45 Bloom 22


“Psst.”

One of the guards looked up from his post at the door, stirred to attention by the low pitched hiss.

“Psssst!”

His eyes found the pretty little blonde seated at the end of the dining table, playing with a bowl of cold soup. She filled the spoon, lifted it a few inches above the bowl, then turned it out.

“Lady Venora?” The guard acknowledged her as he approached.

She spoke to him without twisting in her chair or making eye contact. Her gaze set on the kitchen door, sure another maid was bound to enter the room at any moment. “You have to get me out of here. They are holding me captive. My father will make you a very wealthy man if you get me home to him safely.”

“Of course, my lady, follow me,” the guard said.

She rose, stepped away from the table and walked ahead of the guard. He took note of the lady’s slippers and long sleeved, willowy dress. How far did she think she was going to get in those?

In the foyer, he watched her pull on her cloak and fetch a pair of gloves before they were out the door and on their way to the stables. “What’s your name?” She asked.

“Adam, my lady.”

“Would you accept land in Venora as payment?” Delilah asked.

“Most kind, my lady,” Adam replied.

He moved to fetch a horse and lifted a saddle up onto its back before fitting the bit and reins. “Would you like a leg up, my lady?”

“Oh no,” Delilah said, in a soft tone of voice. “You don’t expect me to ride, do you?”

“Are you unable?”

“A lady doesn’t ride,” Delilah said.

Adam smiled. “How did you imagine yourself escaping this fort exactly?”

“By carriage, of course!”

“I’ll just ask the king if he’ll let us borrow his, shall I?” The guard teased.

“The king?” Delilah looked confused. “I don’t understand?”

“Don’t tell me you’re unfamiliar with the owner of these lands?” Adam said.

“No!” Delilah insisted. “I know my history better than most! Malcolm Krome owns these lands.”

Adam stared at her, as if waiting for realisation to strike. Delilah stared back, puzzled by the look he gave her.

“You do know he’s king regent?” Adam asked.

“Well, that may be true for some, but he isn’t our king,” Delilah said. “The title falls to his eldest son, my betrothed, Marcus Krome.”

Adam smacked a knee and chuckled. “You’re engaged to a boy?”

Delilah crossed her arms, infuriated by his response. “Actually he’s my age.”

“Witch magic don’t make it so,” Adam said. “He’s a boy in a mask.”

Delilah huffed. “Are you going to help me or not!”

“Not,” Adam replied, still laughing. “I just wanted to stretch my legs and get a bit of fresh air.”

Delilah stood with mouth ajar. Never had she felt so humiliated in all her life. “Oh you wicked man!” She hissed, and stormed towards the keep.

Adam put the halter and saddle away before going down the hill after her. He kept his distance, but made sure she went back to the keep before returning to his post. “Land in Venora.” He chuckled to himself.


“I want you to move your men to Gwayne,” Malcolm said.

Cage leaned back in his chair, considering the request. “Gwayne, your majesty? Whatever for?”

“We need to remove the power stones from the gate to temporarily disable it,” Jared said.

“How will we trade goods with Aramane?” Cage asked.

“For a time, that won’t be possible,” Malcolm said.

“How long?” Cage inquired.

“As long as it takes to secure Renmere from foreign invasion,” Malcolm replied, his tone stern.

“And how do you plan to do that?” Cage asked.

“Rune magic,” Jared told him.

Cage scratched his jaw. “I have six hundred men ready to fight in Endor, another four hundred still in Warrick and two hundred here, give or take a few that were caught up in the crossfire during Burhan’s latest attack. Would you have me send all of them to Gwayne?”

“As many as you are comfortable with,” Malcolm said. “I know Gwayne promised to stay out of this war, but after Heath’s actions.”

“I understand,” Cage agreed, “I will send Skyriders to Warrick and Endor. I will also inform my son of my plans.”

“I will make sure our strongest riders are available to you,” Jared said.

“Of course, thank you, Lord Warrick.”


The door to the library swung open and rattled as it hit the wall. Lady Venora stormed into the room and pointed her finger at the floor. “I demand to know your intentions with me, Lord Warrick!” She said, as she stomped her foot.

Jared rose from his chair and flattened the front of his tunic. “Lady Venora,” he greeted the woman, “what a pleasure.”

“Who are these men?” She asked.

Cage Endor got to his feet. “The Duke of Endor, at your service, my lady.”

Delilah flushed, embarrassed that she had not recognised the man, for her mother had made sure she studied the likeness of each noble in sketch for countless hours. “Your grace, forgive me,” she said, “for raising my voice in your presence.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Cage assured her. “I will, however, excuse myself for the time being and see to it that these messages are sent.”

Malcolm got to his feet as the duke bowed and took his leave. “Your majesty,” Cage said, acknowledging the host as made his way to the door, leaning heavily on his cane.

Delilah tried to blink away her surprise. Why had she no knowledge of the dark haired man before her? Of course she had heard of him in passing, listened to the other noble women tease one another about marrying the widowed duke, but never had she seen him in person. The man before her was so unlike the sketch she had acquired. On paper he appeared young, striking and tidy, with short hair and a clean shaven face. The being standing in front of her, instead, appeared the complete opposite. His hair was long, almost to the shoulder and fell in untamed curls. His eyes were unnervingly green and his jaw was rough with a light smattering of dark hair.

She swallowed. Why, she wondered, did her cheeks feel hot? “Malcolm Krome?” She asked.

“The King of Renmere,” Jared confirmed.

“Then it is you I will redirect my question to,” Delilah said, feeling brave. “Why are you keeping me here?”

“To force your father to sit out of the upcoming battle,” Malcolm said, choosing honesty.

“He won’t,” Delilah argued, “and all this will be for naught.”

“He will if he wants you home alive,” Jared said.

Delilah closed a hand over her mouth, her heart pounding. “You wouldn’t!”

“No,” Malcolm assured her, “no harm will befall you in my care. You have my word.”

“And what is the word of a commoner worth?” Delilah challenged.

“The word of a king,” Jared said, defensively.

“He’s no king of mine,” Delilah said.

“A shame,” Jared’s retort was swift, “for I can think of no finer man to rule this realm.”

“I can think of plenty!” Delilah hissed.

“Is that all, lady Venora?” Malcolm interjected.

She folded her arms. “I want to go home! I’ll… I’ll refuse to eat until I am sent home!”

“Prepare to go hungry, my lady,” Malcolm said, unsympathetic.


Benjamin was almost knocked over by the furious blonde that stormed from the library into the hall upon his approach. He lifted his letters from her path and watched as she disappeared at the end of the hall. A knock announced his presence before he entered the room and made his way to the table, where he set down the letters addressed to Malcolm. His brother moved to join him and took up one of the letters, his gaze drawn to the broken seal.

“You opened this?” Malcolm asked.

“Recognised the seal and handwriting,” Benjamin said, wearing a big grin. “It’s from our mother. She wants to visit. Says it’s been far too long since we were all home together.”

Malcolm did well to mask his surprise. He was careful with his tone and the words he chose. “They want to come here?”

“Just her. She says father is too busy during Bloom to travel. It’s all in the letter,” Benjamin encouraged. “Shall I write to her?”

“Of course,” Malcolm agreed, “if you think it best.”

“I’m not sure now is the best time for travel,” Jared suggested.

“I agree,” Ben replied, “but just you try and stop her.”

Malcolm sat down in his chair, the look in his eye making him appear distant—far away.


47 Frost 07AK

Harry Archie and Cecilia Cleo Beaumont sat at the head and foot of the table opposite one another, with almost five metres between them. Owen had already excused himself from the meal and Benjamin, after three large servings, was dismissed by his father. With the table cleared and the servants retired to the kitchens, the pair fixed their gaze on Malcolm, curious as to what it was he had wanted to speak to them about.

“How is everything going at school?” Cecilia asked.

Harry scoffed. “It’s a waste of your talent, Malcolm. You should be serving in the King’s Guard. It’s high time one of my son’s earned this family some honour.”

His wife pulled a lock of golden hair back from her face, careful not to touch her powdered skin and spoil her flawless makeup. She tucked it behind her ear and straightened in her chair, dropping her hand to her lap. Malcolm met her blue gaze for a moment before averting his own.

“Malcolm!” Harry called, “when will you return to service?”

“I have, father—that is what I returned home to tell you.”

“You’ve been here a few days now,” Harry said, as he softened his voice, pleased to hear the young man had seen sense. “What took you so long? Does it have anything to do with that woman who visited some days ago—“

“Vanessa,” Malcolm said.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “Did she have something to do with your decision?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Well, spit it out, boy!”

“She—“ Malcolm bit his tongue, knowing he could not share the truth with anyone, “we are engaged.”

“My son, engaged to a noble woman?” Harry asked, his surprise obvious. He raked his fingers through his yellow hair and grinned. “Our boy, taking a noble name?”

Malcolm held his breath, not daring to look at Cecilia.

“Isn’t that wonderful news, my love?” Harry said.

“Wonderful,” Cecilia agreed, voice flat.

Harry deadpanned then. “You haven’t gotten her pregnant, have you? I know I raised my sons better than that!”

“Harry,” Cecilia said, “of course he hasn’t. Don’t strip the boy of his joy the moment he opens up to us.”

Malcolm pinched his own leg beneath the table, fighting his usual nervous tics.

“I’m proud of you,” Harry said, “and I’m excited for your future.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Malcolm said.

“Tomorrow we will announce it to your brothers and you can choose a bottle of wine to have with dinner to celebrate.”

“Thank you, Ser.” Malcolm smiled.

There followed a comfortable silence before Harry spoke up again. “Wash up and get to bed. I will see to it that the horses are stabled tonight. The neighbour has lost another yearling to wolves.”

Malcolm rose and bid them both a goodnight before making his way out of the dining room. “I’ll be along to say goodnight soon,” Cecilia said, as he departed.

Malcolm paused at the door without reply and then disappeared down the hall.


His room was uncomplicated and neat. There were no pictures on the walls or knick-knacks on the dresser or shelves. He kept a few books, most of them about the country’s history and the world beyond. A single bed against the wall opposite the window stood bathed in moonlight. His uniform was folded and sat in a tidy pile on a wooden chair in the far corner. A hand woven rug dressed the centre of the room, similar in colour and design to the knitted blanket that topped his bed, both made by Benjamin’s grandmother on Harry’s side.

Malcolm threw a damp towel down on the floor, his hair still wet after a bath. He hurried to his bedside to fetch his longs, pulling the woollen pants on with haste. Krome was bitterly cold in Frost, much worse than a winter’s night in the south. He pulled on a long-sleeved, white cotton vest and followed that with a dark woollen top. A thick pair of socks were donned last and even under three covers on the bed, he struggled to warm up his feet.

For a time he read by candlelight, but soon found he was unable to take in the words on the page. It was not that he was tired, only that his thoughts were far away, mind busy with what the future might hold. He was engaged to a woman he had never even kissed and she was carrying another man’s child.


Malcolm blinked awake to find the candle had burned through an inch of wax, yet he could not remember falling asleep. A noise beyond the door had woken him and, as it was pushed open with care, a slim silhouette slipped inside. The shadow tiptoed across the room and bowed. He caught a glimpse of white silk and lace as a pair of painted lips blew out the candle. Her hair shone silver in the moonlight as she climbed into the covers beside him for warmth.

The smell of her skin, though not displeasing, was an assault to his senses, causing every muscle in his body to go tense. Coconut oil, a scent he would know anywhere. Her gentle hands moved over the length of his torso with practiced ease. Warm fingers burrowed under the layers of clothing to tease and caress, tracing up and down over the man’s midsection. He held his breath and pushed it out through his nose as the hand dipped below the waistband of his longs and took hold of the hot, soft flesh at the apex of his thighs.

“You’re so warm,” she said.

Malcolm couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even move. The familiar sense of panic swift to return. His chest was tight with it, breath short and shallow, making his throat burn. How long had he stayed away, yet still each time he returned home, it was to old tortures made anew.

“I’ve missed you so, my sweet, darling boy.”

“Ma—“

“Shhhh, you know I like it best when you say my name.”

But Malcolm couldn’t say her name. Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The room was smaller all of the sudden, but there was no escape, no use in fighting, no one to tell. After all, who could one run to if not their parents?

“Say my name, darling,” she coaxed, as her hand massaged his cock.

“Cleo,” he whispered, “please do—“

“Shhh, just relax.”

Malcolm closed his eyes and realised his eyelashes were wet. A tear pooled in the inner corner of his right eye, its twin making a swift escape over his left cheek. He forced himself to think of anything but her, a knot forming at the centre of his brow as his friend came to mind. The image, a recent memory of a moment in time, made him groan his displeasure at the betrayal of his mind.

“Oh,” Cecilia whispered, slowing the gentle stroking motion to the man’s flesh. “Look who missed me.” She smiled and nipped the lobe of his ear between her teeth before moving to sit up and straddle the knight.

She peeled back the blankets and hitched up the length of her silk nightdress before easing the man’s member inside of her. Malcolm hissed through gritted teeth. How could she read his displeasure with so little regard, he wondered. He took hold of the woman’s arms, if only to keep her hands from his form. Cecilia rose up on her knees and fell against him with a whispered sigh of pleasure. She rolled her hips and tipped her head back, lost in the moment.

Malcolm freed the woman’s arms as the opportunity struck, battle worn hands going to her neck, fingers closed around her throat. He squeezed and the woman groaned, mistaking pain for pleasure. The honeyed sound only made him more determined and this time, there could be no mistaking his intention. Cecilia closed her hands around his forearms, her panicked jolt to his limbs not enough to budge him. She reached down and scratched at his chest, leaving deep red drag-lines in the wake of her fingers. She made a grab for his face and forced him to reconsider, hands shaking.

What would Harry do if he found her here, dead in his bed? The thought crossed Malcolm’s mind.

She gasped, free of his vice-like grip, and panted where she sat astride him. “What was that?” The woman asked. Malcolm couldn’t answer her, his whole body shaking with adrenaline and fear. Cecilia stroked his cheek and combed his hair back from his face. “Oh my darling,” she cooed, “be calm—it’s all right, I’m all right—no harm done.”

She leaned down and closed her hands around his neck, playful. “Do you want me to choke you?” Cecilia whispered. What dirty little habits had he picked up in the capital, she wondered.

Malcolm nodded, “yes!” The word a desperate attempt at a new form of escape. No matter how many miles or years he put between them, he had never been free of her, would never be… but maybe this way—perhaps if she had the strength, he could be free forever.

She pressed her weight into the hold and soft flesh hardened once more. His face went red as he tried to hasten his demise, holding his breath to starve his heart and body of the air it would fight for. The veins in his neck grew thick and his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs as he fucked her in a fruitless attempt to see it all end forever.

“Yes, yes, ye—“ Cecilia panted, but Malcolm could hear nothing but the high-pitched ringing in his ears and the drumming of his heart.

“Harder, harder—oh!” She cried out, releasing him as she anchored her hands against his hips, just as darkness began to dance at the edge of his vision. She bent to kiss him and whispered into his ear. “I knew you missed me…”


Malcolm had dressed and taken his horse that same evening, without so much as a word of farewell. He rode all through the night and traded his horse for a fresh mare at the nearest outpost. How many times had he run with nowhere to go?


The remainder of the season had been spent behind the stone walls of Warrick, content in the knowledge that no one would know where to find him. Even Vanessa’s letters struggled to reach him in a timely manner. In Warrick he was and had always been safe in the care of his friend, the Baron of Warrick, a man they called The Lion.

Jared never asked and Malcolm never told him, content in the knowledge that a well kept secret could only remain as such if it went unsaid. Jared had taught him that secrets were easier to carry to the grave than the guilt and destruction they often caused once exposed. Whatever haunted him, he was able to set aside in this place, instead lost to their intense training regime.


52 Bloom 22

Thomas had returned on the eve of the fifty-first with Owen and Katelyn in tow. The woman had escaped capture in the region of Venora and walked halfway to Mayce on a twisted ankle. The pair had found her on the border of Warrick and started heading east for the capital before being turned around.

“An army?” Malcolm said, surprised when Thomas had found him the following morning. “Headed where?”

“Here,” Thomas said. “I imagine they will be upon us in less than three days.”

“Did you recognise their banners?” Jared asked.

“I’d know them anywhere,” Owen interjected, “men and women of Krome.”

Malcolm and Jared shared a look. “My scouts will have informed Victor,” Jared said. “I’ve instructed him not to go head to head with anyone on the field unless provoked.”

“Warrick is safe,” Malcolm confirmed. “You said you counted about two hundred?” Malcolm asked Thomas.

“At least,” Thomas replied.

“My count was closer to four,” Owen said.

“Only half of their true strength,” Malcolm said.

“Journey?” Owen asked.

Malcolm sat down at the table and stared down at the open map they had been going over the day before. “I have a feeling it might be Sophia,” he said, before setting down a marker on the map partnered with four small, blue glass stones that were smooth and polished flat like thick counters.

“Sophia?” Thomas asked.

“Vanessa’s sister,” Jared told him.

“Oh. Shit,” Thomas said.

“How can I help?” Owen asked.

Malcolm was silent for a spell before he answered. “Help out in the barracks and check in on Katelyn, would you?”

Owen gave a nod of agreement before excusing himself.

Thomas rose to follow him, only to pause and hold back. “Malcolm?”

“Thomas,” Malcolm said.

Thomas sunk into his chair. “Owen said you spoke to my father before returning to Warrick?”

Malcolm confirmed as much with a nod. “I did.”

“Did he… say anything about—“

“You?” Malcolm asked.

Thomas stared at him for a moment before he nodded.


21 Bloom 22

“They’ve found Thomas,” Jared said.

Malcolm descended the stairs with haste to keep pace with his friend. “Where?”

“Couple of days east of Warrick.”

“They’ve captured him?” Malcolm asked.

“No, but we will. He’s in a camp of wounded knights made up of troops from Andaris and Venora.”

“Those who managed to escape the battle?”

“That’s right,” Jared said. “I think we should leave tonight. I’ve already summoned my dragon—he won’t be far away.”

“How far?” Malcolm asked.

“An hour or two tops.”

“Let’s prepare.”

Jared paused and turned about to look at his friend and realised the man was dressed in only a pair of woollen longs. “Did I interrupt something?”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Don’t.”

Jared bit his lower lip in an attempt to fight a grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Horse-shit!” Malcolm said.

The baron laughed.


They dressed in tones of black and gold before packing a bag for the road. Malcolm dropped his pack in the courtyard and knelt to dig through it.

“Lost something?” Jared asked.

“No,” Malcolm said, as he pulled the key to the cells from the depths of his pack.

Jared, perplexed, followed the man down to the outer tower leading to the cell block. It was late. Both Owen and Edmund appeared to be asleep. Malcolm lit one of the lamps and unlocked the first door to get into the corridor that ran between the cells, heavy iron bars lining either side. Each man had their own cell with Edmund closest to the door, Owen in the next, and Yilmaz at the back.

The Butcher rose from his bed and stood in the shadows. “Come to give me a goodnight kiss?” Yvan teased.

Malcolm ignored him and went about checking the locks. He didn’t want to leave Mayce without making sure the prisoners were locked up tight.

Yvan whistled a suggestive, low-pitched noise at the baron, who also ignored him. Irked, The Butcher tried something else to get their attention. “I was just thinking about Elyna…”

Malcolm paused.

Yvan smirked. “The smell and taste of her. Mmmm,” he said.

The key rattled in the lock to Owen’s cell, causing the man to stir. Owen rolled over on his bed, made eye contact with his brother and then rolled over again to put his back to him.

“The way she moaned my name whenever I fucked her,” Yvan added.

Malcolm didn’t bite.

Jared stared at the disgraced captain.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Yvan said. “Malcolm thought he was saving her from me, from the shame of being utterly ruined before marriage.”

Jared averted his gaze, clearly troubled by the news.

“Seven. I must have fucked her a hundred times in Nejem alone and countless times before then. I had her in every way I wanted and she begged for more, like a dog in heat.”

Malcolm’s jaw tightened. He moved to check The Butcher’s door next.

“She told me you barely touch her,” Yvan lied. “Told me you’ve got a little prick. Laughed even.” Yvan looked at Jared. “I hear he likes putting his little prick in you more than he does his own wife?”

Jared cleared his throat, visibly disturbed by the accusation.

“I miss that little whore.”

Malcolm gripped the door, causing it to clatter loudly. “Leonide has a tiny silver scar on her inner thigh shaped like a crescent moon—want to know who I know that?” Malcolm challenged. “Oh… and we found your son,” he said. “He cried when we put him down.”

Yvan came to the door and threw his arm between the bars to grab at Malcolm. He missed him by an inch.

“I took my little prick out and pissed on his corpse,” Malcolm said, straight faced, calm and collected.

“You fucker!” Yvan yelled. “I’ll fucking kill you and everyone you care about!”

Malcolm smirked. “You’ll rot in here, alone and forgotten.” He turned then and made a steady retreat to the door, only to stop part way. “She doesn’t ask about you,” he said. “There’s no one left to remember you.”

“I’ll make sure you do,” Yvan threatened.

Malcolm and Jared were just about to leave when Yvan shouted at their backs. “Your children will ultimately disappoint you, just like mine did! You’ll never see me beg like a dog under your blade!”

Malcolm spat and climbed the spiral staircase to the surface. Jared shadowed him, stunned to silence. After a time, he finally spoke. “I’ve never heard you speak to anyone like that before.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness it,” Malcolm said.

“Was he really sleeping with Elyna?”

“Of course not,” Malcolm replied. “Just like we haven’t captured Thomas yet.”

“And when we do… you’re not going to piss on him, are you?”

“Jared!”

“What?”

“You know me better than that!”

Jared scratched his jaw and smiled. “Thank goodness. I’m not sure I could condone such behaviour.”

“Seven forbid,” Malcolm teased.


“What did Owen tell you?” Malcolm asked.

Thomas sighed. “I would rather hear it from you.”

“Your father was an angry man, Thomas. Remember the good times and hold onto that.”

Thomas frowned as he got to his feet. “I’ll go check on Katelyn. Thank you for allowing us to stay here.”

“Of course,” Malcolm said, “my home will always be open to you.”

Thomas bowed and took his leave.


58 Bloom 22

Sophia entered the grand hall with the grace of a swan, moving to stand before the audience of nobles and knights gathered about their regent king. She curtsied before his majesty and, though she did not smile, the look she gave Malcolm expressed a coy, yet gleeful willingness to be in the man’s presence once more. “Your majesty,” she said, standing no taller than five and a half feet as she rose. Other than the shape of her face, there was little about Sophia that reminded Malcolm of his late wife. Vanessa had been tall, fair of hair and fine of features. Sophia had dark hair, freckles and looked more filled out than her older sister.

Jared and Benjamin both smiled as they watched the interaction between king and duchess, a title Sophia’s mother had bestowed her after the passing of her husband, the late king, Atler Krome. The pair shared a look before reining in their overt gaiety, something that had not gone unnoticed by the king. For years his brothers had suspected something between the two of them, an accusation Malcolm had long denied. Malcolm stepped forward and accepted the woman’s hand, bringing it to his lips to bestow a feather-light kiss, “your grace,” he said, “as ever, my home is your own.”

“Thank you, Malcolm,” Sophia said. “Are you happy for my troops to camp in the valley?”

“We will house as many as the barracks can hold. There are also a number of rooms in the keep for your personal guard,” Malcolm said.

“I will put them on rotation so no one gets too comfortable,” Sophia replied, with a smile.

“How many do they number?” Benjamin asked.

“Three hundred and twenty men and women of Krome,” Sophia told him.

“Very good, your grace—can I provide any assistance?” Benjamin replied.

“Most kind of you, Ser Beaumont. I suspect a tour of the town and stables would make everyone a lot more comfortable.”

Benjamin bowed and made his way to the entrance to see it done.

“Benjamin!” Sophia called, “wait…”

He turned to face her.

“You better follow me… I have news.” The duchess said.


32 Frost 07AK

Emma Krome sat with her mouth ajar, shocked to her core. “With child?” The duchess looked as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She got to her feet, hands shaking, and stared at the man that stood beside her daughter. “Malcolm Bennett…” Emma mouthed, her voice small, “it seems I have been misled… I thought you were a gentleman?”

Never had Malcolm had such a hard time meeting the woman’s gaze. Her blue eyes sought the truth and, in that moment, he almost caved and spoke it.

“A moment of weakness, mother,” Vanessa said, speaking with a confidence the man at her side lacked. “I am as much to blame as he.”

Sophia scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Vanessa pinned her sister with a look that demanded nothing but silent obedience, one Sophia had seen before.

“Two seasons,” Emma said, having found her voice again, “that was all you needed to wait. Your father will be furious!”

“I plan to tell him myself,” Malcolm said.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Emma said, “not if you want to keep your head.”

Vanessa looked pale at the thought. “Mother… we have to tell father.”

“I will tell him…” Emma said, “once Malcolm has returned home. In fact,” the duchess added, “I would like you both out of my sight. Vanessa, say your goodbyes.”

Vanessa followed Malcolm to the courtyard and stood with her head bowed, her fingertips touched to the edge of his palm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “you don’t have to do this…”

“I’ve given you my word,” Malcolm said, “and I intend to keep it.”

Vanessa appeared to wipe a tear from her cheek and Malcolm took her hand. “No one will ever know.”

“I fear my sister has already guessed,” Vanessa said.

Sophia lingered at the edge of the courtyard, watching them, tired of playing chaperone. “Hurry up!” She called, “it’s freezing out here!”

“Kiss me?” Vanessa suggested, long slender fingers rested upon the man’s forearm.

“Pardon?” Malcolm said.

“Kiss me on the cheek?”

He hesitated before leaning in to grant her request.

“Vanessa!” Sophia called.

Vanessa slipped away without a backwards glance.

“You’re wicked.” Malcolm overheard the younger of the two’s charges as the sisters were reunited beneath the entranceway. “You’ve ruined that poor man—his reputation will outlive him and it will be your doing.”

“Get inside!” Vanessa hissed. She shut the door behind them and went to the window to watch Malcolm go. “You’re just jealous father forced you to marry a rotund, plain-faced, boring old tradesmen, while I’ll be the wife of a handsome, accomplished knight.”

“Mother to a bastard,” Sophia breathed.

The sound of Vanessa’s hand as it met Sophia’s cheek, echoed in the hallway. Sophia stared at her as she lifted a hand to cup the red cheek. Vanessa put a few steps between them and folded her arms, standing without regret in the doorway. Sophia felt her eyes burn with hot tears. She ran to the door and out into the snow, wearing little more than a knitted top over her dress. Her slippers were soaked by the third step, but even that was not enough to deter her from putting as much distance between herself and the grand house at her back as possible.

“Sophie!” Vanessa called, “come back!”


At the end of the lane Sophia caught sight of Malcolm atop his horse and called out to him. The man turned and jumped down from the bay coloured gelding to catch the woman in his arms. Sophia sobbed, hands closed about the silk of his shirt, hidden beneath the cloak of wolf pelts. Malcolm put his arms around the woman and looked about for whatever or whoever might be chasing her. Cheeks flushed and wet with tears, Sophia buried her head against the knight, making herself small.

“Take me home?” She requested, looking up at him with big blue eyes, framed by a thick fringe of dark lashes.

Malcolm had spent some time with both of Vanessa’s sisters during their courtship, each of them taking turns to shadow the pair while they were out and about, but it was Sophia he had become most fond of. She was the tomboy of the family, unafraid to make her voice heard. She rebelled against dresses and parties alike, preferring to be outdoors with her beloved animals. Of all three sisters, Malcolm knew he had the most in common with Sophia, which some might say, made them a terrible match.

“Of course,” Malcolm agreed.

He helped her up onto the horse and took the reins to lead the animal out onto the main road. Sophia lived a mile from her parents, a journey she felt every bit of in her frozen slippers.

“I know that baby isn’t yours, Malcolm…”

“Sophia,” Malcolm breathed.

“She’s wicked.”

“Vanessa is your sister and I’ll not hear you say an unkind word about her.”

“I…” Sophia sighed, “I don’t understand why you’re throwing your life away for her. The two of you have nothing in common—not like—”

“You and I?” Malcolm cut her off.

Sophia looked the man in the eye as he turned to face her, the horse coming to a stop. “I get it,” she admitted, “I’m no catch—two children and a husband who—”

“Sophia, don't do this to yourself—”

“Do what!” She challenged, “speak the truth? Tell you that I wish it was me!”

Malcolm closed the woman’s hand in his own. “I hear you,” he said, “we get along well, but my heart—”

You’re lying, just like she is lying! To yourselves and everyone else.”

“—I love you!”

Sophia stared at the man, stunned to silence.

Malcolm stuttered, “I love her—” He put his hand through his hair, “I love Vanessa…”

“Of the latter, I remain unconvinced…” Sophia whispered.

Malcolm released the woman’s hand. “I’ve never argued with a—”

“Woman?”

“A noblewoman.”

Sophia smiled. “Is that why you can’t say no to my sister?”

Malcolm turned and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, encouraging the horse to follow. The gelding stepped forward, head low as it sniffed at the snow.

“She loves Morgan,” Sophia said. “She’s always loved him… they were promised to one another.”

Malcolm paused but did not turn to look back at the woman. The horse stumbled, stopped and then walked on as the man moved forward. Neither of them spoke another word as they followed the main road home. Sophia watched the knight as he traversed the snow covered countryside with an ease even his mount struggled to match. She could not help but think she had added a weight to his shoulders, a thought that turned her insides in uncomfortable knots. She frowned, desperate to apologise to the man, only to realise the damage was done.

Once they reached the woman’s estate, Malcolm led the horse to the barn. Sophia’s brow knitted with confusion. Malcolm had visited the house a few times and he had always walked her to the door. He raised both arms to her and she leaned in, allowing the man to lift her down from the horse. They locked eyes and Sophia burned under his gaze. Had a man ever lifted her before? His strength induced a strange gigginess she was unaccustomed to. As her feet found the ground, she forgot her cold toes and dropped her hands from the tops of the man’s shoulders, to the plains of his firm midsection. Malcolm leaned in and Sophia stared at him wide-eyed, her heart in her throat, lips parted with a breathless sound before meeting that of the knight’s.

To steal a kiss… the thought of such scandal left her without air. She lifted her hands to the man’s chest and felt his heart racing beneath her palm, sure it mirrored the beat of her own. No one had ever looked at her the way Malcolm did. She was invisible, the middle sister to two perfect, blonde, tall and slender beauties, convinced she didn’t belong. His kiss said I see you in a way no one else had. Traded off to the wealthiest merchant family her father desired connections with, she had not even been able to choose to marry a love match for herself. Sophia knew that, had she been afforded the same freedoms her sisters were, she would have chosen Malcolm… somehow, fate would have led them to one another.

Malcolm broke away and Sophia touched her fingers to her lips, where his kiss lingered. “Come inside? I’m freezing…” She admitted. “We need to talk.”


Malcolm looked down into the crude, makeshift casket, not daring to breathe. The sight of the dead man stirred little to no emotion in him, something he knew those around him would question in silence, and later whisper about in dark rooms. It was Benjamin his heart wept for, who stood clutching the body of his dead son Noah, in the casket beside that belonging to Marcus.

“Clear the hall,” Jared gave the silent order before stepping out into the courtyard where the coffins had been placed down on the stone.

One of his men waved a wordless command and the keep was emptied.

Sophia lifted her hand in a gesture of comfort, pressed against the king’s back.

“Who?” Malcolm asked, soft spoken as ever.

“Andaris,” Sophia whispered, “they were poisoned.”

Malcolm looked confused. Both dead men sported deep wounds across their throats.

“Here,” she pointed with her free hand, gloved fingers combing back a clump of black hair to reveal inky veins shooting up from the neck like a dark web under the skin. “I’m not sure why they cut their throats.”

“To send a message…” Malcolm said.

“They aren’t done with this war, Malcolm. I was only permitted access to the castle because Andaris still believed Krome was on their side,” Sophia explained.

“Believed?” He echoed, questioning the tense of the words she chose to use, “what has changed?” Malcolm asked.

“You better come see for yourself.”

Malcolm followed the duchess to one of the three carriages they had travelled with. She opened the door and stood back. Bound and gagged at the back of the cab sat Edmund’s wife, Penelope Andaris and, asleep in a bassinet on the floor was their daughter, Camille Burhan. Penelope jerked as she recognised the man, staring wide-eyed and pleading at him.

“I see,” Malcolm said, and closed the door to the sound of Penelope's strangled cry.

“A gift,” Sophia said.

“That will bring Andaris to my door.”

She smiled, “where I will be waiting to greet them.”

Malcolm frowned. “Forgive me, your grace—this is a lot to process.”

Sophia took his hands and looked up at him. “Let us retire for the day. All of this can wait until tomorrow.”

“How many rooms do you require?” Jared asked, after making his way over to the pair.

“One for myself, my daughter and Lady Andaris,” Sophia answered, releasing Malcolm’s hands.

“Lady Andaris?” Jared asked, concerned.

Malcolm shook his head, not able to find the words to tell him.

“Oh and there was one more,” Sophia said.

A familiar woman stepped down from the carriage at the end of the lineup. Malcolm went rigid at the sight of her. It was difficult not to blame Anna for all that had come to pass.

“She begged me to bring her here…” Sophia said. “Being a mother myself, I could not say no.”

Malcolm turned and retreated from the courtyard to return to the keep, sickened. He went to the stairs and made his way to the upper most room, one he had once shared with Vanessa, that now belonged to Vaughn. Inside, he bolted the door shut and made his way to the edge of the bed. Vaughn looked up from his toy soldiers, abandoning his game to go to his father’s side. It was rare that Malcolm ever stepped foot in the room, haunted by all of the memories that remained too painful to bear.

Vaughn paused and looked at his father, as if to weigh the man’s mood. He said nothing as he climbed on the bed and tucked himself against the man. Malcolm lay down and shut his eyes, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his son’s breathing.


12 Frost 11 AOK

Malcolm lifted a cloth to his wife’s temple to dab away the sweat beaded upon her brow. Her lips were dry and cracked and her eyes looked sunken and pale. He had never seen her so unwell and, having watched her deterioration since the birth of the son only days before, Malcolm was concerned Vanessa was much more poorly than they had originally thought.

“I’ve sent for a doctor,” he admitted, knowing it went against her wishes.

“I’m just tired,” she said. “I was weak after Marcus was born too, remember?”

“Not like this,” Malcolm challenged, voice low, “you’ve not been able to leave our bed since Vaughn arrived.”

“How is he doing?” She asked.

“He’s perfect,” Malcolm said, “the whole household loves him already.”

She smiled, but even that was weak. “Malcolm…” Vanessa said, after a long spell of silence.

“Yes, my darling?” He took her hand in his and dabbed the cloth against her brow once more.

“Promise me you’ll look after Marcus?”

Malcolm looked confused. “He’s well cared for. He has the best teachers in Renmere.”

“But you’ll keep him close?” She asked, “you’ll always love him?”

“Of course I love him, he’s my son,” Malcolm said.

Vanessa closed her eyes and Malcolm leaned in to kiss her cheek as he noticed a tear roll across it.

“I will always love and protect our boys,” he promised her.

“Even though—”

“Even then,” Malcolm interjected, not allowing her to finish. Nothing she could say would change the fact that he had claimed, raised and loved the boy as his own.

“If anything happens—”

“Shhh, don’t talk like that.” Malcolm whispered, as he combed his fingers through her hair.

“Will you go to Morgan? Will you tell him—”

Malcolm sat up and stared down at his wife. She lay against the pillow with eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady, so quiet he had to strain to hear it. His heart squeezed, as if she had reached up into his rib cage and tried to yank it from his chest with icy fingers. How could she bring up that name, he wondered, after all these years…

“It's all in the letter on my dresser.” Vanessa squeezed his hand. “It has his new address in Nejem on the front.”

Malcolm pulled his hand from hers, something the woman did not seem to notice or fight to reclaim. Did she not understand that if that letter went to Morgan, it would ruin any chance Marcus had of one day becoming king? Malcolm rose and moved over to the dresser to pick up the letter. He tucked it inside of his cloak and went to the door.

“I’ll see it done,” he said.

Vanessa gave no reply.


Malcolm awoke with a start, jolted awake by the force of Vaughn’s weight on his chest.

“Father, father!” Vaughn insisted, “were you having a nightmare? Your face is all clammy.”

“No,” Malcolm admitted, as he sat up. “No, it was just a memory…”

Vaughn sat back on the bed and rubbed his eyes as he gave a big yawn.

“Are you tired?” Malcolm asked. “Were we asleep long?”

Vaughn shook his head and smiled, “not long at all.”

Malcolm leaned back against the headboard. “I have some bad news about your brother, Marcus.”

“Is he in trouble?” Vaughn asked.

Malcolm frowned, “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

Vaughn was quiet and still. “He’s dead?” The boy asked, as realisation struck.

Malcolm pulled the boy into his arms. “Your aunt Sophia has travelled all the way from the capital to deliver his body to us.”

Vaughn pushed himself upright to look at his father. “Can I see him?”

Malcolm nodded. “I will take you to him.”


61 Bloom 22

Marcus and Noah were buried in the crypt below the keep. There followed three days of grace before things returned to normal in the village. Sophia had made herself at home in the keep, and this day, took Malcolm up on his offer to show her around the township. She wore trousers and a loose fitting shirt that was pulled in at the waist by a small, leather corset. Her dark hair was pinned in elaborate pleats and knots away from her face and she wore a handaxe on her hip.

The valley had come alive in Bloom. Lush fields of wheat and corn were now well established, along with a large crop of berry shrubs that were planted in neat rows stretching as far as the eye could see. Sophia bent to examine one of the shrubs, pleasantly surprised by the health and abundance of the fruit it boasted.

“You’ve done well for yourself up here,” she said, as she approached Malcolm.

The king stood in a small, circular arena, feeding a large black stallion from a metal bucket. “There is a lot of work still to be done,” Malcolm admitted.

Sophia stepped up onto the wooden fence and crossed her arms against the top rung of wood. “What a beauty,” she said, admiring man and beast, “you always did like your horses.”

“They are easier to deal with than people,” Malcolm said.

The duchess smiled, sure he was right. Malcolm had always seemed a little awkward around her family, especially when he wasn’t joined by one of his brothers or friends. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

Malcolm glanced at her before he pointed his gaze at his boots. The horse made a deep rumbling sound and nosed the man, looking for more oats. “It’s been a long time,” Malcolm agreed.

“Too long,” Sophia said.

“Too long,” the man echoed.

“I saw you briefly at Vanessa’s funeral, but there was no time to talk.”

“Your father had other ideas,” Malcolm said.

“I don’t miss him.”

“Don’t say that…” Malcolm replied, finding it difficult to meet the woman’s eye.

“It’s true,” she said, “and I feel no shame in admitting it.”

“He was a good king. Renmere knew peace for a time while he was in power.”

“And they will again,” Sophia said. “They fear the unknown, and you, ser, are a dark horse.”

Malcolm smiled.

“You’ll see,” she said, “in a year… three years, they will come to see what a good and honourable man you are.”

“Honourable,” he said, “if anyone can question my honour, it is you.”

“I do not question it,” Sophia said, “not for a moment. Come, show me the village, let us talk.”

Malcolm led the stallion back to his paddock and set him free before hanging the bucket and lead up. He brushed off his leather tabard and trousers and allowed Sophia to take his arm before they made their way down the slope towards the village.

“What are you building over there?” She asked.

“A school,” Malcolm admitted, “to teach healing and rune magic.”

The woman looked at him, surprised by the admission. “Does that not go against everything we preach?”

“I don’t care,” Malcolm said, “Renmere needs to be ready to defend itself against external threats.”

“Are you concerned about outside forces?”

“I am,” he said, “as should we all be. My wife, Elyna Burhan, was taken and traded to the Prince of Aramane by her parents.”

“I didn’t realise you had remarried?” Sophia admitted. She sounded a little surprised, breathless perhaps.

“Last Blaze,” Malcolm told her, “before the birth of our twins, Elsie and Luke.”

“A Burhan girl? You are brave.” She smiled, but there was no malice in her tone.

Malcolm smiled, he knew Sophia was referring to the line’s long history of overreaching and struggle for power. “She is nothing like her uncle or her parents for that matter, in fact, she reminds me a lot of you.”

“If her family sold her to the Prince of Aramane, then she is exactly like me, only better off,” Sophia said. “Why haven’t you chased her?”

“Will you really make me answer that?”

“No,” she said, “of course with things as they are here, Renmere will have no troops to spare—even for their queen.”

“I have not been idle,” Malcolm admitted. “I received a letter from Elyna yesterday.”

“Ah,” Sophia said, “I wondered who those two women were.”

“A distant relative,” Malcolm said, “somewhere on Elyna’s mother’s side. I sent my reply, but I also got them to take a letter for the Prince.”

“Not a threat, I hope?”

“No,” Malcolm said, “the opposite… my wife in exchange for one hundred thousand gold pieces. If she is not returned to me by Frost, I will have his answer and go from there.”

“Malcolm, we are in the middle of a war—the kingdom can’t afford that—Renmere can’t afford to lose you.”

“This is wealth I’ve earned—it has nothing to do with the royal treasury or the country’s standing. As for me… I must admit I feel quite lost without her.”

“Elyna… the name rings a bell, now that I think of it,” Sophia said. “Was she the one that became a Skyrider?”

“You’ve met her?”

“No. I think my boys know of Elyna,” Sophia admitted. “David, my eldest, is going through the same training she did as a Skyrider and William wants to follow in his footsteps.”

“They probably know her from all of the dances you force them to attend,” Malcolm teased.

Sophia bumped him with her hip. “That, believe it or not, has everything to do with their father and nothing to do with me. I’ve worked really hard to shelter my children from the life I despised. Andre, however, feels they are missing out on their birthright.”

Malcolm sighed. “You must forgive him, for it is difficult for a common man to grasp the complexities of court and all its pitfalls.”

“He means well,” she agreed, “but I have refused to allow my daughter to attend any dances.”

“Emerson?” Malcolm asked.

Sophia smiled. “You remembered her name after all these years?”

“Of course,” he said, “Vanessa went on and on about Marcus almost sharing a birthday with her.”

Sophia slowed her steps. “But of course,” she said, “for she was conceived not long after we found out about him.”

Malcolm meandered to a halt. He looked at Sophia and studied her face for a time. “Andre was away in Clead on business…”

She nodded and bowed her head to hide a coy smile. “Until late Frost.”

“Sophia…” Malcolm said, “we—”

“—Yes,” she said, interjecting, “but I will not burden you. Emerson has been raised as Andre’s daughter and neither he, nor she, are any the wiser, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know better than most what it takes to be a father—far more than one night of passion.”

Malcolm sighed, “I—”

“—No,” Sophia said, “there could be no other path for us. You married my sister, and I…”

Malcolm took Sophia’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not,” she smiled, through a silent pain she dared not admit to, even as he witnessed it now in her blue eyes. “Everything was as it was meant to be… I see that now.”

He pulled her into his embrace and she held him for a long time. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so thin,” she jested, wiping away a stray tear while he could not see her.

“Can I meet her?”

“She travels with me,” Sophia said, “but I will not have you make a fuss.”

“No fuss,” he promised.

“There is something, however…” Sophia pulled away to look up at the man.

“Speak it,” he encouraged.

“When I die… David will become the Duke of Krome, William will carry on his father’s work and inherit all of his wealth, but Em… I’m worried her only prospects will be those afforded to me—to be sold to the highest bidder. Unlike us, I want Emerson to marry for love.”

“I loved your sister,” Malcolm challenged.

“As I love Andre,” Sophia agreed. “Emerson… she deserves to marry someone who will love her in return.”

Malcolm was silent at that. Had Vanessa loved him? Even on her deathbed it was Morgan’s name she spoke.

“Her father already talks about sending her off to one of those awful Ecrede Clans,” Sophia said. “I don’t want her marrying a pirate, Malcolm…”

“That won’t happen,” the king assured his sister in law.

“Malcolm… what else is there for her?”

“What did you have in mind?” Malcolm asked.

“Land… a title, some sort of safeguard, as trade for my army—three hundred here, three hundred more back home.”

“I warn you, my forces were thinned during the battle in Warrick and that which followed with Burhan here in the mountains, behind my back.”

“And what of Endor?” Sophia asked.

“I’ve recently uncovered that his intentions and promises are as empty as some of his mines.”

Sophia sighed. “Isn’t that just like Endor… does he know?”

“Cage has no idea that I’m aware of his ties with Aramane,” Malcolm said.

“Good, that gives us the upper hand… There one thing I can’t get my head around, however,” Sophia said.

“What’s that?”

“If Elyna Burhan was Queen of Renmere, why did her parents trade her to the Crown Prince of Aramane?”

“Elyna’s family had a lot of demands I refused to meet. I’m sure they doubted my ability to win this war,” Malcolm explained.

“Your wife too, if she went willingly. You deserve a queen who will serve you loyally.”

If there was a question in that, Malcolm chose to ignore it. “Come. I will show you the village.”


72 Bloom 22

The keep had been quiet since Sophia’s arrival. The double loss to the Beaumont family had seen Benjamin retreat within himself. Owen had been the only available brother to welcome their mother to the region in the days that followed the small funeral held for Marcus and Noah. Cleo had been devastated by the news and made a fuss of Vaughn whenever the boy chose to leave his room. Malcolm had avoided any instances in which he might find himself alone with the woman, keeping Jared or Sophia close at hand.

It had become routine for him to spar with Emerson from sun up till breakfast, with the knight happy to pass on all he had learned in his years of serving the Iron Hand. Emerson was a quick study and, for a girl of only fourteen summers, she had already mastered what Malcolm still found himself drilling into seasoned knights.

“She fights like a scorpion,” Owen observed.

“My girl is quick,” Sophia agreed.

“What does Malcolm think?” He asked, while watching the pair dance with swords, making an artwork of the craft.

“That Emerson needs to work on her defense,” Sophia said.

Owen nodded. “He’s right. If she starts to tire in battle, she won’t be able to rely on her speed alone.”

Sophia smiled. “That is why I brought her here, I knew he would teach her.”

Owen studied the woman, sure there was more to it than that. No one marched their army halfway across the country to ask for training. “She looks a lot like him, when he was younger,” Owen remarked.

“Does she?” Sophia replied. “All of my children have my husband's dark hair.”

“And does your husband have green eyes too?” Owen asked.

Sophia didn’t like the man’s tone, but kept her voice even, light. “Yes,” she lied.

“What are we talking about?” Cleo asked, surprisingly them both as she stepped into the courtyard.

“Emerson’s form—doesn’t she fight well, mother?” Owen said.

“Very well,” Cleo agreed, taking Owen’s arm to stand beside the man, who seemed most comfortable in her presence. “Is she training to become a knight?”

“No,” Sophia said. “My daughter will be the Duchess of Krome one day. I think it’s important she understands what it takes to defend that title.”

“Not before your sons, I suppose?” Cleo said, “unless you intend to bypass them.”

Sophia ignored the question, if indeed there had been one at all.

“How long will you be staying in Mayce, mother?” Owen asked.

“Until the end of Bloom,” Cleo said. “I’m hoping the three of you will travel home this year to spend some time with your father.”

“I’d like that,” Owen said. “I will return home with you and Ben.”

“Will you speak to Malcolm for me? He seems so busy these days that I haven’t had a chance to.”

“Of course,” Owen said.

“I think he’s avoiding me.”

“Nonsense,” Owen assured her. “I’m sure he just has a lot on his mind.”

Sophia squinted. It seemed a strange thing to say.


That evening after Sophia had tucked her daughter into bed, she noticed Cleo slip into the king’s room wearing little more than a nightgown. She blinked at the thought that followed and cast it from her mind before she continued down the hall to the room that had been assigned to her. She had just put the key in the lock when she noticed Malcolm come up the stairs to head to bed. Sophia wasn’t going to say anything, she promised herself—what he did in his own time was his business—but as the man passed her in the hall, she turned and took his arm in silence.

He stopped in his tracks to face her, confusion knitted at the centre of his brow. “Is everything all right?” He asked.

“Yes,” Sophia said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Only… I noticed your mother just now, entering your room.”

Malcolm froze. It was impossible not to witness the fear that left him tense, his muscles tightening within her grasp. The man opened his mouth as if to utter something, but any words that might have formed in his mind, died on his tongue.

“Do you want me to get rid of her?” Sophia asked.

“What?” The man breathed in response.

“Wait here,” she said, “count to one hundred and then follow me?”

Malcolm nodded, unsure he was capable of that much.

Sophia went to the king’s room and slipped inside. She shut the door with a soft click and turned to find Cleo sitting on the bed, bare and bathed in moonlight. “Oh!” Sophia gasped in mock shame. She clutched at her robes, which she had been in the process of removing.

Cleo gasped and grabbed at one of the furs at the base of the bed to cover her naked form.

“I’m so sorry!” Sophia said, “I must have the wrong room! I do apologise! I was told to wait here by the king…”

Cleo felt around for her nightdress and pulled it on with such haste that she didn’t realise it was back to front. “Goodness! Is this the king’s room?” She said, mortified. “I fear it is I who is lost. A thousand apologies, your grace!” Red faced, she raced from the room, scarcely recognising Malcolm as she bumped into him on her way out.

“Mother?” He said, confused by her pace.

“Goodnight!” She called, and continued down the hall without so much as a backwards glance.

Malcolm stepped into the room and pushed the door to, without allowing it to close completely. “What did you say to her?” He asked.

Sophia smirked. “Never you mind,” she teased, lifting a hand to the man’s chest. She felt him flinch and took a step back. “Malcolm… is everything all right?”

He let out an uneasy breath and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

She tried to take his hand, only to find it clammy and raised from her reach. “You look unwell,” she said, “can I fetch you something to drink?”

“No,” he replied, not allowing her to make a fuss. “I think I’ll get an early night.”

Sophia nodded and bid him a good night without making any further attempts to placate him. She paused as the door closed behind her and was surprised to hear the iron lock slide closed. What hell had he endured, she wondered, at the hands of a woman who had sworn to protect him.

She went in search of Owen and, without giving anything away, teased what little information she could from the man. Something didn’t add up. Was it Malcolm who had taken advantage? No, she thought, his reaction, his fear—it had all been sincere. There was a child-like honesty to the way in which he had recoiled from both the situation and the resolution.

“I’ll be happy to escort you all home once Bloom draws to a close,” Sophia offered.

“Thank you,” Owen said. “Well… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Owen.”


111 Bloom 22

Andaris and Venora had once again joined forces on the battlefield to march on Mayce. Half a season of correspondence with their King Regent had gone unanswered and any attempts at sending a messenger had all resulted in the same outcome. A lone horse and a dead rider. No one had dared to appoint another ruler in the interim, not while the oldest heirs of both houses were held hostage by the man who would call himself king.

They lined the width of the valley in force, a sea of fighters from the capital, both tried and untested. They had scarcely crossed the border into Warrick and travelled down to the base of the valley when they were met by the full force of Endor’s fighters, flanked either side by the red cloaks of Warrick, and faced with an assault from the front and rear led by Sophia and Emerson Krome.

Despite all their fears that Endor would turn against them, Malcolm was not surprised when Cage’s men drew first blood. It was a line of Andaris horsemen that had moved within range of their archers. A quiet word in the dark between king and duke had assured that there would be no treachery on this day.

Volareon wrestled in the skies overhead while iron chose the fates of those below. Their ranks closed in on the armies from all sides and soon enough, it became difficult to tell friend from foe. While the king believed there could be no winner in a civil war, it was plain to see that both houses were outnumbered, with their backs to the wall.

The king himself had not quite recovered since his capture, but the man on the battlefield was fearsome, skilled and without mercy. Those that fancied themselves his equal, soon met their end. Even his guardsmen had spread out, giving the famed knight, The Wolf of Krome, more ground than they could cover in a beat should he call on them.

As the battle wore on and the man’s muscles burned under the weight of his long sword, he thought of the last year and what it had cost him, and fought on. Burhan had turned their backs and Gwayne remained unmoved. There was a false sense of security in the north, hidden behind the wall of the seven kings. One day, Malcolm promised himself, he would shatter their faith in the stone that divided this country.

“Malcolm!” Jared bellowed, lifting a hand to point east, “over there.”

Malcolm scanned the battlefield to pinpoint the white flags Andaris had raised, calling for an end to the battle they had started. As the sound of their horns echoed through the valley, fighters took pause, backing away from one another. Jared ran back to his horse and Malcolm deflected a few more blows as his men closed in behind him.

The baron delivered his horse to him and Malcolm climbed up into the saddle and tightened his hands about the leather reins, before ushering his mount forward. The black stallion seemed to dance in the spot, taking short steps towards the rise. The king whistled and their mounts raced up the hill through a path formed by their archers, allowing them to look across the battlefield from the high ground.

“You don’t intend to accept their surrender?” Jared challenged, his own horse standing shoulder to shoulder with Malcolm’s.

“Neither side can afford any losses—we are all one nation and I’ve said it from the beginning—this war is pointless.”

Jared shook his head. “I disagree, if we do not defeat them now, it will only be a matter of time before the next uprising.”

“Then we will see to it that kind of thinking is discouraged.”

Jared reached out to grab Malcolm’s arm. “Whatever we decide now… is the future we leave for our children to inherit.”

Malcolm looked over the valley as troops on both sides started to reform into neat rows. There were too many dead, he thought, too many cut down by his own sword. “Everything I do is for this country,” Malcolm said, “for the futures of every child, not just our own.” He yanked the reins and his horse spun about and galloped down the slope.

Jared called for his bow and raced further up the hill to where he had left his volareon. He dismounted and climbed into the saddle on the animal’s back to take to the skies, shadowing the black stallion as it raced to the centre of the field. Cage and Sophia’s mounts were already moving to intercept that of Andaris and Venora’s nobles.

Thomas and Hector Andaris were the first to meet them at the lowest point of the valley. It was clear neither of them had seen any action. The same could be said of Cage, though at almost ninety, no one could blame him. Hunter, Delilah’s father, was alone and without the support of Kaleb. Hunter sported a deep cut across his left brow that was bound to leave a nasty scar and had soaked his shirt with blood. One of his men was helping him remove his damaged chest armour and heavy chainmail, leaving the baron increasingly irritated.

Malcolm stayed on his horse, right of Sophia, who sat atop her mount beside her daughter, Emerson, and left of Cage Endor. Sophia had a cut on her thigh, which had already been packed and bound, and Emerson, though splattered with blood, appeared unharmed. A few cuts and bruises on the king’s knuckles, forearms and face were the least of his concern.

“I want my daughter back!” Hector demanded, “and my granddaughter and son in law!”

Sophia smiled, like a woman who knew a tantrum when she saw one. “Your daughter and granddaughter have been well cared for,” she said.”

“Aye,” Cage agreed, “better than they deserve, mind.” His voice was gruff and heavily accented.

“Penelope didn’t put a blade in your boy, she can’t be held accountable for his death!” Hector argued.

“Then give me the man who did,” Malcolm challenged.

“Ent that simple,” Thomas Andaris replied.

Malcolm said nothing. Instead he sat atop his horse and looked Hector dead in the eye.

The baron soon caved to the pressure, deciding he must fill the awkward silence that followed, with answers, even if they were untrue. “The cook works for Burhan—they were found dead!”

Sophia scoffed, “you’ll blame a servant for the death of the Crown Prince?”

“I’ll not listen to you pass the blame,” Malcolm said.

“Ent that,” Thomas said. “It's the truth.”

“The truth?” Malcolm mouthed. The leather of his reins sighed under his tight grip, knuckles white with his silent fury. “You took my son from me, my eldest child, for that, I will take one from you,” Malcolm spoke loud and clear for all in their proximity to hear.

“Please, Malcolm—” Hector tried to plead with him, only for Sophia to interject.

“—Your Majesty!”

“My King…” Hector corrected, “we were friends once, why, I even offered you my own daughter’s hand!”

“And thank the seven I saw sense then!” Malcolm challenged.

“Please… I’ll give you anything in exchange for her safe return,” Hector begged.

“My terms are thus—the north of Andaris will become its own region and I will have four of your finest warships for my own,” Malcolm said.

Hector looked to his father in law, the duke, bowed his head. “I don’t understand, you were once a knight of the Iron Hand, you know the northern territory have been nothing but trouble—”

Thomas cut in, “what my son means to say, is that we will be happy to gift said lands to our King. The ships too, are yours.”

“Then Penelope will be returned to you unharmed,” Sophia said.

“And what of my son in law, Edmund, and my granddaughter?” Hector asked.

“Edmund will first stand trial for his crimes and Camille will remain in my care until her eighteenth name-day, Malcolm explained.

“No! You can’t!” Hector cried.

“I can and I will,” Malcolm said. “Andaris took my first born son, stole this kingdom's future without regard for anyone but themselves. You’ve taken something of mine I can never get back. You only have to wait seventeen years to see Camille again.”

Hector opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas silenced him again. “—Most fair of you, your Majesty. I’m sorry for the loss of your son, Marcus. These are tense times. Perhaps you will reconsider at a later date?”

Hunter sat with his head bowed. He could not afford to lose land or ships in exchange for Delilah, but the fact remained that he wanted her home more than anyone. “Your son… he was going to marry my Delilah,” Hunter said. “I too am saddened by his loss. Please tell me she is safe?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. She imagined the only thing Hunter Venora was disappointed by was the fact Andaris had put a stop to their daughter becoming the future Queen of Renmere.

“Safe and well,” Cage answered. “I, like everyone else, have had my doubts about our King—but he has been a man of honour, your daughters will attest to such once you are reunited.”

“Venora will be in your debt,” Hunter said, lifting his gaze to meet Malcolm’s eye, “once Delilah is returned to us.”

“I ask Venora to do little more than their duty, in restoring the capital to its former glory,” Malcolm said. “Once the repairs are complete, Delilah will return home.”

“Thank you, your Majesty!” Hunter said, bowing deeply. “The repairs will be complete before Frost is upon us!” He did not dare propose a future match between his daughter and Malcolm’s remaining son. Hunter had more sense and grace than that.

“We will all meet again in the capital at the next summons.” Malcolm said. “In good faith, your daughters will be returned to you then.”

“When?” Thomas asked.

“Mid-Blaze,” Malcolm answered him. “Where any who choose not to show will lose more than I have asked of you this day.”