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“But why not? You’re Archduke Armand’s firstborn son. It is your right…”
Her voice faded away as too late she remembered Archduke Armand’s terrible pronouncement—that Nicholas was never to succeed him upon the throne.
“Surely the pronouncement was unjust,” she hurried on. “Especially if, as you believe, Julian did indeed conspire to turn your father against you. If your quarrel was due to that and not to your own misdeeds, surely your father’s edict need not stand.”
“I will honor it.” The grim finality of his tone sliced through her like a knife’s blade. “As I never properly honored him in his lifetime.”
He spun away from her and strode to the window, staring past the rich velvet curtains at the rolling, fertile land beyond.
Suddenly she wanted to go to him. She didn’t know why. She only knew that she wanted to touch his cheek, his hair, to smooth that hard jaw, as if by doing so she could smooth away the pain he tried to hide.
But her feet were rooted to the floor. He looked so unapproachable. So strong and resolute. As if he would never need the soothing word or touch of a girl he could only regard as a nuisance.
“My lord, perhaps you could reconsider…for Dinadan…” Sir Castor began, but Nicholas interrupted.
“My father died without my ever having reconciled with him.” He spoke with a harsh matter-of-factness, but in his eyes she saw the dark flash of grief for just a moment. Then it was gone, hidden, and the cool, light grayness was back, revealing nothing of his soul. “For that I will never forgive myself. Or Julian.”
He turned toward them again. “The edict cannot be overturned. I won’t allow it. That would be the ultimate disrespect for my father’s wishes. Enough.” He held up a hand as Sir Castor started to argue. “It’s done with. Let’s talk of strategy.”
Nicholas gazed from one to the other of them. “I’ve been mulling the matter all morning and now have the seedlings of a plan.”
Late that afternoon, four of Duke Julian’s feared black-masked soldiers rode through the tip of the Great Forest, just east of the castle walls.
Suddenly a log fell across the road. Their horses reared up in alarm. Before the soldiers could even draw their swords, they were surrounded.
It was a brief and bloody battle.
Nicholas killed the two brawniest with two sweeps of his sword. Sir Castor’s men-at-arms slew the others.
Arianne watched from beneath an oak tree at the edge of the forest, her heart in her throat. In this battle there was little for her to do. But she would soon play a part.
Once inside the castle, she would get her chance to be of use. She could finally strike back at Julian, could finally get Marcus out of that cell. No longer would she have to rush around the inn discreetly gathering information, trying to concoct a workable plan. Now she would be inside Castle Doom itself, where she could act.
And Nicholas would be working with her. His presence inspired confidence. Yet, she acknowledged as she somberly watched the battle in the road, they were only two.
Somehow they must thwart Duke Julian, who had all the power of Dinadan at his command. His Captain of Arms, a man known as Baylor, was feared by all who encountered him, and his knights were known for their ruthlessness and efficiency.
Capture would mean imprisonment and almost certain death.
What lay before them would be more dangerous than anything Arianne had ever imagined back in Castle Galeron, before Marcus had been taken prisoner. But she refused to let her thoughts dwell on that.
When one of Sir Castor’s men brought her the garments of the smallest knight who had been killed, she retreated into the forest and donned them quickly. A short time later, Duke Julian’s company was again seen making its way toward the castle.
Over the drawbridge and beneath the portcullis they went. Leaving their horses for the royal groomsmen, they entered the great hall. The largest and the smallest of the four ducked without incident into a small, little-used chamber branching off the corridor that led to the solar.
“Quickly,” Nicholas growled as Arianne tore off her mask and guard’s cloak.
“I’m moving as quickly as I can,” she snapped. Her fingers flung off the heavy tunic.
Beneath the guard’s uniform she wore the sedate green-gold gown of a lady-in-waiting, provided by Sir Castor’s wife.
“Do you remember how to reach the duchess’s apartments?” Nicholas asked as he rolled the discarded garments into a bundle, then draped his cloak over them.
“Down this hall and through the first chamber on the left. Nicholas…” She touched his arm as he reached forward to ease open the door.
“Take care,” she blurted out, suddenly shy as she met his cool gaze. He stared down at her, and Arianne tried to slow the thumping of her heart. It suddenly occurred to her that if something went awry, this might be the last time she ever saw him.
Fear for him more than for herself made her tremble.