“I’m glad,” replied the man. He set his glass on a table and leaned forward to study her. Most women would have fidgeted, looked away under that intense scrutiny, but not the princess of Palanthas. Instead, she giggled again.
“I wish… I wish I had a big brother like you.”
He blinked, sitting back in surprise. “A… brother? ”
“Yes. Oh, not that you’re not a handsome man. Do you know, I think the Lady Coryn is in love with you? And Dara Lorimar certainly thought she was!”
She looked surprised at herself after she uttered the last statement, and her eyes clouded with painful memories.
“Dara Lorimar was but a girl. A lovely girl, to be sure. However, she didn’t live long enough to learn the meaning of love.” His tone was harsh.
“I know that she died too soon! But I told you before, we were friends, had been since we were little girls. And she talked about you when she came to Palanthas that last winter, when you worked for her father, protecting him, his house, his family.”
“Some protector,” snapped Jaymes. He made no effort to keep the bitterness out of his voice. His memories were also painful. “She died trying to keep the assassins away from her father, and I failed them both. I didn’t even realize they were in danger!”
“But when you found out, you honorably avenged them… and gained a whole army in the process,” Selinda said. “And didn’t you love Dara, just a little?”
“I told you, she was a young girl-a mere child!”
“She was a year older than me!”
“Well, that was a long time ago,” he countered flatly. His wine glass sat on the table beside him, forgotten. She had nearly finished hers, he noted with interest. Abruptly he tossed back the contents of his glass, rose, and crossed the room. He came back with the decanter. Selinda mutely emptied her own glass and extended it so he could pour another. This time he set the decanter between them as he once again took his seat.
“What about Lady Coryn?” Selinda asked coyly.
“What about her?” he asked sharply.
She didn’t flinch. “I… I mean… do you love her?”
“She’s a good friend, a powerful ally. She helps me, and I help her. But she wears the white robes-she loves virtues, ideals, truths that I can never wholeheartedly embrace.”
“What do you embrace?” Selinda asked. Her eyes were moist, her tone almost pleading. “Why did you take up the banner of the Lord of the Rose? Why do you lead the Army of Solamnia against the horde, when you could go any place, do anything you want? I confess you are a vexing mystery to me.”
He rose and paced around the room. He flexed his hands unconsciously, his fingers curling into fists until he forced himself to stretch them out again. For a long time he was silent, seemingly unaware that she was watching him, waiting for his answer.
“Solamnia could be the greatest country on Krynn,” he said at last. “But none of the leaders born to their roles-including your father! — have the will or the strength to forge its greatness. Coryn, because she is good, envisions a Solamnia such as once existed, defended by knights who are pure of heart, noble of deed.
“But I know that history has come too far for a realm like that to exist, except in storybooks. The world is a new place, changing more every day. It is filled with dangerous men. The greatest of the old gods are gone, and even magic is giving way to new technologies, knowledge that places power in the hands of industrial strength…”
“Technologies such as the substance that everyone talks about, your black powder?” she asked. She was staring at him, rapt.
“Yes. With that black powder, when I learn how to channel it properly, and with an army made up of natural leaders and courageous, motivated soldiers, I think that Solamnia can reach heights of greatness she has never before attained.”
“What about Solanthus?” she asked, surprising him. “Those poor people there, starving, surrounded. Do you think you will be able to free them without disaster?”
“I am going to do everything in my power to free Solanthus.” He went back to the chair and sat down, looking at her earnestly.
“I believe you are!” she exclaimed. She leaned toward him, placed her hand on his knee as she stared into his eyes. Powerful emotions shone in her look, feelings that brought a flush to her cheeks. “I do believe you are the only one who can do what you say! I don’t know why it took me so long… but it’s so clear to me, now. You are the man who might succeed where others failed… I could help you. I want to help you. I want…”
Her voice trailed off. She was breathing hard now as she looked at him, her lips parted. Nervously she moistened those lips with her tongue.
He stood up. She rose as well. Her body moved as if of its own will until she was pressed against him. She reached up to his shoulders, her eyes staring into his. Her eyes glowed with warmth and something else… Hope? She tilted her head back.
Jaymes Markham took the princess of Palanthas in his arms, and he kissed her. She was willing and kissed him back with a fury that took him by surprise. Her hands went around his back and down to his waist as she pulled him close, trying to merge her body with his.
And he made no move to push her away.
An hour later Jaymes was making his way through the vacant hall of the regent’s palatial residence. He headed for the stable, having already sent a servant to saddle his horse. It was late, and the great building was quiet and dark.
He stiffened abruptly as he approached the door. A man, armored in a rose breastplate and wearing a long red cloak, appeared from the shadows to block his path. Jaymes recognized Lord Frankish, the commander of the Palanthian Legion.
The lord marshal stopped. He was unarmed, except for a small dagger, not that he feared attack. Nevertheless he was taken aback when the other man, without warning, raised his hand, and sharply slapped a leather gauntlet across Jaymes’s face.
“You are a scoundrel, sir!” snapped Frankish. “All the palace is aware of your outrageous conduct behind closed doors with the princess. I warned you, and her father warned you. You have no business with her!”
“Do you think you have business with her?” Jaymes growled, raising a hand to rub his cheek. “Or is your true business with me?”
“Think what you will-you are a wretched fellow. I demand satisfaction!”
Jaymes snorted. “You’re challenging me to a duel? I urge you to think again. You would be out of your depth.”
“Your impertinence is astounding,” replied the lord.
“Then, sir,” Jaymes said, more irritably than angrily, “I will match you. How long will the arrangements take?”
“I have already notified my second, the wizard Sir Moorvan. He will be ready momentarily. I assume that your own wizard-”
“The Lady Coryn?”
“I know that she is within these walls, as we speak. Perhaps you would care to speak with her?”
“I’ll leave it to you to make all the arrangements, then,” Jaymes said, pushing past the man roughly enough that he knocked him off stride. In two steps the lord marshal was out the door, standing alone in the quiet of the night. Then, with a sound that was a cross between a snort of amusement and snarl of anger, he turned back to the palace.
Once again, he would slip in through the kitchen door.
Baron Dekage apologized for interrupting Coryn in the palace library. “It’s Sir Moorvan, the Kingfisher,” the baron explained. “He begs your pardon for disturbing you but insists he must see you on a matter of urgent and grave importance.”
A few moments later, dressed in her immaculate white robe with her black hair combed loosely back from her face, the wizard greeted the mage knight as he entered and bowed.
The Kingfisher wore the expression of a man burdened with ill tidings. “I was thinking that, perhaps, you had not heard the news,” he suggested to the white wizard.