"Would you not?" Geoffrey snapped. "Then your sense of honor shall cause you to be slain some day, Highness!" And he leaped in to the attack again.
Alain saw his one chance to regain the offensive, and took it, leaping aside from the blow and thrusting at full extension—but Geoffrey twisted to parry in a gyration that Alain would have thought impossible, and slashed backhanded at the young Prince's chest. Alain parried in the nick of time, then parried again and again, giving ground with each stroke. His companions howled their alarm and pressed in, but Alain bawled at them to hold their places.
Then, suddenly, Geoffrey's blade swirled around his own, his hilt twisted in his hand and wrenched against the fingers, and his sword went flying away through the air.
Aghast, he stared at the point of Geoffrey's blade, six inches from his face.
The young knights cried out in alarm and spurred their horses.
"Back!" Geoffrey roared. "Or my hand might slip!" The knights reined in, hard.
"Now," grated Geoffrey, "you shall apologize to me on my sister's behalf, Your Highness, and swear to take your apologies to her in person, or I shall witness the color of your entrails with my own eyes."
Alain tried to glare back at him, but he remembered the rash words he had snapped at Cordelia, and dropped his gaze in chagrin. "I do most humbly apologize, for those were rude words indeed that I spoke, and the lady deserved them not in the slightest." He lifted his head, looking back into Geoffrey's puzzled gaze. "As to fear of yourself or your blade, why, if you think me a coward to have apologized at sword's point, then stab with that point, and be done! You have sneered at the notion of honor, so I shall not be surprised you have so little of it yourself, that you would slay an unarmed man!"
Sir Devon gasped, gathering himself for a desperate spring—but Geoffrey's eyes only narrowed to slits. Before he could speak, Alain went on. "Yet be advised, young warlock, that your sister's words had a sting of their own, and did stab me most unexpectedly."
"Did that warrant your insults and threats of revenge?" Geoffrey countered, grim-faced.
"I spoke in anger, hurt, and shame," Alain replied. "I spoke rashly and foolishly. Surely, Geoffrey, you know that I would never dream of hurting Cordelia—and to realize that I have done so is cause for great shame! I shall apologize as honor dictates I must, apologize to the lady most abjectly!"
"Why, how now?" Geoffrey eyed him warily. "Will you do what honor dictates, when your station contradicts it?"
"Honor is of more import than rank," Alain returned. "In truth, I cannot honestly claim royal station if I have lost honor. Nay, I shall apologize to your sister as soon as I may come to her."
Geoffrey tried to maintain the glare, but had to let it drop, and his sword's point with it. He eyed his old friend with disgust. "Why, how can I stay angry with you, if you behave so admirably? You are a most aggravating opponent, Prince Alain!"
"And you a most astounding one," Alain returned, suppressing a tremor of relief. "I have never been beaten before, save in childhood duels with yourself. You humiliated me, for you were two years my junior—and you have done so again now."
"You have deserved it," Geoffrey said grimly.
"I know that I have." Alain frowned. "Yet we have not duelled since we were twelve, for my father forbade it."
"Aye." Geoffrey smiled. "He forbade it as soon as we were old enough to be truly a danger to one another. One must not imperil the heir to the throne."
"You would not have slain me!"
"Not with purpose, no. Accidents have happened with swords ere now, though, and will happen again. 'Tis a dangerous game."
"But how could you win so easily?" Alain protested. "Partly by my own skill." Geoffrey's anger had largely abated. "The other part was your overconfidence."
"None have won against me save you!"
"Of course they have not." With friendly exasperation, Geoffrey explained, "Who among your courtiers would dare to defeat the Heir Apparent, Alain?"
Alain stared. "You do not mean they have let me win!"
"Certainly they did! Would any man in the Court dare to antagonize the future King, whose favor will determine each man's fortune?"
Alain looked away, numb and confounded. "I had thought myself the epitome of courtesy and chivalry!"
"Well, mayhap in your daily conduct." Geoffrey relented. "Yet surely not when you are angered. Your speech with my sister was somewhat less than charming, Alain." The Prince looked up again, alarmed. "Less! How rude was I, Geoffrey? I came so filled with enthusiasm and excitement that I may, ah, have overlooked the niceties."
"Niceties?" Geoffrey grinned. "Forsooth, Alain! You did not send word of your coming, you did not ask to be admitted, you virtually commanded the lady to appear and, worse, informed her that she was your choice! A lover should plead and sue, not command!"
"Should he indeed?" Alain stared. "I know naught of this."
"That," Geoffrey said drily, "is somewhat apparent" Alain's gaze wandered again. "I had never thought to court a lady! Princes' marriages are arranged for them; I did not think to have choice, nor to have to woo, and therefore never learned the way of it."
"No, you surely have not." Geoffrey felt a stab of sympathy for his friend. "A lad does not dictate nor condescend to the lady whom he loves, Alain, and well she knows it. She must be sure that he yearns for her so greatly that he will cherish her always."
Alain frowned, puzzled. "How do you know so much of it?"
Geoffrey answered with a knowing grin. "Ah, well, my friend, I am not a Prince, nor do I have so exalted a sense of forbearance as you seem to have."
"You do not mean that you have courted ladies!"
"Well, not ladies," Geoffrey allowed. "With them, I have only flirted, stealing no more than a kiss or two. With ladies of one's own station, one is apt to be constrained to become a husband, if one seeks to dally. With commoners, though, there is less expectation, and greater willingness."
"You have flirted with chambermaids and milkmaids, then?"
"I will own to that," Geoffrey admitted, "and to having won their favors."
Alain ached to ask just how extensive those favors had been, but it would have been rude. The sudden, overwhelming realization struck him: any favors he had won from women had been almost by accident—and intoxication. "Alas! If I am not the chivalrous knight I had thought myself, however am I to win your sister's love?"
"Chivalry does not always have a great deal to do with it," Geoffrey allowed. "Do you truly wish to win Cordelia, though? Or is it only that you have been ordered to?"
"I have not been so ordered!" Alain cried vehemently. "She is my choice, my heart's desire! I have known that I loved her since I was fourteen!"
Geoffrey sat still a moment, absorbing the fact of his friend's passion. Then he said quietly, "Well, well. You have kept your own counsel well, have you not?"
"So have I been bred." Alain looked away. "My father has taught me that a king must indeed do so, for his bosom will need to hold many secrets."
"You have kept this one too well. I doubt that my sister knows anything of it."
"But how am I to tell her?" Alain cried. "I cannot merely step up to her and declare it!"
Now it was Geoffrey's gaze that wandered. "No-o-o-o," he agreed. "That would be unwise. You must create the right mood for such an announcement, if you wish her to believe you."
"Why, how is this?" Alain stared, astounded. "Is there no love arising by itself, from a woman? Might not she fall in love with me ere I have even spoke a word?"