling, Bessie gave a polite bow. “I’m flattered, good ser. I hope you’ve only heard good things about me.”

  “Naturally, of course.” Ser Jonas leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his luscious hair.

  The woman was more than delighted, a smile running on her face from ear to ear. “I shall return with your drinks, good sers.” And so off she went, scurrying away.

  After Bessie had gone, Arthur found that Ser Rufford was staring Ser Jonas down, his eyes narrowed with scorn. “What on earth was that, Ser Jonas of House Love?”

  “Practicing my family’s forte. A sword must be sharpened.”

  “I wouldn’t sharpen my sword with that,” Ser Rufford quipped. The table erupted in laughter afterward. Ser Martin tried his best to keep a straight look about him, but alas caved in as well.

  Within a short moment, Bessie returned with their drinks. Thanking her, Ser Rufford and Arthur each got one tankard, while Ser Jonas received two of his own.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any, Ser Martin?” he asked.

  “I’m quite sure, Ser Jonas, but thank you for asking.”

  Arthur raised his cup into the air. “What shall we toast to, tonight?”

  “To Bessie!” Ser Jonas yelled. Cheering in unison, they got a hearty chuckle out of it as they clinked their tankards together.

  In the center of the room, atop an elevated stage, a merry band of musicians began playing. The piping of their fifes, stringing of their fiddles, and pounding of their drums filled the tavern with joyous song.

  Ser Rufford set his cup down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Say, Arthur, you’re planning to compete in the Trident, are you not?”

  Arthur took a small sip. “I am,” he replied. “Are you?”

  “Oh, no.” The knight laughed. “As soon as word came out that Prince Daelanor was going to be a part of it, I had little choice but to abstain.”

  Ser Jonas scoffed at him, grinning. “You give him too much credit. I’m not afraid of him.”

  “Have you ever seen him fight?”

  “Have you?” Ser Jonas set his cup down, which was already half-full.

  Rufford scratched at his beard. “Well… no. But I’ve heard all about it.”

  “From who?” Jonas belched. “A bunch of drunkards sitting on their arses in a tavern?”

  “No." He chuckled. "From my younger brother, who has seen him in person. He says the prince fights like a demon.”

  “Oh, right…” Ser Jonas pondered for a moment. “Your brother, what was his name, again?”

  “I swear I’ve told you about a hundred times. Richard, that's his damn name.”

  “Oh…” Jonas puckered his lips, then smiled. “My apologies. He’s, erm… squiring for one of the Emperor’s knights, is he not?”

  “Yes, he’s with Ser Evane Casarin.”

  “I see.” The knight rubbed his chin, his blue eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Can’t say I hold a favorable view of Ser Evane.”

  “Why’s that?” Arthur leaned against the table, intrigued. “Did he steal your love?”

  “Oh, no,” Ser Jonas smiled. “Nothing of the sort. Though, he wouldn’t be much competition anyway.”

  The four of them shared a laugh together. “Cheers to that,” Arthur clinked his tankard with Ser Jonas.

  "But, really, I just believe that he is... a bitter man, is all."

  "A bitter man?" Ser Rufford took a long swig from his tankard.

  "Yes, I hear he once loved a woman, but the favor was never returned."

  "Who?"

  "Enough," Ser Martin said. His eyes were hard and cold.

  "...Apologies." Ser Jonas cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject of their discussion.

  “But, yes,” he went on. “I believe you are simply overestimating the dragon prince’s abilities. When I face him in that arena, rest assured, I will destroy him."

  Arthur smiled. “And what about me? Do you believe that you will destroy me, as well?”

  “Hm…” Jonas rubbed his chin once more, pondering long and hard. “Perhaps.”

  “Whoa…” Ser Rufford’s hands went up. “Do you truly believe that you will be the one to defeat our liege lord’s finest warrior?”

  “That is a possibility.” Ser Jonas pointed his finger at him. “Nothing is impossible.”

  Ser Rufford took out a coin from his pocket. “Then how about a wager, Ser Jonas?”

  An amused smile crossed his lips. “How much?”

  “Five golden shills,” Ser Rufford replied. “If Arthur beats you, I win.”

  He slammed his cup against the table. “I accept.”

  “My lord, would you like to partake?” Ser Rufford turned to look at Ser Martin.

  Arthur’s uncle smiled, shaking his head. “Oh, no, Ser Rufford. I would not bet against my own kin.”

  “Fair enough,” the knight said, nodding.

  The musicians began playing a new, jolly tune, and as they did so, dozens of men began gathering in the center.

  “What’s happening?” Arthur turned around in his seat to get a better view.

  The men formed themselves into a circle and began kicking their legs. Every few kicks, they shouted “Hey!” and spun around. Still drunkenly holding onto their tankards, mead and ale came spewing out onto the floor and their clothes as they pranced about.

  “We call it the round dance,” Ser Rufford explained. “It’s of Cosway origins. Although typically performed in our weddings, now it’s been taken up by the commonfolk.”

  “They look quite happy,” Arthur said.

  Ser Rufford smirked at him. “How would you like to join them?”

  He hesitated. “What?”

  The knight got up at once, shoving his chair back as he went over to him. “Come on!” he shouted. Grabbing ahold of Arthur’s arm, he lifted him up. “Let’s dance!”

  “Wait—“ He tried to stop him, but by now it was already too late.

  “No time for waiting, come on!” Ser Rufford pushed him into the spinning circle of dancing men, where he was quickly absorbed into the line.

  His breath staggering, he didn’t know what to do. Unable to find Ser Rufford amidst the crowd, he decided to simply try and follow along with what they were doing. The horrid smell of mead-soaked breath and sweat plagued his nostrils. He wanted to get out of there, but he was trapped in a maelstrom of prancing men.

  To Arthur's horror, a tall, burly-looking man beside him drunkenly spilled his cup, its liquid splattering all over him. Gasping for air and sputtering, he hurriedly wiped his face off. The stench had become even worse now. He hated it. Why had Ser Rufford done this to him? He wanted to go home.

  As the circle rotated back around, he spotted his uncle and the two knights standing there, laughing at him. Arthur’s face ran red with embarrassment as he glared at them. Curse you, he thought.

  Finally, an opening appeared, and that’s when he acted. Breaking his way free, he scrambled for distance. Unfortunately, his clothes had been soaked, and now he reeked of mead.

  When he returned to his group, both knights were clapping as he approached them.

  “You’ve done it, lad, you’ve passed the test,” Ser Rufford said with a smile.

  “What test?” Grabbing ahold of a nearby tankard, Arthur tossed its contents at Ser Rufford, dousing him in mead.

  “Gah!” The knight recoiled, slamming his pelvis into a table. Crying out in pain, he grabbed where he was hurting and began hopping around like an idiotic rabbit. This time, the group laughed at him, instead of Arthur.

  Setting the cup back down, Arthur had a confident smirk on his face. Vengeance is served.

  “Perhaps you’ll pay for my new coat, as well,” he said.

  His face wrenching in pain, Ser Rufford merely nodded in obedience. “Of course, my lord.”

  Arthur sighed as he turned to his uncle. “Let’s call here it for a night. I want to sleep, bathe, and go home tomorrow.”

  “Very well.” Ser Martin had a solemn look, gently touching his shoulder. “I am sorry, Arthur. Ser Rufford went too far.”

  “No, it’s alright. It was… quite an experience, to be sure.”

  They made their way to the door, maneuvering past tables and the crowd of dancing men.

  Ser Jonas blew one last kiss to Bessie before joining them outside. He sighed in amazement as he looked up. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Were we really in there that long?”

  “I suppose so," Arthur said.

  There was a full moon that night, and thousands of stars were dotted across the sky. Whenever the conditions were right, such as now, he enjoyed admiring the heavens from his balcony back home. He had only been in his room once at Castle Cosway, but he knew it had a balcony as well. Perhaps I’ll stargaze tonight after my bath, he thought.

  Even now, he found himself staring mindlessly into the stars. Ser Rufford had to nudge him with his elbow to snap him out of it. “Come on, my lord. We best get going.”

  Arthur lowered his gaze, nodding. “Right, of course,” he said.

  Ser Martin led the way forward, as the least drunken one, with Arthur, Ser Rufford, and Ser Jonas following him in that order.

  The streets of Cosway were now as silent as a crypt, a stark contrast to how it had been earlier in the day. With only small bits of light coming from nearby buildings, it was rather dark, and only the moon provided any substantial amount to see with. Even then, there were shadows that were hard to make a shape out of.

  But the shadow of a man standing there in the dark was an unmistakable one. Arthur had barely noticed him before Ser Martin came to an abrupt stop. The rest of the line followed suit.

  “Greetings, friends,” the man said. His face wasn’t quite visible, but he was clearly wearing some sort of cloak, the hood pulled up to cover him.

  Ser Martin kept his hand close beside the hilt of his sword. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter who we are.”

  By now, the others were prepared to draw, if necessary. Looking around, Arthur spotted more figures appearing from the alleyways. They were surrounded.

  The man in front of them brandished a blade of his own. “Hand over your coins,” he demanded. “All of it.”

  Without so much as another word, Ser Martin drew his sword and charged at him. Parrying the initial attack from the robber, he went around and hacked off his sword hand with one fell swoop.

  Screaming in pain, the robber gripped his now-handless arm that was spewing blood. Ser Martin was quick to end his misery by plunging his blade through the robber’s heart.

  Chaos erupted from there as the other robbers began their assault. Taking out his own sword, Arthur barely managed to deflect one of their incoming blades. Fortunately, he hadn’t drunk much, so he still had his wits about him. As for the others, he wasn’t so sure.

  Unable to focus on how his uncle or the knights were doing, he could only direct his attention toward the two robbers who were now advancing upon him.

  Poor warriors, they were, fortunately for him. Slow, sloppy, and uncoordinated, they were left stumbling as he outmaneuvered them with ease. Whipping around in a flash, he slashed one’s neck and kicked the other into a nearby wall.

  With no time to waste, he quickly advanced and thrust his sword into the robber’s chest to kill him. Before he could check on the others, he heard a pair of heavy, plated footsteps coming from behind him.

  Quickly turning, he only saw a brief glimpse: an armored giant with a snake’s sigil on his chest. House Reeve? He wanted to shout at him, but before he could, the knight threw him aside to the ground.

  A spear-wielding robber charged past, and ran head-first into the knight. Arthur could only hear terrified screams afterward. Turning around and backing away, he watched as the giant lifted the robber up by the throat, choking him.

  The moon’s light illuminated the two of them standing there. He could see the fear in the robber’s eyes as he desperately pleaded, his legs squirming. “Mercy… Mercy!” he cried.

  But the knight paid no heed, and snapped his neck. Tossing the corpse aside, he drew his greatsword and began cutting his way to where the fighting was thickest.

  As he got back onto his feet, Arthur saw another figure appear. His voice was instantly recognizable.

  “Arthur, are you alright?” Jason Roost called out, with sword in hand, helping him up.

  He was surprised Jason was even here. “I’m fine—“ The rush of battle was still coursing through his body. “Help the others.”

  Nodding, he went away, and Arthur followed him. The speed with which the Roost ran was astonishingly fast. Engaging with one of the last standing robbers, Jason parried his doomed swings with ease, and then proceeded with his own counter riposte.

  Unable to defend himself, the robber was promptly disarmed, and then forced to the ground. Putting his hands up, he started shouting. “Wait, I surrender! Please… don’t kill me.”

  Not caring to hear him out, Jason stabbed him in the neck, slowly sliding the blade deeper inside.

  The others watched in a stunned silence as the execution was carried out. All Arthur could see was the cold, unforgiving look that Jason Roost had in his eyes.