Knight of Lust Ch. 14

As expected, Thandor did not agree to Caderyn's terms and had insisted on his path of stubborn, foolish defiance. Thus the siege dragged on, with Caderyn's reinforced army completely encircling the city. To avoid any potential for his army to share the same fate as Ulrik's host during his failed invasion, Caderyn sent his scouts on wide-ranging patrols to watch for potential enemy reinforcements.

Like burrowing words, sappers and miners toiled beneath the earth, digging tunnels towards the great walls. In time, such efforts might well collapse one of the walls and allow his forces to assault the city directly. Hopefully such a breach would make clear how foolish it would be to resist.

The trebuchets flung great stones at the walls and gates, while minimizing bombardment of the city proper. The people beyond the walls were innocent victims, in a sense, trapped by Thandor's mad defiance. Those peasants and townsfolk would also one day be his subjects and Caderyn could ill-afford to anger them by unleashing an indiscriminate bombardment.

And yet misery could not be avoided entirely, for Caderyn could not allow supplies into the city, and such a large population would eventually devour whatever reserves Thandor's forces had stockpiled. Disease and pestilence would run rampant in such a crowded place. Various ailments were already scourging through his own crowded camps, and he knew it would be far worse within the city walls.

An assault, costly as it could be, might be the only way to alleviate the city's suffering.

Together, Tancred and Caderyn stood atop a hill, overlooking the work of engineers erecting yet another trebuchet. Laborers guided carts laden with stones into position, ready to load the great weapon as soon as it was constructed. Before long, more great stones would be flung towards the city's walls, adding to the countless dents, scars, and gouges already inflicted by past bombardments.

"I still do not understand his plan," said Tancred. "Early on during the war, I could see why he fought on, as he could have been gambling on Asparra or Tsannor entering the fray. But at this point, even their intervention would not turn the tide."

"Don't be so sure," Caderyn said. "Tsannor and Asparra nearly have the collective strength to match ours. If Duke Inacio reaches deep into his coffers, he could hire a vast army of foreign mercenaries. Thandor is a clever bastard, always balancing a hundred different schemes, so he could very well be using his agents and spies to draw the other dukes into the war."

He glanced southward, taking some reassurance in the many patrols still ranging across the countryside, keeping a watchful eye for just such a development.

"In a month, my aunt Evelyn will have raised another army, bolstered by more northern mercenaries," Tancred said. "And Berent is overseeing the raising of another one too, yes? We'll be able to stand firm against whatever that bastard throws at us."

Caderyn thought Berent's time would be better spent investigating Thandor's schemes and uncovering more spies and traitors within their midst. There could be other oathbreakers like Aelred, lurking and waiting for their time to strike.

As they watched the next wave of stones crash against the gleaming southern walls of the great city, Baron Rathgar trudged up the hill. The Kovgaardian baron gave Tancred a friendly nod, then wiped dirt from his hands.

"The sappers have reached the southern and eastern walls, my duke," he said. "They'll be ready to collapse the supports within the hour."

Caderyn's eyes swept over the grassland, imagining the army of diggers and miners beneath the surface, scurrying through the earth towards the foundations of the great walls. The enemy had sappers of their own, of course, who'd dug tunnels out to intercept the ones created by Caderyn's men. For days, ugly little battles had broken out down in the dark.

"Give the order to proceed," Caderyn said. "But send word to Baron Florian on the western flank to make a show of redeploying his forces there. I want the defenders to think we're about to collapse the western wall. Hopefully they'll pull more of their garrison to that side, easing our advance through the southern and eastern breaches."

He rubbed a hand over his chin.

"But intensify the bombardment on the southern wall, too, lest they see through the ruse to the west. I want them looking in many directions, unsure of where we'll strike."

"And who should lead the assault?" Tancred asked.

Caderyn glanced to his camp, taking note of the banners of the four allied duchies. On display were the blue-and-gold unicorns of Fellhaven, the dark raven banners of Ravenmark, the green-and-brown bear flags of Utresk, and the gray flags displaying the headless swordsman heraldry of Wolfgate. Scattered amongst them were the rag-tag militia of peasants who had risen up against Thandor and who had been folded into the ranks of the Wolfgate levies. Further afield was the camp of Girjar Bear-Bleeder and his northern mercenaries. Their banners were a wild assortment of rune-painted elk-hide, wolf skulls, and other grisly totems.

From a coldly practical standpoint, Caderyn should have chosen Girjar's mercenaries for the assault. They were the fiercest fighters in his army, and would have the advantage in the hellish close-quarters fight for the breaches. Their wild ferocity had served Caderyn well over the past few months.

And yet unleashing such men on Jadewall could create new problems. They were eager for blood and loot, and would surely rampage through the city if given the chance. Rumors still swirled due to the grim ritual Caderyn had invoked to seize Stonecurrent, and further reliance on northern mercenaries might undercut the pact he'd forged with the holy orders.

The soldiers of Fellhaven would have gladly stormed the breaches in the name of the deceased Duke Lucan, but they were battered and spent after so many months on the frontline. If anyone deserved some respite from the slaughter, it was them. The black-cloaked troops of Ravenmark were better-rested due to the lighter fighting on the western front and they also hungered for vengeance.

It was that hunger which worried Caderyn. Gripped by vengeful wrath, the troops of Ravenmark might sack the city in defiance of Caderyn's orders. Blood would stain the ancient streets as his father's name echoed over the carnage.

Shivering, he continued to inspect his forces. The troops of Wolfgate, due to taking scant losses in the early phase of the fighting, were perhaps his best option. With the duchy's reputation for piety, they would fight quite fiercely against Thandor for his crimes against the holy orders, while also sparing the city's innocents from their bloody wrath. And yet could he truly trust their barons and captains? After all, they'd been Thandor's puppets until quite recently. No doubt their ranks were filled with Thandor's spies and loyalists.

That left the Utreski contingent: fierce soldiers honed by past clashes with both Ravenmark and Kovgaard, whose mastery of horsemanship had made them the best riders in the northern Empire. Were he facing a pitched battle on an open plain, such men would have been a gift from the gods. But for an assault on a crowded city, the vaunted skill of Utresk's soldiers would be less potent.

He gritted his teeth. Every choice had its complications and downsides. Every path could lead to triumph, defeat, or the bloody destruction of the city, depending on how events unfolded.

Solveig's mantra hissed within his ear.

"One path of many."

"Summon the other commanders and barons," he said to Tancred. "I will make my decision."

As the trebuchets continued to send stones at the walls and as the miners toiled beneath the earth, the other commanders of the army ascended the hill to join him. Foremost among them was Baron Hecforth, an unassuming, elderly man in command of the Wolfgate contingent. Were it not for his baronial signet ring and fine hauberk, Caderyn might have mistaken him for a doddering old farmer. Yet the man had stood at his parents' side against the barbarians and had acquitted himself well holding the frontier against Tancred. Formerly an ally, then an enemy, Hecforth was now an ally once more.

Would his allegiances shift yet again?

Girjar Bear-Bleeder was the last to arrive. Mead dripped from the massive man's beard and sweat rippled along his tattooed forearms. Dangling from his belt was a red-dyed jawbone. Since the man had accepted Aelred's severed head as a grisly trophy, the young duke suspected the bone had once belonged to the slain traitor. No doubt other pieces of the wretched oathbreaker's skull had been scattered amongst the other Kovgaardian mercenaries. The notion brought a faint smile to Caderyn's face.

Much to Caderyn's surprise, Hecforth gave the mercenary commander a slow, dutiful nod. Due to his past service against the northerners and the holy amulet around his neck, Caderyn had assumed Hecforth's piety would make him shun or spurn the mercenaries.

"My men hunger for battle, Duke Caderyn," Girjar grumbled. "For too long we have dallied in camp. Give us blood. Give us glory."

If Caderyn denied Girjar his glory, the northerners might desert or demand some other trial as they had before. And yet if Caderyn gave them full control over the assault, they might unleash horrors upon the city.

"The assault begins soon," Caderyn said. "Girjar: select five hundred of your fiercest warriors. I want them in the vanguard when the southern and eastern walls fall."

The massive man's face split into a smile so hungry that he might as well have had wolf's fangs. Girjar thumped his chest and let out an eerie howl that echoed across the camp. Warriors in the distance took up the cry as well. Caderyn was glad the compromise had worked; a smaller contingent would make it less likely for Girjar's men to run wild through the city, while still sating their bloodlust. Even as those foreboding sounds echoes across the camp, Caderyn looked to Baron Hecforth.

"The people of Wolfgate have suffered greatly due to Thandor's ambitions. And thus the men of Wolfgate should have the honor of being first through the breach alongside the Bear-Bleeder's warriors."

Hecforth gave a low bow of his head, his wrinkled face betraying no hint of his feelings on the matter. Whatever his personal opinion, it was time for the men of Wolfgate to prove their loyalty to the cause with fury and blood.

"Baron Tancred, the forces of Fellhaven and Utresk will be held in reserve, to reinforce the assault if needed and to check the advance of any sudden reinforcements."

As expected, his brother-in-law clenched his jaw.

"It is an important duty, Tancred," Caderyn said. "If Thandor does indeed have some last scheme to enact, you shall be the one to save the day. And I've not survived this long just to fall to my sister's wroth for assigning you to the first wave."

A grin spread across his pockmarked face and the others let out faint chuckles. The storm of dread hung too closely over them for a proper bout of mirth, however.

"And I shall take personal command of Ravenmark's forces as part of the second wave."

Doing so would put him in great danger, of course. Even if Hecforth's men and the northlanders quickly seized the breaches, there would be a great deal of fighting within the city itself. Yet he could not just hold back and watch the carnage from a distance; he'd need to be close to the fighting to help corral the northlanders if they grew too wild and bloodthirsty.

It also meant he might have the chance to run Thandor through himself, rather than to discover his corpse afterwards, as had occurred with Aelred.

"It ends today," Caderyn said firmly, giving each of the commanders a deep, probing stare. "Now see to your men, and pray to your saints or your gods."

**

The ground quaked as the southern and eastern walls gave way. Down below, fires had torn through the wooden supports propping up the tunnels, and the subsequent collapses had sent great ruptures through the foundations of the walls. Horrific cracks sliced through the ancient green stone.

He'd once heard a bard sing that the great battlements of Jadewall were blessed by the gods, warded with ancient magic so that they would never crumble. The song had weaved an epic tale of how the great fortifications would last until the end of time, when the rest of creation had been reduced to rubble and ruin.

Gods, it was a wondrous thing to see that bard proven wrong.

Smoke and dust rose as the walls fell, kicking up a great obscuring cloud. Bells rang and trumpets shrieked. The collective howls of Girjar's men rose to join with those distant sounds. The fur-cloaked warriors rushed forth, followed in short order by the pikemen of Wolfgate. As the former roared out bloodthirsty prayers to their hungry gods, the latter chanted out invocations to the warrior-saints. Thus men from two different nations rushed forward unto battle, guided by their own respective strands of zealotry.

The vanguard vanished into the haze of dust and smoke. The toll of bells and the shriek of trumpets drowned out the sounds of fighting. Within minutes, Caderyn spotted movement atop the gatehouse as blood-soaked berserkers fought their way up through the towers. A horrific battle raged atop the walls as the green-cloaked defenders fought bitterly to prevent the barbarians from opening the gates. The fighting created a grisly rainstorm as weapons, severed limbs, and corpses tumbled over the parapets onto the ground below. Before long a small mound formed beneath the base of the walls, a grim offering to the bloodthirsty gods of the north.

Not long after his men had claimed the walls, the gate slowly rose: a hungry, gaping maw. Caderyn shivered but nonetheless prepared for battle; he tugged on his chainmail hood, followed by his helmet. After a few moments of fiddling with the straps of his armor, he sighed, rolled his shoulders, then readied his lance and shield.

The frenzied ringing of the bells brought to mind the bleating of panicked sheep. Caderyn looked to the armored sea of Ravenmark knights around him. Their dark cloaks were frayed and tattered thanks to weeks of skirmishes along the border with Wolfgate and the subsequent long ride to the city. And yet their eyes were steady. Cold. Ready.

His steely gaze turned to Gwion and Pelagia. Nearly a year before, Gwion had been a rival pit fighter, who'd brawled with Caderyn on the night of the assassination attempt that had ignited the crisis. He'd become a bodyguard, a friend, a trusted companion, a man whose skill had saved Caderyn's life again and again. Though he'd started the journey as little more than a hired thug, he was now clad in the resplendent breastplate of a knight of Fellhaven. The former pit fighter looked as if he'd been ripped from one of the grand paintings hanging on the halls of the ducal palace.

Caderyn had likewise met Pelagia in combat, back at a tourney in Ravenmark all those months ago. Like Gwion, she also resembled a figure of legend, with her helmet carved to resemble a snarling bear's face, with battle-scarred armor clinging to her war-honed body.

Together, they had endured so much: the ambush in Ravenmark, the bloodshed in Tsannor, and months of battle between the rival duchies.

And now they just had to endure one more day.

"Forward?" he asked.

"Forward," they replied as one.

Caderyn sighed, gripped his lance, and led his soldiers into hell.

**

The armored column of knights crashed through the meager band of spearmen who had assembled just beyond the gate. Already battered and exhausted by fighting the first wave of troops, those men had little chance against the momentum, steel, and fury of the knights. Caderyn cut through them as his soldiers howled out his father's name, and sent his horse cantering further up the cobblestone streets.

Baffling scenes of horror greeted him. In a market square just past the gate rested dozens of green-cloaked corpses, and scores more dead townsfolk. His fury rose, at first thinking that Girjar's war-crazed mercenaries had slaughtered the innocents, until he realized the townsfolk had fallen to the spears and axes of Thandor's men. In turn, the soldiers appeared to have been ripped to pieces by the frenzy of the mob.

He glanced up and down the cobblestone streets, gawking at other sparks of unrest and defiance. Six women in aprons used cleavers to hack a knight to death. A burly, bearded man wielding a smith's hammer bashed in the skull of a bloody soldier. Screams erupted from a small shop as green-cloaked men tossed in torches, heedless of the maddening chaos around them. A mob burst from a nearby alley, falling upon the fire-crazed soldiers with a variety of tools and makeshift weapons.

Relieved as he was to see the people rising up against Thandor, Caderyn could take no true joy in those sights. Many more would perish before the day was done.

He pointed with his bloody lance up the main thoroughfare, past a row of boarded-up stone houses and empty taverns. Farther up the street rested a public garden, beyond which loomed the ducal spire itself.

His knights howled out his father's name as they continued their advance, thundering up towards the garden. Another scene of slaughter awaited them. Blood and gore spattered the elegant hedges, fountains, and flowers of the gardens. A score of dead and dying longbowmen were scattered upon the grass. Civilians stalked among them, using tools and looted weapons to grant mercy to the wounded. A great pile of arrow-riddled corpses clogged the northern gate to the gardens. Tears streaked down the faces of the survivors, some of whom looked up in horror at the sight of Caderyn's advancing knights.

The young duke halted the advance with a shout and a raised fist.

"We mean you no harm!" Caderyn shouted. "Get yourselves to safety!"

Some scurried off, while the more grim-faced among them refused, and instead moved to fall in behind Caderyn's formation. Gripping the weapons of the men they'd just slaughtered, the rag-tag militia joined the push towards the ducal tower.

They advanced deeper into the city, cutting through meager pockets of resistance. Smoke and ash choked the air, rising from a dozen small fires throughout the city. More of Thandor's unruly subjects joined him, chasing after his knights like wolf pups joining their elders on a hunt. It was unclear whether they had followed him out of genuine loyalty, loathing for their duke, faith in the saints, or simply because they wanted to be on the winning side.

Caderyn cared not for their motives and was just relieved he didn't have to cut his way through them on his way to Thandor.

More of his forces converged, running or riding down the other great streets on their way to the ducal spire. Among them was Girjar Bear-Bleeder, his axe dripping with blood and gore, his face a bestial mask of rage. The sacred jawbone of Aelred still dangled from his belt, serving as a silent witness to the carnage within the city. Baron Hecforth advanced up another street with his pikemen, who maintained an orderly march despite the fighting they'd endured.

Caderyn flicked blood from his sword and looked up the wide thoroughfare that led to the duke's great tower. Apple trees and statues of mythical beasts lined the great roadway. A body of a knight dangled from the statue of a rearing dragon with a chain affixed around his neck. Several dying longbowmen gasped and sputtered within the shade of an apple tree. Blood ran down the street in thick streams, forming a dark pool of crimson beneath the hooves of Caderyn's horse.

The ducal spire rose at the far end of the tree-lined road. Made from the same ancient green stone as the city's fabled walls, the tower far outsized anything else in Jadewall or Fellhaven. At the base of the spire awaited Thandor's doomed defenders. More than a hundred archers were arrayed at the top of the great steps leading to the spire. Before them stood several hundred pikemen, their armor and weapons unmarred by the day's fighting. At their flanks awaited two squadrons of armored lancers. Judging by the blood upon the hooves and weapons, those knights had run down several mobs of rebels thus far. They'd find Caderyn's men to be far fiercer foes.

A cloud of smoke washed over the enemy from the east. They remained in position, while Hecforth's men shuffled into formation. This would be a grisly, costly advance: a steady push up a long, open roadway under constant arrow-fire from the defenders.

Caderyn looked up at the blazing sun, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine what his father would have done. Before he could ponder that notion any further, Gwion shouted and jostled the young duke's arm.

White flags descended from the tower's balconies. The archers lowered their bows but did not unstring them. Lances and pikes tilted down towards the ground.

"Hold!" Caderyn bellowed, raising his fist.

Despite his command, the mob of ashen, bloody peasantry marched past him.

"Hold!" he snarled.

When the peasants ignored him, Caderyn barked out a command for Baron Hecforth to stop them. Pikemen broke from the formation, using the hafts of their long weapons to block the path of the advancing mob, jostling them out of the way and towards the apple trees. Girjar's northern mercenaries looked hungrily upon the shouting civilians.

"You will have your justice!" Caderyn shouted at the locals. "But you need not waste your lives with pointless fighting. Hold! In the name of the saints!"

He wasn't sure if it was the invocation of the divine or the strength of the pikemen that fully subdued them. The mob did relent somewhat, though many still shouted or pushed against Hecforth's men.

More white flags rose in the midst of the enemy formation. The ranks of pikemen parted as the gate to the great tower opened. A single figure walked forth: slow, methodical, careful. Eyes narrowing, Caderyn recognized the messenger as Thandor's daughter Yvonne. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been at Fellhaven to convey Thandor's insulting offer of peace.

Lady Yvonne strode forth with the same courtly dignity she'd displayed back then. One of her father's knights offered her a horse and helped her into the saddle. Her slow, regal pace meant it took her several minutes to cross the blood-streaked road.

Despite the siege and the defeat of her father's forces, she still maintained her prim and noble demeanor. The young blonde woman was clad in a fine dress befitting a formal ball: gleaming green silk, frilly golden lace, and a bonnet of shimmering silver.

"Duke Caderyn," Yvonne said primly once she'd closed in. "My father expresses his condolences for the untimely demise of your father, and also expresses his admiration for your skill as a tactician. Though you and he are enemies, he cannot help but see an echo of your father's skill in you."

Dark laughter rose from Caderyn's men and the young duke snorted.

"Empty flattery will not save him," Caderyn said. "But if your father does recognize my skill, then he must also recognize that he has lost. Even now, more of my troops are flooding the city. More and more of his subjects are rising against him. If he does have some grand scheme to summon aid from another duchy, it is too late."

"He is in agreement with your assessment," the young woman said, her chin held high as she admitted defeat. Judging by her tone and expression, she might as well have been delivering terms of Caderyn's surrender, rather than her own.

"My conditions are simple," Caderyn continued. "Thandor and his barons shall lay down their arms and surrender. A court of justice, assembled by the people and by the holy orders, will convene to decide their fate. As long as you and your brother agree to submit, you shall be allowed to go into exile or to take holy vows, but you must renounce your claims and acknowledge my future wife as the rightful duchess of Fellhaven."

"Generous terms, my duke. After a few of the rumors we'd heard, we half-expected you to toss us to your northern dogs to be eaten alive."

She cast a fleeting glance over at the fur-clad, blood-soaked northerners.

"I may still do so, if your father persists in his stubborn defiance."

Yvonne turned her gaze to the glaring mob, some of whom had shouted up curses at her as she'd approached. After a moment, she let out a soft chuckle and looked back to Caderyn.

"So silly, isn't it? When I was a girl, everyone at court assumed that you and I would marry, or that Amaury would marry Vienne. My mother hoped that such a match would settle the feud once and for all."

"Similar rumors always echoed around Fellhaven as well. But that path was denied to us by your father's crimes."

There was no regret in his tone, for he had no desire at all for Yvonne. A daughter who'd been raised under Thandor's dark influence would have made for a poor bride.

"One path of many."

She bit her lip, displaying for the first time a hint of vulnerability. It could have been a ruse, of course, a means to elicit sympathy or to prepare the way for some other scheme. Perhaps she hoped to wriggle her way into his bed as a means to avoid exile or punishment.

"For the sake of my own curiosity: did you know of the plot to kill my mother?"

"I spoke the truth during my visit: my father had no hand in the attacks on you and your mother. I swear it on the lives of my kin. On the souls of the fallen."

Yvonne's voice wavered just a little.

"And did you know of your father's schemes with Aelred?" Caderyn hissed, causing Yvonne to flinch.

"Yes. I was aware that my father had turned him and that he hoped to marry me to his son eventually."

"Another path denied to you," Caderyn growled. "Because that brave little lad while racing back to the aid of his treacherous father."

Her eye twitched: another crack in the courtly, collected façade.

"Another reminder of the grim toll of this war, Duke Caderyn. But we could spend all day recounting the tragedies of the past few months." After a deep breath, Yvonne straightened up in the saddle. "I shall convey your terms to my father."

After a nod from Caderyn, the young woman turned and sent her horse back up the bloody road. Curses and shouts from the mob assailed her. One man even threw an apple, which thudded into the back of her horse. Rather than speed off beneath the onslaught, Yvonne continued her slow retreat.

A storm of projectiles soon followed as townsfolk tossed more apples taken from the great trees. One man even threw a severed hand. The sheer mass of so many missiles nearly sent Yvonne toppling from the saddle, but she refused to speed up, keeping her retreat slow but steady.

Snarling, Caderyn sent his horse forward, putting himself between the mob and the noblewoman. A few apples thudded against his breastplate before the storm faded.

"Enough!" he bellowed.

Yvonne continued her ponderous, wordless retreat until she vanished through the gate.

**

An hour later, more white flags emerged from the balconies. Hundreds of weapons thudded to the ground. Thandor's knights dismounted and knelt alongside the infantry, heads bowed.

Thundering, raucous cheers erupted from Caderyn's men and the mob. Some of Hecforth's pikemen broke down in tears as others shouted up prayers. Excited members of the peasantry began to call for Thandor's head or debated amongst themselves how best to butcher and dismember their liege. Pelagia let out a thrumming sigh of relief and removed her helmet. Sweaty red hair clung to her freckled face and she gave him a weary smile.

"Be on your guard," Caderyn said. "It still could be a ruse. Advance with weapons at the ready."

His knights made their way up the road, the hooves squishing the apples that had been unleashed upon Yvonne. Caderyn's hand tensed around his sword-hilt as they neared the enemy lines. Hecforth's men rushed forward to collect the weapons, but otherwise paid the surrendered soldiers no mind. Another line of pikemen remained behind to keep the mob at bay.

Rage curdled within him as the doors to the tower opened, revealing Duke Thandor. Though Caderyn had not seen the duke in years, he'd have recognized that wretched man's face anywhere. His disgust rippled when he realized how closely his nose resembled Melisent's; he was struck by the urge to have the nose cleaved off, to sever the visual link between the tyrant and his daughter.

While Yvonne had dressed in finery fit for a ducal ball, Thandor had dressed for war. Given his slender, almost waifish frame, he looked almost childish in his chainmail hauberk and emerald-adorned breastplate. On his hip was a curved dagger with a hilt studded with emeralds. It brought to mind Berent's fancy, ceremonial daggers that he'd always preferred as statement pieces. Graying, dark curls fell to his shoulders. A few days of stubble adorned his sharp jawline.

Yvonne stood at his side, hands clasped primly before her. Next to Yvonne was Sir Amaury, Yvonne's twin and Thandor's heir. The last time Caderyn had seen him had been at a tourney years ago, when he'd been a gangling young man more interested in singing than fighting. He'd grown into his frame since then, developing broad shoulders and thick arms. Over his sturdy body was a hauberk and a bejeweled breastplate to match his father's. His nose and jaw-line also bore a striking resemblance to Melisent. Dark, bloodshot eyes gazed sullenly at Caderyn, and his hand rested upon an axe on his hip; the weapon certainly looked far more useful than his father's fancy dagger.

"And where is Duchess Isabella?" Caderyn asked.

Though he fully intended to strip Thandor of his titles, he'd not done so yet, and thus decorum demanded that he still address Thandor's wife accordingly.

"Ill," said Sir Amaury. "She came down with a horrific flux while helping tend to the sick."

"I shall have Ketrik and my other healers tend to her," Caderyn said.

His quarrel was with Thandor and his nobles, so Isabella would be permitted to go into exile or to take holy vows, rather than face his bloody wrath. There was thus no reason to let her waste away beneath her affliction.

"I'll not have a northern savage lay hands upon my mother," Amaury hissed, his hand tensing upon the haft of his axe.

Thandor shushed his son and took a slow step forward, keeping his hands splayed wide. Pelagia nonetheless let out a low snarl.

"I would not object to Ketrik tending to my darling wife," Thandor said. "Especially because I have seen the power of Ketrik's sorcery firsthand. When your parents came to me decades ago, begging for aid, they tasked the shaman with undertaking a prophetic ritual. Through sacred flames, he showed me a possible future: fire, blood, fury. My city in ashes, trampled beneath northern boots. At the time, I thought that was what would have happened if I did not assist your parents."

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh that cut Caderyn deeper than a blade.

"It seems that the vision was the truth of what would happen anyway. Here I stand, over a city of smoke and ash."

Caderyn himself had seen similar visions, thanks to that poison that had scourged his body and mind. Scenes of Fellhaven's fall had haunted him, along with grisly fragments of his own death. Possible futures, nothing more. Just because Thandor's portents had come true did not mean Caderyn's would as well.

"I care little for visions and rituals," Caderyn said coldly. "Do you accept my terms?"

"I do," Thandor said with a long and deep sigh. "I shall throw myself at the mercy of my subjects and the holy orders, as long as my kin are allowed into exile or to take holy vows."

Even as her father spoke of sending her across the sea or confining her to a convent, Yvonne kept her chin held high. Sir Amaury, meanwhile, chewed his lower lip and let out a low snarl.

"No," he said, spittle erupting from his lips. "I do not accept this. Duke Caderyn: I hereby challenge you to a trial by combat. This can be settled once and for all."

Girjar and his mercenaries bayed and bellowed, urging Caderyn to accept. Some of Hecforth's men burst into laughter. For his part, Caderyn regarded the young knight with pity. Amaury was a trapped animal, a doomed hound struggling to fight when all hope was lost. Had their roles been reversed, Caderyn might have made the same desperate offer.

A part of him was tempted to agree. From what Caderyn had heard from his scouts, Amaury had not taken to the field at all during the war. Thus he was but a tourney-tested knight, with little experience in actual combat. It could have been an easy victory... but a single lucky strike by Amaury could have turned the tide.

"I have already won," Caderyn said with a shake of his head. "And even if through some miracle you could defeat me in such a challenge, what do you think this mob would do to you?"

He gestured with his gauntleted hand to the vast crowd at the bottom of the steps, who stared with hungry, venomous eyes up at the duke. Only a firm line of Wolfgate pikemen kept the prospect of brutal mob justice from breaking out.

"I care not," Amaury said, eyes flashing. "I will not stand by and-"

His growl turned to a sudden yelp as Thandor lashed out and slapped him across the face. Amaury reeled, eyes wide, jaw dropping. Yvonne did not so much as flinch, and kept her firm hazel eyes upon Caderyn.

"I apologize for my son's defiance, Duke Caderyn," Thandor said, wriggling his hand and wincing. "But I am sure you can understand the foolish obstinance of a young knight. After all, such foolish obstinance brought you here, did it not?"

"Your crimes brought me here, Duke Thandor," Caderyn snapped. "But yes... I will keep my word. Abdicate here and now, acknowledge Lady Melisent as your rightful heir and your kin shall be free to seek exile or holy vows as long as they renounce their claims."

The duke unstrapped the emerald-adorned dagger from his waist. Thandor stared down at it for a few moments.

"Fitting. I had two of these forged in commemoration of our victory at Fellhaven. I kept one for myself and planned to give the other to whoever married Yvonne. But instead I sent it to your brother for his sixteenth birthday... I'd forgotten all about the occasion, you see, and it would have been quite the diplomatic insult for me to forget such a thing. Thus a dagger forged to commemorate our glorious victory, a mirror of a dagger that sits upon your brother's hip... is now cast at your feet."

He dropped the dagger. It clattered and rolled down the marble steps before coming to a halt a few feet from the hooves of Caderyn's horse.

The duke finally dismounted, glaring down at the fancy, ridiculous dagger. While Berent had many such gaudy weapons, he couldn't ever recall Berent wearing an emerald-adorned one. Perhaps he'd sold it off or kept it in storage due to the old feud.

Not taking his eyes off Amaury, Caderyn knelt to collect the dagger, then affixed it to his belt. A small army of scribes swarmed the steps, preparing parchment and ink with which to write out the formal terms of abdication and surrender.

"And I would like the formal proclamations to include that I have insisted upon my innocence to the very end," said Thandor. "At least in regards to the attempt on your mother's life in Fellhaven and the ambush of your pilgrimage in Ravenmark. I had a dozen different methods to attack your family, Duke Caderyn, but those incidents were not my doing."

One of the scribes raised an eyebrow at Caderyn, who gave his assent with a curt nod. He cared not for Thandor's protests. All that mattered was his abdication and Melisent's claim of the ducal title. The wretched man would be dead before long anyway, and his protestations of innocence would fade into the recesses of history. Scholars would be too focused on Caderyn's rise to the Imperial throne to care much for the whining of a defeated tyrant.

With the scrolls complete, a scribe approached Thandor, who affixed his signature to the document. Next came the signatures of various barons who witnessed the signing, and then finally Caderyn. He nearly scrawled 'Duke Caderyn of Ravenmark' before stopping himself. Glancing up briefly at Thandor's weary face, Caderyn allowed himself to display a slow, smug smile before he affixed a new signature.

Emperor Caderyn the First

Though he'd yet to be formally crowned, such a document would serve as a foundation for his rule, so it seemed a fitting place to write his title for the first time.

**

With the documents signed and attested to, Caderyn ordered Gwion and a contingent of knights to sweep the great spire for any holdouts. Once the spire was confirmed to be secure, he had Baron Hecforth escort Thandor down into the dungeons beneath the spire, to be placed under heavy guard until a tribunal could be assembled. Thandor's kin were stripped of their weapons and placed under house arrest within comfortable lodgings, under the watchful care of Baron Tancred's men. Caderyn then ordered a greater deployment of scouts through the countryside to watch for potential counterattacks. The rest of his forces were tasked with securing the city, putting out the remaining fires, burying the dead, and repairing the damage.

Rather than bask in triumph, Caderyn threw himself into those efforts as well, not shirking any of the duties he asked of his men. Such labors also helped distract him from a deep pang of doubt that clawed at his heart. Despite the victory and Thandor's surrender, something wasmissing. Perhaps it had been something Thandor had said, or perhaps it was due to the duke's insistence upon his innocence. Victory had brought peace, yes, but it had also brought more unanswered questions.

Only days later did he allow himself a moment of reprieve. With the spire secured and a semblance of order settling over the city, Caderyn headed up to the quarters once used by Sir Jehan. The wounded knight had joined his cousin down in the dungeons, to await the judgment of the tribunal that had yet to be fully assembled.

A smile crossed his face as he inspected the fine lodgings, which included a massive bed, a well-stocked bookcase, velvet-lined couches, a private garden on the balcony, and several paintings of Jadewall's illustrious past.

Most of the paintings showed scenes from the life of Emperor Sevastian, one of two Emperors to hail from Jadewall. The man had carved a path to the throne after the previous Emperor had been overthrown by an uprising of zealous monks. Each of the paintings depicted a different duel, battle, or siege: given his long and bloody reign, there were many to choose from. Caderyn wondered if Jehan had placed such artwork within his quarters because he also harbored dreams of the Imperial throne.

Or perhaps he'd displayed them as a warning of the failures of Imperial authority. Caderyn reminded himself that he'd have to read more history now that he had time, so he could learn from the mistakes of past Emperors.

Resolving to start then and there, he plucked several tomes from the bookshelf. He flipped open the first book on Emperor Sevastian and nearly groaned aloud at the stifled, labyrinthine prose on the first page. Reading through that tome would be a greater slog than some of the long marches he'd endured.

And yet he pressed forward nonetheless, both to glean useful knowledge and to provide a respite from the day's toil. As daylight faded, he lit a candle and continued to read, taking note of how Sevastian had tried to forestall Kovgaardian aggression by launching raids deep into their territory to take hostages. The gambit had failed, as the barbarians cared more for their honor than the lives of those hostages, and they had retaliated by launching a massive seaborne raid that had scourged the western coast of the Empire.

Curious as to why Kovgaard had since been unable to mount any such great naval campaigns, he flipped forward, only to find that the chronicler had moved on to discuss how that raid had made Sevastian more reliant on Tsannor's naval power. Kovgaard, for all of its impact on the Empire's history, usually merited only a passing mention in the chronicles.

The burden of scholarship drove him to exhaustion. After a great yawn, he blew out the candle and flopped onto the bed. Warm thoughts of Solveig and Melisent helped carry him off to sleep, only for those pleasant thoughts to be interrupted by a low creaking sound. He slowly turned his head to see that the bookcase had partially jutted out from the wall, exposing a slim dark gap.

A secret passage. His heart chilled with the realization that assassins could be emerging all throughout the palace, striking from the shadows while the victors slept.

Caderyn lunged, leaping up and snatching his sword from beside the bed. The cold steel flashed in the moonlight as he rushed towards the passageway. A squeak of fear rose from the darkness.

His free hand lashed out, grasping into the shadows. A yelp emerged as his hand caught hold of something: soft skin. With a snarl of effort, he adjusted his grip, grabbing hold of an unseen arm, then yanked the intruder from the tunnel and into the moonlight.

Yvonne stood before him, eyes wide with fear, trembling within her skimpy silken chemise. The thin fabric did little to hide her curves or the generous swell of her breasts. Lustrous blonde curls half-shrouded her terrified face.

"Saints' blood," he hissed.

She took a deep breath. Composure settled upon her pretty face. The fear faded, her hazel eyes growing warm. A soft smile danced across her plump lips.

Still glaring, he relaxed his fierce hold but did not step back. His fiery gaze shifted from the intruder over to the hidden passageway.

"How many of those damned tunnels are there?"

"The palace is riddled with them. My grandfather built them so he could spy on his wife out of fear that she was cuckolding him."

Yvonne's musical laugh eased some of his tension but did not banish it entirely.

"She was faithful to the end, as far as history is concerned, so all of that effort was for naught."

"Stay there," he snapped, jabbing a finger in her direction before rushing over to the door leading to the hall.

Flinging the door open, he summoned the guards stationed outside, commanding them to spread word of hidden passages throughout the palace, in case they could be used by escapees or assassins. One of the men trotted off.

Caderyn glared back over his shoulder and slammed the door. Still beside the bookcase, Yvonne tapped a little switch nestled behind a large book. The bookcase creaked and shuddered, sliding back against the wall, obscuring the hidden passage once more.

"And so why are you sneaking about in the dark?" he hissed, pacing back and forth before her, sword in hand.

"I meant you no ill will, my lord," she said, averting her eyes.

Yvonne then seemed to realize what she was wearing and took a furtive step back, turning away in an apparent attempt to hide the sight of her bosom pressing against the thin fabric. With a huff, Caderyn crossed the room, collected a robe, and placed it over her shoulders. As it settled over her body, she shuddered and let out a soft sigh.

"My quarters are right next to Amaury's," Yvonne explained. "And he has been fuming all day. Smashing things. Howling. Punching the walls. Fury gave way to sorrow: he's been weeping and sobbing since sunset, making it impossible to sleep. When I went over to comfort him, he nearly struck me. I... wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. I just got turned around in the tunnels and ended up here."

Eyes still narrowed, Caderyn was unsure if he believed that. None of the guards had reported any disturbances from Amaury's quarters, though perhaps they just hadn't wanted to trouble him.

"It's a bit chilly to be wandering around in the dark clad only in silk," he said with a snort, backing away and setting his sword down. "I will have servants arrange for other lodgings, well away from your weeping brother."

"Gods, no. That would be dreadfully embarrassing." She swallowed and took a shaky step backwards. "I'll find my own way back. I apologize for the intrusion, my lord."

There was something odd about the way she'd uttered his title. The words came out low and velvety, with a hint of warmth that she'd never displayed before. As Yvonne reached for the hidden switch to the passageway, the robe slid down her shoulder, exposing the moonlit pale skin.

His laughter cut through the tension.

"Really?" he asked.

"I apologize if my predicament amuses you, my lord. If I can make it up to you in any fashion, you need only ask."

"I take it this is your first time trying to seduce an enemy," he said with a snort, sitting down at the edge of the bed and affixing her with a bemused glare.

The bashful, demure expression shifted into a sly smile. She turned fully to face him and let the robe fall, revealing the skimpy silken garment once more. The low neckline revealed an expanse of soft, kissable skin, and the fabric ended about halfway down her thighs. The cut of the garment naturally caused him to imagine what rested beneath the silk. Despite his irritation, a flare of arousal went through him. In its wake came just a bit of shame. She was his prisoner, his enemy... the half-sister of his future wife.

"Indeed it is, my lord. Care to offer any advice on how to improve?"

He laughed again, with far less bitterness than earlier. Though he had no intentions of bedding the half-sister of his betrothed, the incident was at least amusing. It was also a credit to Yvonne's strength that she had the will and composure to attempt it after the great defeat her family had suffered. The fact that she wasn't a weeping wreck like her brother was quite the feat.

"Seduction is a delicate line," Caderyn said. "Too aggressive, and it turns the other person away. Too passive, and they miss out on the cues. One must find the delicate, perfect balance."

"So what would the perfect balance be in this instance?" she asked, taking slow, swaying steps towards him.

Unable to help himself, Caderyn looked her up and down as she approached, taking note of her delicate feet, soft thighs, and those wide hips. Her figure in fact reminded him of Melisent, as did her curly hair, even though it was not the same color. A pang of guilt rippled through him. While he'd always been a wild and lustful man, this seemed a step too far.

"In this instance... the truth," he said. "The full truth. What, exactly, did you hope to accomplish by wriggling your way into my bed?"

"My family suffered a great defeat. Is it so wrong to seek the warm distraction of a handsome man's touch?"

Yvonne took one step closer to the bed. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her pert nipples pressing against the silk. The beam of moonlight washed over her, giving Yvonne an ethereal and almost ghostly visage, as if she were some lustful spirit from one of Tessandra's songs.

"You could have sought such a distraction with a handmaiden, a servant, or one of the guards," he shot back.

"Ah, but I have heard such tales of your prowess, my lord."

Another slow step. The moonlight pulsed against her blonde curls; he could not help but imagine grasping them to yank her head back as he pounded against her. His mind conjured images of those curls splayed out on the bed as she begged for him to fill her. Caderyn bit down on the inside of his cheek but the pain did nothing to stifle the rising flames of desire.

"I heard from Lady Letia about your liaison last year," she continued, taking another step that brought her to within a foot of the bed. "She said that she nearlywept beneath the skill of your tongue. When she told me of that evening... she quaked so terribly, as if she were reliving the experience. She said she'd never had a man who was so... selfless."

Another shudder wracked his body as her words brought to mind that brief tryst. He'd met Letia at a festival just across the border, where they'd had a friendly competition during a horse race. After she'd triumphed, he'd jokingly asked what sort of prize she wanted, and the evening had taken a wondrously sordid turn. Together they'd scampered off into the forests, sharing hungry kisses beneath the moonlight. Before long he'd pinned the young woman against a fallen tree, yanked up her skirts, and licked between Letia's legs until her cries had filled the woods.

"And from what I have heard of you, my lord, you are never one to turn away a pretty young woman." She batted her lashes. "Does your refusal imply that I'm not pretty?"

Once more he laughed, the amusement helping him to fend off the lust, but only barely. His arm still ached with the desire to reach out and grab her by the waist.

"I admit that in the past I certainly lusted after you. Before the war, I'd have gladly bent you over this bed and used you until you could do nothing but whimper out my name."

A soft little gasp left her lips.

"But I have changed."

"Have you? Rumors abound that you have gathered yourself a little harem. The bard Tessandra, the knight Pelagia..."

And her half-sister, of course, but Yvonne understandably did not give voice to her name.

"Contenting myself with a mere handful of lovers over the course of a year is quite the change for me, yes," Caderyn said.

It was thoughts of Melisent that provided him the strongest defense. Not only did memories of her beauty help him fight off Yvonne's influence, he imagined she'd be very cross with him if he slept with her hated half-sister. It was a step too far, even for a man like him.

His eyes drifted from Yvonne. Though it had been months since he'd seen Melisent, he could still see the warm gleam in those gray eyes, could still feel the heat of her breath upon his neck, and the tenderness of her touch.

He glanced down at his hand, remembering the way Melisent had kissed his battered knuckles after he'd punched a wall in a fit of rage.

"Gods," Yvonne said, taking a step back. "You love her. It's not just about the power, the title, or using her birthright as a weapon against my family."

"Yes," Caderyn said, smiling up at her, the lust now retreating away into darkness.

It was her turn to let out a bitter laugh as she took another step away from the bed.

"Gods, you're a fool. After I shared your bed I had planned on suggesting that you break her betrothal in favor of me, but it is abundantly clear that you would not be wise enough to walk that path."

He scoffed.

"Really? Do you think so highly of yourself that you think I'd be swayed in such a manner?"

After another bitter laugh she shook her head.

"The people of Jadewall won't follow an illegitimate daughter who has barely spent any time here. Even if she is legitimized and acknowledged formally, the people still won't trust her. She's a nun who was expelled from a holy order, after all. She broke those vows, why would she not break her vows to you or to Jadewall?"

Snarling, Caderyn rose to his feet.

"Choose your next words very carefully."

"I chooseevery word carefully, my lord," she growled back. "And believe me when I say that a marriage to her will mean the downfall of you, Jadewall, and your Empire. Marryme and there can be greater continuity of the dynasty. No whispers about broken vows or doubts about my parentage. For all of my father's faults, the people of Jadewallknow me. They would much rather be ruled by me than by some half-Asparran whore."

Tension rippled in his arms and he clenched his jaw.

"Go on," she hissed. "Do it. Strike me. Toss me in the dungeons. Drag me to the gallows. Show me who you really are."

Gods, he was certainly tempted to.

Before he could reply, Yvonne took another step closer towards him.

"Or you could punish me in another fashion." Her hazel eyes flitted past him. "Pin me to the bed. Silence my impudent mouth with your cock. Make me weep. Make me beg..."

Her tongue flitted out across her lips and she raised up on her tiptoes, leaning up to bring her mouth within an inch of his ear. He shuddered, struggling to regain control, his mind flailing for more thoughts of Melisent and his other lovers.

"Makeme your whore, even."

With that, Yvonne turned, the silken fabric swishing as her swaying steps carried her back across the room over to the bookcase. Caderyn bit back a growl as he shuddered. After a few deep breaths he tried to focus, but found himself unable to take his gaze from her.

She paused at the bookcase, her delicate fingers reaching for the hidden switch. There she paused, glancing over her shoulder, her warm eyes half-veiled by the blonde curls.

Solveig's soft, hungry words rippled through the air.

"One path of many."

Had things been different, this woman could have been his wife or lover. Perhaps they might have even conspired to overthrow her father so she could inherit the duchy rather than her brother Amaury. They might have shared a one-time dalliance during a feast or a tournament, or an enduring romance despite the enmity between their families.

Or she could have died by his hand. Perhaps she could have plunged a dagger into his heart while he slept.

Fire gripped his limbs and he lunged across the room. Triumph ignited in her gaze as he closed in. One heavy hand thudded against her wrist, yanking it from the hidden switch and pinning her against the shelf. His other hand grasped down for the laces of his trousers. Lust roared, taking hold, destroying his regrets and doubts.

Gods, how he wanted to break her, to take lustful vengeance against Thandor's dynasty. He wanted to punish her for insulting Melisent, to make Yvonne regret her stupid games. This could, after all, be another sort of torture. Caderyn could fuck her so well and thoroughly that the memory would cling to her heart like a scar for the rest of her days. Even as she wandered into exile or took holy vows, she would dream of him... just as he still dreamt of Solveig.

Her curvaceous body shuddered beneath his fierce grasp.

"The bed would be more comfortable, would it not?"

"Quiet," he growled, biting the back of her shoulder and drawing forth a soft gasp.

"Are youcertain you wish for me to be quiet, my lord?"

With another growl he shoved a hand up beneath the silk. His fingers brushed over her soft pale skin. Yvonne cooed and wriggled her hips a little as his nails raked against her.

"Apologize," he snarled, his other hand tightening against her wrist.

"For what, my duke?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering. Her back arched invitingly, daringly. "For intruding? For lying to you about my reasons for visiting you? Or for calling your future wife a whore?"

Anger tore through him, consolidating with his lust to create a new wellspring of emotions that drove him nearly to madness. His hand swung back, then slapped fiercely against her buttocks, sending ripples through the soft skin.

A sharp yelp filled the room. She tilted her backside further up, all but demanding another slap. Hating himself for giving in and yet loving the way she so eagerly accepted the punishment, Caderyn spanked her again.

"For months we've heard tales of your cruelty and tyranny," Yvonne said, undaunted despite the yelp she'd just emitted. "It seems such rumors are unfounded, given how gentle you're being with me..."

Of course he knew it was just bait and a means to taunt him, but that only made him want to punish her even more. His hand released her wrist only to firmly grasp her throat. For a fleeting moment he noticed a fearful spark in her eyes.

Good.

His hand tightened: not enough to choke her, but enough to convey the clear threat that he could do so if she wished.

As she gasped and wriggled her hips, Caderyn glanced around for something else with which to punish or bind her. His frantic glance through the room caused his eyes to drift over the letter on the nightstand beside the bed. He'd read it dozens of times since receiving it, for Melisent's lustful and loving prose had set his heart ablaze.

Now the sight of the letter sent a dagger through his heart.

By the gods... what was he doing? Seeking solace in the arms of Pelagia and Tessandra was one thing; Melisent had in fact encouraged him to do that, and she'd made love to them as well. But her half-sister? The woman who'd schemed to support the tyrannical duke? The woman who'd lived a pampered life of luxury as a trueborn daughter while Melisent had wallowed in grief?

"No," he murmured, his hand slipping from her throat.

Caderyn staggered a few steps back. Yvonne remained panting against the bookcase, her back still arched, presenting her soft backside. A single droplet of her nectar dripped down her inner thigh. Gods, the sight made him want to rush forth and lick it clean.

"What?" Yvonne asked, slowly turning, shock flitting into her eyes.

"You are a tiny spark and she is a firestorm. Get out."

Yvonne's soft, breathless laugh filled the air. Her fingers rose to brush over the faint red marks he'd left upon her neck.

"Consider me disappointed. But impressed. It seems your infamous lusts do have their limits."

Her gaze shifted downwards and she smirked at his raging erection.

"If you change your mind, come find me."

With that, she tapped on the hidden switch and the secret passageway creaked open. She vanished into darkness. Once the passageway sealed shut behind her, Caderyn growled, grabbed the table, and jammed it up against the bookcase lest she try to return.

Fiery lust, however, still gripped him. With another shiver, he bent down to snatch up his robe, slipped it over his shoulders again, then stepped out into the hall. One of the knights on duty fell in alongside him, the helmet masking the man's expression. If he'd overheard any of the exchange between Caderyn and Yvonne, he gave no sign.

On the way down to the next floor, he tasked another patrol of guards with doubling the sentries and ensuring that Yvonne was within her quarters. He'd foolishly let her scurry off into the tunnels, but he'd not exactly been in the most rational state of mind at the time.

As the sentries rushed off to fulfill his orders, Caderyn looked to a passing servant.

"Tessandra and Pelagia... do you know where they are?"

Judging by the very faint smirk on the young woman's face, she had an inkling of what Caderyn was after.

"I last saw them down in the library, my lord. I delivered a bottle of wine and some biscuits less than an hour ago."

The library was a natural place for a bard; perhaps she was researching information for her next song. Pelagia was no doubt there to keep her lover company and perhaps for a bit of mischief.

And that was precisely why Caderyn was seeking them out.

He barged through the library doors, taking but a moment to marvel at the towering shelves. Atop each bookcase was a figurine of a snarling stone wolf, serving as a silent guardian of the ancient and priceless lore. Between the shelves were long oak tables, some of which were piled high with scrolls.

Pelagia and Tessandra sat at the far end of one table, sifting through a mess of parchment and leatherbound books.

Both of them looked up and smiled, but Tessandra quickly frowned, no doubt sensing the distress in his gaze. After dismissing his guards and slamming the door shut, he shuddered a little and stormed across the room.

"What's wrong?" Tessandra blurted out. "Gods, please tell me they didn't escape..."

"No," he said, shaking his head and leaning against the table. "I had a visitor... Yvonne."

"By the blood of the fucking saints," Pelagia said, eyes wide. "Tell me you didn't!"

"No," he blurted out. "Almost, though. She snuck into my quarters and..."

His fingers raked against the table.

"I stopped myself before it got too far. But she thought she could sway me from the betrothal."

As his mind reeled back through those feverish memories, he also wondered if she'd wanted a child. What better way to undermine his rule than having an illegitimate child with claims to his titles and hers? Such a child could have been eventually used as a tool to undermine Melisent's rule or to serve as the figurehead of a rebellion.

Gods, what a fool he'd been to let himself be controlled by her wiles, even if only for a short time.

"And you came down here for some relief?" Pelagia said with a soft chuckle.

"That was the original intent, yes," he said, before sagging into a chair. "But the walk down here helped lessen the need."

Nonetheless he shivered.

"I'm glad you managed at least some measure of self-control," Tessandra said, reaching out to pat his hand.

The fleeting touch poured fuel on the fire of his fading lust. After a deep breath, he looked over the scrolls they had collected.

"What are you researching?"

Perhaps such tedious work would fend off the lingering thoughts of Yvonne and his own regrets.

"We're looking through inheritance law and the history of past successions," said Tessandra. "Specifically trying to find precedent for Melisent's situation and if there was ever an illegitimate child who inherited a title here in Jadewall. While we don'tneed such laws since Thandor has already abdicated to her, having something official will help reinforce her claim."

"No luck thus far in anything in the history of Thandor's dynasty, but a few of his baronies faced similar situations," Pelagia said.

"Right," he said, as the dull legal talk effectively snuffed out the few sparks of remaining lust. "How can I help?"

Pelagia picked up a massive tome and thudded it onto the table before him.

"Go through this record of the barons of Thistlekeep and see if there is any mention of an illegitimate child inheriting."

"Very well," he said, flipping open the first page and coughing at the cloud of dust that emerged.

His mind ached as he sifted through that dull old book. Eventually he did find something promising: a passing mention of another barony ruled by a bastard-born knight nearly two centuries before. Together they hunted for another book about that barony, confirming the knight's inheritance. In the grand scheme of things that detail meant little, but when combined with what else they found, it would help establish greater precedent for Melisent's claim.

"Better?" Tessandra said, looking up from the scroll onto which she was scribbling a summary of their findings.

"Much," Caderyn murmured, sighing and looking to the door.

A part of him almost feared that Yvonne would be out there lurking for him or that she'd found a way to slip back into his quarters. He let out a shuddering sigh and rose to his feet. When he cast a quick glance over at his lovers, both of them were staring at him with faint grins on their faces.

None of them spoke. Tessandra, however, drifted her gaze towards his lips, then raised an eyebrow. The embers of his desire, long since doused thanks to the tedious research, flickered once more into a great flame.

He could think of no better way to celebrate the victory and distract himself from thoughts of Yvonne.

Tessandra lunged up from her seat, scrambling across the sturdy oak table. Her hungry kiss cut off his laugh. All thoughts of that devious noblewoman vanished as their lips met in a wild, clumsy kiss. As their moans rose against one another, Pelagia darted into action as well, crawling onto the table beside the bard.

A firm tug pulled the bard away so Pelagia could claim a kiss of her own from the duke. During the fleeting gap between kisses, regrets rose over what had occurred with Yvonne, but then vanished at the first sting unleashed by Pelagia's teeth upon his lower lip.

Growling with need, Caderyn shrugged off the silken robe. In a wild frenzy, the three lovers assailed one another's clothes. Tessandra's vest fluttered down to the floor, exposing her pert breasts and pink nipples to the candlelight. Next came Pelagia's tabard, trousers, and the cloth wrapping around her breasts. Caderyn and the bard both groaned as one, each leaning in for a taste of her nipples.

Desperate hands clutching and grasping, the trio yanked off the rest of their clothing, rendering them all nude and wanton within the lore-stuffed library. No logic or conscious thoughts guided Caderyn's actions, only hungry desperation. It was a different sort of lust than the wild, vengeful sensations Yvonne had unleashed. This was a hunger borne of trust, perhaps even love. These two women had given themselves to him not out of some scheme or conspiracy, but out of genuine desire and affection.

His gratitude swelled along with his arousal, especially when Tessandra sprawled out upon the sturdy table, spreading her lissome legs wide.

"Taste her," Caderyn murmured, his fingers brushing over the back of Pelagia's neck.

"No," Tessandra said with a soft, breathy giggle. "Let's taste each other, Pelagia."

The redhead gave Caderyn's lower lip another bite, then crouched down over the bard's face. Casting a hungry look over her shoulder at the duke, she settled down, wriggling her hips as Tessandra took her first lick of many. After shuddering, Pelagia leaned lower, her own hungry lips seeking Tessandra's folds. As the two women lapped hungrily at one another, Caderyn was content to just stand back and watch.

If only he could commission an artist skilled enough to capture the beauty of such a scene...

His shaky hand settled upon his manhood, stroking himself gently. Their muffled moans rose higher. Trembling steps brought him closer to the table. Pelagia wriggled her hips a little, while Tessandra continued to tongue at her sex. The bard looked back towards Caderyn for but a moment, giving him a little wink before flicking her tongue against Pelagia's folds once more.

After a deep breath, he stepped closer and grasped Pelagia's firm rear to steady her. She let out a muffled yelp of delight as he sank his cock inside, a movement that had become almost routine after so many months as lovers. And yet the familiar sensation still drew forth a low, hungry moan from him. Caderyn then let out a yelp of his own as he felt Tessandra's tongue flicking against his balls, then against his lower shaft as he rocked back a little.

"Saints' blood," he growled, the table creaking a little beneath them.

The warm grip of Pelagia's sex was quite enchanting, but it was made all the more delightful thanks to the occasional flick of Tessandra's tongue against him. The muffled moans and whimpers of his two lovers rose higher and higher, the wondrous sounds guiding Caderyn closer and closer to his own peak.

"Focus on her, Tessandra," Caderyn managed to groan after Tessandra had taken a few moments to kiss and lick his shaft. "Make her come."

The bard murmured in agreement and returned all of her attention to the redheaded knight. Caderyn kept his pace slow and steady, so as not to jostle either woman too much, and especially to allow Pelagia to service Tessandra in return.

He reached a hand out, his fingers brushing over the back of Pelagia's sweaty neck, and gently took hold of her hair. The simple pressure of his grip seemed to inspire the knight. The muscles of her neck strained as she lapped and licked at Tessandra's dripping warmth. The bard mewled against Pelagia's sex, her toes curling against the tabletop. As she flailed and writhed, her hands rose to grip the redhead's ass. Groaning, Caderyn took one of Tessandra's hands within his own, gently holding her.

Tessandra's lips fell away from her wicked work and she cried out, the sound reverberating off the ancient tomes.

"Caderyn," she whined. "Give me your cock. I want to taste her on you while I come..."

That desperate plea nearly made Caderyn surrender then and there. His shaft throbbed deep inside the redhead but he managed to slip himself out. Tessandra murmured with hungry need and leaned up to guide the dripping shaft into her mouth.

He cursed under his breath as he guided himself deeper. The bard's muffled groans rippled all along his length, her tongue flicking even as she reached her wondrous peak. Her cry reverberated against his throbbing cock, her hips bucking off the table.

Using that cry as a signal to shift his attention, Caderyn slipped his cock free from the bard's panting lips. Long strands of moisture danced from the tip, which Tessandra eagerly licked up.

"You've had your fun, Tessandra," Pelagia growled. "Now put that cock back inside me..."

Caderyn and Tessandra both laughed shakily at the knight's command. Tension gripped his core as Tessandra took hold of his aching shaft. Her fingers brushed beneath the tip, as if she were tempted to force a climax out of him in denial of Pelagia's wishes.

After giving him another wink, Tessandra guided his cock back into Pelagia's sex. No longer focusing on driving Tessandra towards bliss, Pelagia put all of her force into rocking back against him, meeting each deep thrust with growing need and ruthlessness. The ferocity of their movements caused Caderyn to fear for the table's fortitude. Such thoughts vanished beneath the blissful waves unleashed by Tessandra's gentle licks at the base of his shaft in between the wild thrusts.

Her fingers rose, circling Pelagia's pearl, the pressure driving her mad. Pelagia's lean muscles rippled as she arched backwards, glancing over her shoulder at him. Sweat trailed down her pale, freckled skin as she growled and grunted out his name.

"You first," Caderyn snarled, too proud to submit before the powerful redhead did.

Tessandra murmured from down below. To reinforce Caderyn's demands, the bard shifted the attention of her tongue back to Pelagia's folds, licking and suckling with intensifying need. The proud, defiant look on Pelagia's face faltered. Her dark eyes rolled back and Caderyn grinned with delight as she languished within the silent, shuddering throes of her climax.

Her movements faltered, yielding full control to Caderyn yet again. He took full advantage of that fact, plowing firmly against the knight's lean body, biting down on his lip to prevent his surging cries from echoing out into the hall.

Given the sounds his lovers had been making, it hardly seemed worth the effort.

When his cock half-withdrew from the knight, Tessandra leaned up to give his lower shaft a few rapid, firm licks. That set him afire; his fingers dug into Pelagia's hips and his throbbing cock at last relinquished the seed that had been building up within him. The pearly offering gushed deep into Pelagia's clenching sex, overflowing and sending wondrous white strands onto Tessandra's face. The bard giggled happily and continued licking.

Groaning and shuddering, Caderyn pulled out of Pelagia just in time for the next burst, casting another load onto Pelagia's sopping sex and Tessandra's smiling face. Pelagia let out a thrumming moan as Tessandra leaned up, her tongue slurping up the mess, delving into Pelagia to devour what she could of Caderyn's offering.

The sight caused his head to spin and he stumbled backwards, flopping into a chair. In breathless, awed silence he watched as Tessandra licked and nuzzled between Pelagia's thighs. Before long, deep shivers went through the redhead again. Tessandra's hunger drove Pelagia to another soft, shuddering climax that left her sobbing and spent atop the bard.

Tessandra squealed and pushed feebly against Pelagia's athletic form. Laughing, Caderyn rose and gripped the redhead's hips, turning her over and freeing the bard. Dazed eyes stared up at Caderyn.

"Saints' blood," Pelagia rasped. "Perhaps I should go thank Yvonne for getting you all worked up like that."

Rendered nearly mindless by the wondrous lovemaking, it took Caderyn a moment to process her joke. With a soft laugh, he flopped back down on the chair. The two women cooed, caressing one another and cleaning each other with delicate licks, before they both rose up to rest on the edge of the table.

"Damn it," Caderyn said after a moment.

"What's wrong?" Tessandra asked, cocking her head.

Still breathless, she crossed over to him, delicately sitting in his lap and running her fingers through his hair.

"Yvonne," he rumbled. "Melisent is going to have my head for what I did."

"She need not find out," Tessandra said softly, caressing his cheek. "Your secret is safe with us."

"She's hid nothing from me, so I can hide nothing from her. And I would not ask either of you to join me in a conspiracy of silence."

"She will understand," said Pelagia. "Yvonne is a wily woman and-"

"But I am a duke," Caderyn said, a bit of fire creeping into his voice. "And a future emperor. I can't be succumbing to the schemes of a woman like that. Especially not to Melisent'ssister."

"Half-sister," Tessandra corrected. "And even if she is cross with you, she'll forgive you. You forgave her, after all, for her part in the conspiracy against your family. Vengeful as she is towards her father, she'd not hold that sort of grudge against you."

"I hope you're right."

"Sheis right," Pelagia said with a grunt. "Like always. Now get your clothes back on, my duke, we still have a bit more research to do."

**

After a pleasantly blissful slumber, he marched downstairs to the council chamber of the occupied spire to meet with his barons. On the way down, he spotted Tessandra and Pelagia emerging from another wing of the palace, both looking well-rested and pleased with themselves.

His lovers followed him into the council chamber. The room was grand and cavernous, large enough to fit a small manor. At the center was an immense slab of green stone that matched the city's storied walls. From the ceiling dangled emerald chandeliers carved to resemble knights and dragons. Huge windows allowed in great beams of sunlight that glittered within the emerald displays above.

His barons and Father Medwin had already assembled, along with several local guildmasters who had helped organize uprisings during the assault. Father Medwin's opening prayer turned into a distant hum as Caderyn stared at the great green table.

"Has the court reached its decision regarding Thandor and Jehan yet?" Caderyn asked once Florian had given a report on the city's cisterns.

"No, my duke," said Father Medwin. "We still need several days to decide upon the tribunal and which legal mechanisms to utilize."

"There is also the matter of a regency," Florian said. "Someone to serve as a steward over the duchy until a formal arrangement can be decided upon."

"We'll solve both problems at once," Caderyn said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The tribunal will consist of Father Medwin, Baron Florian, a guildmaster, and two peasants to be elected from the locals. Give them until dusk tonight to decide who will speak for them. The tribunal can then serve as a regents' council until we decide what lies ahead for Jadewall."

"By dusk?" Father Medwin asked, frowning. "I would like to take greater care in selecting representatives from the peasantry. They must be wise, just, and even-handed."

"Then use the judgment and wisdom granted to you by the gods, and select them," Caderyn said, his impatience flaring.

With the war won, all he wanted was to return to Melisent and put the bloodshed far behind him.

"By the gods and their saints, we all know the tribunal is going to decide to execute Thandor and Jehan anyway, or at the very least toss them into a pit for the rest of their days. This is but a mere formality."

He took a deep breath and glared at the maps on the table as emerald reflections danced across the parchment. Glancing up, he pondered the glittering chandeliers for a moment, thinking back once more to the emerald-adorned dagger Thandor had yielded upon his surrender, which was a match to a gift he'd given Berent as well.

Why had that thought trickled into his head?

"And what else have you found within the manor or the spire?" Caderyn asked. "Any more evidence of Thandor's crimes?"

"We found detailed ledgers," said Florian. "A servant helped us decode them: they show payments to Baron Aelred in the form of smuggled gold."

"And anything regarding Lady Melisent? Any confirmation of the funds he sent to the assassins? Or written orders dispatching them those mercenaries to the convent or to Fellhaven?"

"Nothing. We found archives filled with other letters but not a single mention of Melisent."

"Perhaps he destroyed the evidence, my lord," said Rathgar.

Caderyn nodded at that, but his scowl only deepened. Why would Thandor destroy evidence of those schemes but spare the letters about sending gold to Aelred?

Once more the sunlight sliced through the emerald chandeliers, casting a green pallor over the maps upon the table. The shifting colors brought to mind the emerald he'd found on the body of the assassin Andros in Ravenmark. No such emerald had been found on the body of the other assassin Uberto, however.

And yet who had inspected the body of that first assassin? Whose wisdom and keen perception had unveiled the clues that had led him to the convent of Saint Sulwia?

"Berent," he murmured aloud.

"My lord?" Father Medwin asked. "Do you wish to name your brother to the tribunal? I would respectfully advise against that. The appointment of Baron Florian will be controversial enough."

Ignoring the priest's words, Caderyn rose to his feet.

"Baron Florian: the command of the army is yours. Protect the city, safeguard the frontiers, and assist Father Medwin with the creation of the tribunal and the regents' council. Provide me with consistent updates."

He'd nearly named Baron Rathgar as his proxy, but Florian was the more prudent choice due to Rathgar's northern heritage. Frowns and confused looks rippled across the faces of the councilors. Tessandra and Pelagia murmured to each other.

"I must return home at once," the young duke said. "I have lingered here long enough. To stay further, lording over these people, will make me seem like a tyrant. Better for power to pass into a council of regents for now, while I return home and make other preparations."

A flimsy, hasty lie. But it would have to suffice.

A storm of questions assailed him as he turned and stormed out of the council chambers. Ignoring their questions, he continued his ascent back up to his quarters, shouldered through the door, and then snatched up Thandor's dagger from its place beside the bed.

Gripping the dagger with all of his might, he slammed the hilt into the stone wall. The impact forced one of the emeralds free, sending it tumbling to the floor. It chimed and clattered across the stone for a few feet, then he snatched it up.

For several long, tense moments he stared at the emerald. While the long months of sorrow and war had dulled his memories, the cut of the gem did resemble the one he'd found on Andros' body. Had Berent pried the emeralds out of his matching dagger and used them to hire the assassins?

But how? And why?

After all, if Berent had orchestrated the attacks, then how did that account for Melisent meeting the assassins years earlier when they'd killed her mother? Had Thandor and Berent cooperated? If so, that meant Berent had been scheming with the duke since boyhood. And yet that made no sense, either.

Unless Melisent was lying.

Ice filled his veins ran as his fist tightened further around the emerald. Pain sliced through his palm and a thin trickle of blood leaked from his clenched fist.

**

Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me thus far! Just one more chapter left. Given the last chapter's length, it might take a bit longer for another round of editing and proofreading.