“What’s the meaning of this?” Ransom demanded, glaring at Estian, but he nodded toward Benedict.
“Is it not fitting and proper that the lords of Occitania should assemble to advise their king and do his bidding?” said Estian. “Sit, Sir Ransom. There’s a chair here for you as well.”
“I am not your vassal,” said Ransom.
“He’s too pompous to do what’s best for him,” said Benedict boldly. “He will not serve you.”
“Will he serve you when you are king, I wonder?” asked Estian, leaning forward. “I know you came bearing a threat, Sir Ransom. I’m weary of Devon’s intrigues, so I thought I might try some of my own. The duchy of Vexin is now part of the kingdom of Occitania. Benedict has knelt and sworn fealty to me. That puts him under the protection of the treaty that you so recently forced me to sign. A two years’ truce, if you remember. Bayree belongs to Devon if he still wants it. I care not. But you must cross my lands to get to it or otherwise take a ship. I don’t really care.” He scratched the wooden armrest of the throne with his fingernail.
A sense of betrayal roiled inside Ransom’s chest. He glared at the nobles of Occitania, feeling their rancor in return. His gaze fixed on Benedict. Had Alix known all along that Estian intended to pursue an alliance with Prince Benedict?
She’d never intended to switch sides. Her sole purpose had been to get him to do so . . . or to distract him from what was unfolding.
“What did he promise you?”
“More than I ever got from my father,” said Benedict. “Including his latest offer, which a courier brought to me just yesterday. It’s time to alter the game. Instead of taking Father’s bribe, I’ve agreed to give the King of Occitania the duchy of La Marche. In return, I’ll get to keep the Vexin, Bayree, Brythonica, and the rest once I become king. I never liked Westmarch anyway. When you go back to Kingfountain, be a good man, and tell Father I’m coming.” He looked confident and aloof. “And when I do, I’ll take it all away from him.”
It was a blow to Ransom’s heart. “Don’t do this,” he said.
Benedict took another sip. “He’s done it to himself. He may say he’ll share his power, but I know better. He’ll never give it up unless forced. The money he offered is an insult. Did he truly think I’d accept so little so late?”
“The last time you rebelled against him, you failed. Do not expect his forgiveness this time.”
“I’ll take your words to heart, Sir Ransom. It’s not too late for you, you know. Join my side. Swear fealty to me as the rightful king of Ceredigion, and it will end with less pain and suffering.”
Ransom hung his head. “You’ll break his heart.”
“I intend to break more than that,” said Benedict coldly.
Alix had left the palace. She was going to Kingfountain to murder King Devon. The certainty of that blazed in his mind. He turned to leave and saw guards had come and disarmed the knights who’d accompanied him. One stood out from the rest: Sir Robert Tregoss in the black tunic of the king’s knights. The recognition of the man who had helped destroy Devon the Younger jolted him. The danger he was in was immense.
“You broke the peace when you stormed your way in here,” said Estian in a mocking tone. “I’ll have these twenty as punishment for your discourtesy.”
The rush of the falls filled Ransom’s ears, as loud as he was angry. Benedict’s betrayal would injure the realm. Alone, he could not face his father and win. But with help from Estian and his mysterious Wizr set, he would likely prevail. Assuming the king survived long enough for there to be a war.
He reached for the hilt of his bastard sword and drew it from the sheath in a single fluid movement. He lunged forward and held the tip at Estian’s throat, pushing him back into the throne with his other hand.
Shocked cries of outrage came from the throne room.
“Stay seated or he dies,” Ransom threatened.
Estian’s eyes widened with surprise. He swallowed once, and the bulge made his throat brush against the tip of the blade.
“That would be murder,” Estian said.
“Which is no less than what you are planning. Release my knights.”
Estian squeezed the armrests of his throne. Ransom felt the king’s vulnerability. One thrust was all it would take to destroy him. How he wanted to, even if it ended in his own slaughter!
“Don’t be a fool, Ransom,” growled Benedict. “You cannot defeat us all.”
“I don’t need to,” he answered, glowering at Estian. “Just him. That leaves your sister, Noemie, does it not?”
Sweat had formed on Estian’s brow and began to trickle down his cheek. “Sir Robert, be so kind as to let our guests leave the palace.”
“Aye, my lord,” said Sir Robert in a disgruntled tone. Ransom hated the man even more now. It was obvious he’d wanted to slaughter his own countrymen.
He turned his head and saw Sir Robert returning the knights’ weapons. A sense of danger to his left shifted his gaze to Benedict, who was tensing as if prepared to spring from his chair and tackle Ransom.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Ransom said to the prince in a menacing way.
“Benedict, I forbid it,” said the king. “Your men are leaving, Sir Ransom. Lower your sword. You may go free as well.”
“I intend to,” Ransom said. More sweat trickled down Estian’s face. “Call her off, my lord.”
“Who?”
“You know who I speak of. Your poisoner. If Devon is dead when I return, I swear on the Fountain that I will be back to take off your head.”
Estian licked his lips. “Very well.”
“You have a way to stop her?” Ransom asked, pressing his hand harder against the king’s chest. His sword arm burned from holding the same position for so long, but he ignored the sensation.
“I will recall her,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
“It better be,” Ransom said. “Your life depends on it.”
“I understand you. Lower your sword.”
Ransom did so, although it was now aimed at Estian’s stomach. The urge to drive it through him was so powerful he almost shook with it. He wanted to rampage throughout the throne room, to slay all of them in his fury, even though he knew he would die doing so. Or would the scabbard miraculously keep him alive?
No, he didn’t believe it was that powerful. It made him difficult to kill, not immortal.
“We are enemies now,” Estian said softly. “You realize that. I will never permit you to step foot in Pree again on pain of death. I banish you. Your lands are forfeit. But go in peace. I swear before my nobles you will not be harmed.”
Ransom wasn’t surprised. “I don’t intend to come back,” he said curtly.
He lowered his hand from the king’s chest until his sword pointed at the floor. He turned, basking in the enmity focused on him. Then he marched past the nobles, watching as some of them shrank from him. When he reached the door, he exchanged hostile glares with Sir Robert Tregoss.
“Until next time,” Sir Robert said with the promise of vengeance.
“I look forward to it,” Ransom shot back.