Knight's Ransom (The First Argentines #1)

“Of course you aren’t,” the king snapped. “That’s a myth. It’s . . . it’s a fable from the ages.” He snapped his fingers. “There are no Wizrs anymore. No magic rings. But I care not about that. DeVaux believed you were. That is why he insisted on getting his full recompense. If people continue to believe that you are, then you will be valuable to me, worth more than five thousand livres.” He glanced at his wife. “Stop glaring at me, Emiloh! On with it, then. You were summoned to Kingfountain, Sir Ransom, to serve the King of Ceredigion. To be part of the king’s mesnie. From what Bryon has told me, you’re quite lethal with a blade. You fought well in the Brugian campaign, you’ve done well at Chessy, and most importantly, you saved me from paying an even heftier ransom for my dear wife. I owe you at least forty-five thousand livres for that!”

Ransom blinked in surprise. “I’m to serve you, my lord?”

“Not at all!” he chortled. “I said the King of Ceredigion. You will serve our eldest son. Your duty is to keep that feckless young man alive!”





Why does loyalty always demand such a heavy tax? I am furious right now and have already shattered one of the palace mirrors. I was aiming for the wall. King Devon, may the Fountain drown him, has demanded of Da that I marry his youngest son, that sniveling little prince. His eldest brothers have been given kingdoms and duchies, so why not find something else for the royal brat? Of course, the king stooped to remind Da of the help he offered us in reclaiming Legault, my hereditary right. Yet does not that very hereditary right grant me, the daughter of a queen, the right he seeks to wrest from me? Why irk a man and his daughter so? Why try to strangle their consciences? Even according to the precepts of Virtus, which I despise, a lady is to be wooed by a knight who proves his worth through deeds of valor. The prince is still pinching his own pimples. Why did we come to court? Now I just desire to go back to Legault. This court is poisonous. I want nothing of it.

—Claire de Murrow, Daughter of the Queen of Legault

(in case anyone has forgotten)





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Queen’s Charge

Ransom’s mind was awhirl at the change of events as Sir Iain led him away from the king’s chamber to another where he would be dressed in the royal regalia in preparation for his meeting with Devon the Younger. He learned during the walk that Devon had earned the title “the Younger” because once, as a child, he had demanded entry into his father’s royal council by announcing that he was like his father, only younger. They’d laughed at his boldness then and admitted him, and the name had stuck ever since.

Ransom was given a silver-and-blue velvet tunic embroidered with the royal insignia of the Silver Rose. The cloth was the softest he’d ever felt. He’d observed since coming to Kingfountain that most of the men in court wore their hair long, to the shoulders or longer, as if they were competing with the women, but they also had beards. It was not the fashion in Occitania, and Ransom wondered if his visit to the barber had been the right move. He wasn’t clean-shaven, but his beard was cropped close. Sir Iain’s was pointed at the chin.

“After the coronation, you will live wherever your master goes,” said the chamberlain. “You will travel with the king or do the errands he bids you.”

“Which king?” Ransom asked.

Sir Iain gave him a sidelong look. “The younger, of course. Naturally. And he will go on doing the work his father the king bids him.”

“So there will be two kings ruling Kingfountain? The father is not giving up his authority?”

Sir Iain chortled. “Why would he?”

“Not any of it? What will his son be king of, may I ask?”

Sir Iain looked at Ransom’s tunic critically and nodded. “It fits well. To answer your question bluntly, Sir Ransom, he will be a king of ceremonies. Royal events, greeting visitors and dignitaries.”

“How is he a king, then?” Ransom asked, feeling a growing unease at this news. Would the son chafe in such a role? A title with no power was not much of a title at all.

“He is a king in waiting,” said Sir Iain. “There is no doubt that he will rule his father’s vast holdings. No argument over succession. The lad has been trained in war, wisdom, and the faith. His young wife is one of the daughters of King Lewis of Occitania. What more could a man ask for? This is the way of court, Sir Ransom. It is not your place to second-guess His Majesty’s will.”

Ransom heard a little clicking noise, and the wall nearby swung open, revealing Queen Emiloh. Her sudden arrival startled Ransom, especially her use of a concealed door.

“Your Highness!” he said in alarm, preparing to drop to his knee, but she forestalled him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Please, Ransom, save such demonstrations for the great hall.”

“My lady,” Sir Iain said with a sigh, “it’s not fit for the queen to make use of the escape tunnels.”

“I appreciate your advice, Sir Iain, but a queen may do whatever she wishes. And I wish to speak privately with this young knight.”

Sir Iain sighed again, more openly this time. “Which is my command to withdraw. My lady, I feel it is my duty to advise you this is highly improper. Please lock the door after I exit. There are enough rumors wagging through this castle as it is.”

“I will, Sir Iain. Come back to my chamber to discuss the coronation.”

“As you command,” he replied, without even bowing, and went to the door. After he was gone, Queen Emiloh bolted it.

Ransom’s insides twisted. He felt the pressure of the moment, of being in an unexpected private audience with the queen. Her look was serious, even worried, and she stood by the door a moment, bowing her head, her brow furrowed. At last she turned and looked at him.

“My husband’s displays of pride and candor take some getting used to.” He judged by her look of concern that she didn’t like them. “You are new to the Argentine court, Ransom. It is different from how it was under King Gervase’s rule, from what I’ve been told. You would know better on that score.” She dipped her head to him, as if acknowledging his superior first-hand knowledge. He felt humbled by her manners, and the tight coil in his stomach began to loosen. “I came here merely to offer my counsel, if you’ll have it.”