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Regulus rode through the night without stopping, and all the next day, too. Concern for Adelaide preoccupied his thoughts as the sun beat down on his back. He prayed she would truly head for the palace; that she would avoid any run-ins with Carrick or the sorcerer. While he believed separating had been their best chance at success, it would be days, perhaps weeks before he saw Adelaide again, and his anxiety for her safety added to his exhaustion.
He missed her. Her absence felt like when he reached for his sword but found he wasn’t wearing it. It was a lost, unanchored sensation, and he wanted to remedy it as soon as possible. So, he shook away the drowsiness and rode on.
The sun had long set when he approached Arrano. The stars and a waning moon half-hidden behind clouds cast pale light on the outlines of his castle. Regulus rode toward the main gate, posture drooping. His dry eyes itched. A shadow on the ramparts above the gate moved.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Lord Hargreaves,” Regulus called back wearily. He recognized the man’s voice but couldn’t connect it with a face. “Who’s on watch? Maxwell?”
“Lord Hargreaves?” The guard sounded stunned. “Gerald, my lord. Maxwell’s home with his family.”
“Ah. Could you open the gate, Gerald?”
“The gate! Of course! Apologies, my lord!” Footsteps slapped hard and fast on the stone. A few moments later, a chain rattled and clacked, the portcullis lifted, and the great double doors of the gate groaned as they swung inward. Regulus nudged Sieger forward. The gate closed behind him and the portcullis settled back down with a clang. A torch bobbed toward him across the courtyard, held by a bleary-eyed stable boy, his shirt half-tucked in and twisted around his torso and his boots unlaced. Regulus dismounted and headed for the castle before the stable boy even reached Sieger. He called a thank you over his shoulder as his boots tapped against the cobblestones leading to the front door.
He didn’t want to wake Harold, but he couldn’t risk oversleeping. It took a couple knocks before Harold answered his door.
“My lord!” Harold blinked several times. “What—you’re okay! But... I—”
Regulus half smiled. “Wake me at dawn, please. I can’t sleep past then. And tell my knights to meet me in the hall for breakfast just after dawn. Oh, alert the cook, too.”
“Yes, my lord.” Harold’s brow wrinkled. His eyes were full of questions Regulus was glad he wasn’t asking, because he was too exhausted to answer.
Regulus rubbed his eyes. “Is my room locked?”
“Oh, yes, one mo—”
“Just give me the key.” Regulus held out his hand. Harold’s mouth twisted down, but he gave Regulus his copy of the key. “Good night, Harold.” Regulus trudged up the stairs to his room.
Magnus knocked him onto his backside when he stepped into the room. “Okay, boy.” He chuckled as Magnus whined and soaked his face with his large tongue. He tried to push the massive fluffy dog away, but Magnus seemed heavier and stronger than he remembered. “Down, Magnus.”
Magnus whimpered, but moved off his chest. Regulus buried his fingers in the soft, fluffy brown fur on Magnus’ neck as he walked past to his bed, giving him a quick scratch. He stripped down to his trousers and sunk into bed. Magnus curled up next to him. The dog wasn’t Adelaide by any stretch, but his warmth brought some measure of comfort.
––––––––
MORNING AND HAROLD’S voice came too soon. Regulus washed his face and shaved but had no time for a full bath. He pulled on clothes and headed to the hall, Magnus close on his heels.
Dresden, Perceval, and Caleb already sat at the table. Dresden stood as Regulus entered the room, his angular features pinched with emotion. He had dark circles under his eyes and his thick black hair was a mess, but his beard looked as well-trimmed and kempt as ever. Regulus smiled and nodded. Drez nodded back, some of the tension leaving his face as he eased back onto his chair. But he sat forward with his back ramrod straight, as if too on edge to relax.
Perceval rubbed his hand over his morning scruff and narrowed his eyes at Regulus. His nose was bright red and peeling, likely from working the field around his cottage. Caleb’s blond hair was even more tousled than usual, and the pitying look in his eyes as Regulus sat down made him wonder what they had been saying before he entered.
The door at the far end of the hall opened, and Estevan walked in. He smiled when he saw Regulus, creating deep dimples in his freckled tan face. They just needed—the main door swished open, and Jerrick strode in, panting like he had been running. He wore a bright orange shirt that contrasted well with his dark skin.
The men watched him intently with questioning eyes. Dresden’s temple pulsed. But none spoke, respecting Regulus’ right to tell them what he wanted, when he wanted. They had been called, and they knew it wasn’t as friends. They sat tall and alert, focused on their captain.
Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the kitchens opened, and servants emerged carrying trays of food, plates, and goblets filled with water. He waited for them to place the trays of bread, butter, boiled quail eggs, and thick-sliced ham on the table. He loaded his plate, even though he didn’t feel hungry between his worries over Adelaide and concerns for their upcoming mission. His men followed suit, albeit with more gusto, particularly Jerrick and Estevan, who were the youngest of the group.
Regulus cleared his throat as he spread butter over a piece of warm bread. “I’m certain you have questions. I will try to cover everything, but we are pressed for time.” He ate a couple bites before continuing. “Much has happened since I left. Of first importance,” he set down his bread and rolled up his sleeve, showing the underside of his forearm, “the sorcerer released me. My debt is fulfilled.”
Dresden, still sitting forward like he was afraid to let his back touch his chair, froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. Perceval choked on his water. Estevan grinned. Jerrick muttered something in Bhitran that sounded like a prayer of thanks to Hallilek. Caleb slumped back in his seat.
“Then it’s over?” Dresden lowered his hand to the table.
Regulus sighed. “Not really, no.” He took a long drink. No one moved. “Unfortunately, the sorcerer is actually a prince. Prince Kirven. The king’s brother. He is plotting to kill the king and seize the throne.”
“So send the king a message.” Dresden glowered. “Who is king doesn’t concern us.”
“Considering the sorcerer seems bent on death, destruction, and revenge...yes, it should concern us.” Regulus tapped his finger against the side of his goblet. “But more directly, it concerns Adelaide and me.”
“He took Lady Belanger,” Perceval said, a stated guess more than a question.
“No. Adelaide is safe, or at least she was last I saw her. But if the sorcerer succeeds, neither of us will be safe.”
“Everything he made you do, everything he did to you, and he can’t leave you alone?” Dresden’s raised voice echoed in the hall.
“The sorcerer? Perhaps. But, unfortunately...” Regulus’ hand tightened around his goblet. He drew a steadying breath. “He has a new pet. A willing servant to whom he has promised wealth and political power for accepting the mark. If the sorcerer succeeds, Nolan Carrick succeeds with him. I’ll be a dead man, and Adelaide...” He cracked open a quail egg with more force than necessary and began eating its soft-boiled contents.
The men stared in stunned silence. Finally, Caleb asked, “Carrick...has the mark?”
“Yes,” Regulus said around a mouthful of bread and yolk.
“He’s like you were?” Perceval waved the piece of bread in his hand. “Strong, fast...immortal?”
Regulus nodded as he took a large bite of ham. Dresden cursed. Repeatedly and at length, his face red. Regulus had expected a negative response, but Dresden looked as if he’d taken Carrick joining the sorcerer personally.
“Reg.” Dresden’s voice was low and strained, and he glared at the table like he was considering stabbing it. “Where’s Adelaide?”
“On her way to warn the king. We’re not sure if any messengers got through. If she does as we agreed, she’s going to the palace.”
“If?” Estevan swallowed a mouthful of food and tilted his head. “Why are you here, then?”
Regulus took a drink and set down the goblet harder than intended. He focused on the goblet. He needed to keep calm. To be a captain, not an emotionally compromised fool.
“Through a series of events, Adelaide and I were headed back to her father’s castle when we learned that Carrick took the castle and is holding her parents hostage.” He looked up, meeting each of their eyes. “That’s why I called you here. We have a new assignment. We’re rescuing Lord and Lady Belanger.”
“From a castle?” Drez gestured to the men at the table. “With what army? You’re not immortal anymore, need I remind you, and we’d be facing someone who is! Six men can’t storm a castle. And then we’ll have to face Carrick?” His hands fisted on either side of his plate. “Do you have a plan? Some secret that will give us an advantage? Do—”
“Enough!” Regulus slammed his fist on the table. Drez’s objections had already occurred to him, and he knew his friend had a point. But he’d made a promise. “We leave in half an hour.”
Dresden’s eyes flashed. “That’s not an ans—”
“Sir Dresden,” Regulus snapped. “Am I your captain or not? Am I your liege or not?” He hated himself even as he said it, and he hated the hard look that slipped over his best friend’s face, the uncomfortable way the rest of the men averted their eyes. But he didn’t have time to waste arguing.
Dresden worked his jaw. “Regulus, attacking Carrick when he has the mark, especially in a castle, is—”
“We’ll aim for stealth.”
“And if we’re caught?” Dresden demanded. “You—”
“Sir Jakobs! Do I answer to you? Or do you answer to me?”
Dresden’s face darkened. He pushed away from the table and stood, his movements stiff. “I’ll be ready in the courtyard in half an hour, my lord.” The tightness in his voice cut straight through Regulus, but he didn’t soften his expression or flinch. They had an agreement. In private, Drez could say whatever he wanted, but he didn’t question Regulus in front of the men. Dresden gave an abrupt, shallow bow, straightening with a momentary wince, and strode from the hall.
Jerrick leaned back in his chair with a disapproving frown. “He didn’t deserve that. Especially not after what happened.”
Regulus’ stomach pinched at Jerrick’s tone. “What happened?”
The men glanced at each other. None looked eager to share.
“What. Happened?”
Jerrick pulled at his shirt collar. “When Carrick came...we weren’t here. Perceval and I didn’t see them arrive. Estevan and Caleb were out hunting. When they couldn’t find you, Carrick threatened to beat Dresden until you showed yourself. Sir Gaius convinced him not to.”
Perceval scratched his stubble. “Sir Gaius and Lord Drummond left, but Carrick stayed to see if you would return.” The men seemed fascinated with their food as Regulus’ chest clenched.
“He beat him,” Harold said from the stairwell. Regulus turned toward his squire. Harold’s tear-filled eyes blazed. “You were gone! Carrick was angry, so he hit Dresden. He punched him, again and again. Then he had his knights tie Dresden to a tree, and he took a belt to him. Because he knew hurting Dresden would hurt you. Thankfully, that knight arrived saying he’d seen the Black Knight and Lady Adelaide, so Carrick only used the belt a few times, but he hit hard. The bruises haven’t fully healed.” Harold clenched and unclenched his fists. “I should have done something.”
Regulus’ stomach lurched and his hands shook. He swallowed hard. “No, Harold...” Guilt choked off his words. He’d abandoned Drez. But he hadn’t thought...he couldn’t have known... I’m going to cut Carrick’s head off.
Harold slunk back up the stairs, shoulders drooping.
Regulus shoved his plate away, his appetite gone, but didn’t get up. He wouldn’t run away. The men ate in silence, glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes. One by one they left until only he and Perceval remained.
“He doesn’t blame you, Captain.”
Dresden should blame him. But blame wouldn’t help them rescue the Belangers. “He might have a point about trying to infiltrate a castle being a bad idea. It will be difficult, and...” He rubbed his temple. “I don’t want to know what Carrick will do to you all if he captures you.”
“We’d follow you anywhere, Captain. Drez is just being cautious.” Perceval stood. “I trust you, Captain. You always come through.”
Reluctantly, Regulus looked up. “What if I’m not sure how to do this?”
“I’d be dead half a dozen times over if not for you. You know I wouldn’t have settled down and served any random lord. Even Leonora couldn’t get me to do that. But I’ll fight anyone you ask me to. I’d die for you.” Perceval tapped his hand on the back of his chair. “We all would, Captain.”
“Thank you, Perceval. But I don’t want anyone to die for me.”
Perceval nodded with a smile. “That’s why we’d do it.”
Regulus slouched as Perceval left the hall. He tossed Magnus a piece of ham and returned to his room. It didn’t take long to put on a gambeson and his lightest chainmail shirt over his shirt. He needed speed and flexibility more than he wanted the extra protection of plate armor. As soon as he’d strapped a sword to his side, he headed to the stables. Dresden was there, his scimitars crossed over his back, waiting for a stable boy to saddle his brown destrier. After Regulus spoke to another stable boy, Dresden came over to him.
“Can I speak with you?” Drez murmured.
“Actually, I was going to ask you the same.” They stepped out of the stables. Dresden opened his mouth, but Regulus cut him off. “They told me what Carrick did.” Dresden flushed crimson. “I’m sorry...” He struggled to find the right words.
“I told you I’d take a beating for you someday.” Dresden smiled sadly and winked. “I’d say we’re even, except a belt doesn’t leave the scars a whip does.”
“You never owed me.”
“And you never owed me, but you don’t listen.”
Regulus ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the pommel of his sword, his face burning. “Are you—”
“I’m fine now, Reg. Worse was not knowing if you were alive for the last week. Not knowing if you’d ever come back. Why didn’t you send word?”
“We were... I... There was a lot...” He hung his head. “I should have thought to. I’m sorry.”
Dresden sighed. “Now you show up, tell me the man who tried to have you killed and beat me is immortal and teamed up with the sorcerer while you’re normal again, and you want to face him? I panicked.” He crossed his arms. “But I apologize. I shouldn’t have publicly challenged you.”
Regulus sighed. “But I shouldn’t—”
“No. I was wrong, and I deserved that.”
Regulus shook his head. “You’re my friend first, Drez.”
“And you’re my friend. My brother. Always.” Dresden scratched his beard. “But you’re my captain and my liege, too.” He grimaced. “We can’t be equals. No matter how much I wish otherwise.”
Regulus winced. He wanted to argue Dresden’s point about not being equals, but he couldn’t. Not when raising Dresden to the knighthood had made his best friend his vassal. Not when he’d just exercised that authority in a way that highlighted their inequalities and probably made Dresden feel like a servant again.
“But between us, I’m concerned.” Drez shifted his weight from side to side. “I don’t say this to blame you, so don’t hear that. Carrick hates you. Enough he took it out on me with his fists and a belt. He’d have used a whip if he had one.” More guilt pricked at Regulus. “He thinks he’s untouchable now he’s in league with the sorcerer. If Carrick captures the men, what do you think he’ll do to them? And you? He’ll tear you apart.”
Regulus fiddled with a strap on his gauntlet. “Which is why we won’t act until we’ve scouted out the situation and agreed on a plan.” He met Dresden’s eyes. “I won’t risk you all. The Belangers will have to wait until we have a plan that has a strong chance of success. But I have to try. I promised.”
Drez smiled wryly. “A Hargreaves promise is a powerful thing.”
Regulus sighed as the stable boys led out their horses. I just hope I haven’t made a promise I can’t keep.
