“You are insane,” Victor shot back, suppressing a bitter laugh. “I sent Myron to the abbey when he was barely four years old. He hasn’t set foot outside its walls in thirty-two years. All he is good for is scribbling books. To my knowledge, Alenda has never even spoken to him. This whole story is obviously a pathetic attempt to have me pressure Alenda into marrying you, and I know why. You don’t care about her. You want her dowry. The Rilan Valley borders ever so nicely against your own lands. Not to mention, marrying into my family would be quite a boost for you, socially and politically.”
“Pathetic, am I?” Archibald set down his glass and produced a key on a silver neck chain from inside his shirt. He rose and crossed the room to a tapestry depicting a Calian prince on horseback abducting a fair-haired noblewoman. He drew it back revealing the hidden safe, and inserting the key, opened the small metal door.
“I have a stack of letters written in your precious daughter’s hand that proves it. They tell of her undying love for her disgusting peasant.”
“How did you get these letters?”
“I stole them from her. I knew she was seeing someone and wanted to know who y rival was, so I had her followed. Once I discovered she was sending letters, I arranged to have them intercepted.” From the safe, Archibald brought forth a stack of parchments and dropped them in Victor’s lap. “There!” he declared triumphantly. “Read what your daughter has been up to, and decide for yourself whether or not she would be better off marrying me.”
Archibald lifted his brandy glass victoriously; he had won. In order to avoid political ruin, Victor Lanaklin, the great Marquis of Glouston, would order his daughter to marry him. Finally, he would have the borderland, and perhaps in time, he would control the whole of the marchland. With Chadwick in his right hand and Glouston in his left, his power at court would rival that of the Duke of Rochelle.
Looking down at the old, gray-haired man in his fine traveling clothes, Archibald almost felt sorry for him. Once long ago, the marquis had enjoyed a reputation for cleverness and fortitude. Such distinction came with the title. The marquis was no mere noble, nor was he a simple sheriff of the land like an earl or a count. He was responsible for guarding the king’s borders. This was a serious duty, which required a capable leader, an ever-vigilant man tested in battle. However, now that the frontier was no longer under threat of attack, the great guard had become complacent, and his strength had withered from lack of use.
As Victor opened the letters, Archibald contemplated his future with relish. The marquis was right. He was after the land that came with his daughter. Still, Alenda was attractive, and the thought of forcing her to his bed was more than a little appealing.
“Archibald, is this a joke?” Victor questioned.
Startled from his thoughts, Archibald set down his drink. “What do you mean?”
“These parchments are all blank.”
“What? Are you blind? They’re—” Archibald stopped when he saw the empty pages in the marquis’ hand. He grabbed a handful of letters and tore them open, only to find still more blank parchments. “This is impossible!”
“Perhaps they were written in disappearing ink?” Victor smirked.
“No…I don’t understand…these aren’t even the same parchments!” He rechecked the safe but found it empty. His confusion turned to panic. He tore open the door and called anxiously for Bruce. The master-at-arms rushed in, his sword at the ready. “What happened to the letters I had in this safe?” Archibald shouted at the soldier.
“I…I don’t know, my lord,” Bruce replied. He sheathed his weapon and stood at attention before the earl.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Have you left your post at all this evening?”
“No, sir, of course not.”
“Did anyone, anyone at all, enter my study during my absence?”
“No, my lord that is impossible; you hold the only key.”
“Then where in Maribor’s name are those letters? I put them there myself. I was reading them when the marquis arrived. I was only gone a few minutes. How could they disappear like that?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”
“Shut up. Shut up, you imbecile! I need to think.”
Archibald’s mind raced. He had them in his hands only moments ago. He had locked them in the safe; he was convinced of that fact. Where had they gone?
Victor drained his glass and stood up. “If you don’t mind, Archie, I’ll be leaving now. This has been a tremendous waste of my time.”
“Victor, wait. Don’t go. The letters are real. I had them!”
“But of course you did, Archie. The next time you plan to blackmail me, I suggest you provide a better bluff.” He crossed the room, passed through the door, and disappeared down the stairs.
“You had better consider what I said, Victor,” Archibald yelled after him. “I’ll find those letters. I will! I’ll bring them to Aquesta! I’ll hold them up at court!”
“What do you want me to do, my lord?” Bruce asked.