A solid bass wafted through the panel. "It’s Milnar, Lady. Is everything all right in there?”
"Everything is fine, Milnar," she called back. "I’m just getting ready for bed."
"Very well, Lady Willafrida. I’m sorry I disturbed you." Heavy footsteps retreated down the corridor at a rapid pace.
Willafrida returned her attention to Edward. "A guard. They check on me all the time." She patted the bed, indicating Edward should sit again. "You were just telling me you have no claim to Alyndar’s throne."
Prince Edward considered excuses for leaving now, but none seemed good enough this early in the conversation. Apparently, she had called him up only to chat and get to know him. It was way too soon to know whether or not they would prove compatible. "My brother, Leyne. He’s the crown prince.”
Willafrida made a wordless noise to indicate interest. The intensity of the sound suggested fascination with the brother rather than the conversation. Her next question enforced the impression. "Is he married?"
“No."
"How old?"
"Twenty-six.”
Finally, Willafrida turned the conversation back to Edward. "And you?"
“I’m not married either. And I’m eighteen."
Willafrida frowned, obviously surprised at the numbers.
Edward guessed the duchess-heir had a few years on him and it bothered her. Usually, noblewomen married men a few years older or sometimes, in the case of an aging ruler without an heir, decades older. He hoped age differences did not matter too much to women, not because of Willafrida but because of Kelryn. Conversation, comments overheard, and appearance indicated the dancer was a few years older even than Willafrida. Edward’s mother had taught him emotion took first precedence; and, for all his father’s wealth and power, she had married for love. She had come from a rich family, and status had never held attraction for her. She more often escaped than embraced the duties of being queen.
"Does your brother look like you?”
Edward pictured Leyne. He had never thought much about comparing appearances, although he had always envied his brother’s shrewd eyes and knowledge of court procedure. "In a general sense, I guess. He’s bigger than me, and he’s got dark eyes."
Willafrida’s gaze roved up and down Edward’s tall, firm frame as if to imagine someone larger.
The prince assisted the image. "Not taller, just more muscular. He’s the one to watch at the Tylantian contests. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t win.”
"Why would the crown prince of Alyndar need an eastern duchy?"
"My brother surrender a chance to pit his weapon skill against some of the best fighters on the continent?" Edward shrugged. "He’d sooner give up food. Besides, my father is strong and healthy. If Leyne waited for him to die before gaining land and status, he might not do so until his own sons became ready to take the throne." He added jokingly, "Assuming he ever marries, of course."
“Of course," Willafrida repeated, pensive.
The door knob rattled, echoing through the chamber. Before Edward could think to move, the door swung open. A portly, frizzle-haired gentleman approaching seventy stood in the entry, flanked by three guards in Schizian bronze and black.
"Father!” Willafrida sprang to her feet, the sudden movement nearly knocking Edward to the floor.
Prince Edward recaptured his balance and rose politely for introductions.
"What?" the duke stammered. "How?"
“I can explain," Willafrida started, but the duke gestured her silent.
"I don’t want to hear from you right now. Go to your bed."
Willafrida hesitated.
“Go!"
She went, and the duke’s attention locked on the approaching prince. "Stand where you are!"
Edward stopped, halfway across the chamber.
“Who are you, young man?"
Prince Edward bowed respectfully. “Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar, sir."
The title barely seemed to impress the duke. "What were you doing in my daughter’s bedroom.”
"Talking, sir." Edward glanced over at Willafrida who had skittered to the center of her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest.
"Talking‘?" the duke repeated. "Talking! You sneak into my daughter’s locked bedroom like some common assassin and have the nerve to tell me you were talking?"
"We were talking," Edward said again, not entirely certain of the answer the duke wanted or, more likely, expected.
"Prince or other, no man despoils my daughter’s body and reputation. My physician can determine whether you’ve seduced my daughter and ruined her for decent marriage. But first, I will give you a chance to state your intentions."
Humiliation turned Edward’s cheeks red. He knew some relief as well. He had done nothing wrong or disrespectful to the duchess-heir, and surely the physician’s examination would reveal that.
The duke went straight to the point. "Prince Edward, do you plan to marry my daughter?"
"Marry her?" Edward repeated, trying to make sense of the words. "Marry Willafrida?"
"Do you plan to marry my daughter?"
Edward replied honestly. "Well, no, sir."
The duke’s face darkened to purple. He gestured to his guards. "Take him away and lock him up." He turned on his heel and strode from the room as the guards advanced.
Edward did not resist.
The booming voice of the Duke of Schiz and the wail of the oath-bond aroused Nightfall from a half-doze. He scrambled up the ladder, watching in stunned silence while the duke’s guardsmen arrested his prince for no more reason than entering his daughter’s bedroom. The situation made no sense to Nightfall. His mother’s nightly strings of bedtime clients had ill-prepared him for considering the mere act of being found in a woman’s sleeping chamber a crime serious enough to deserve jailing. Yet Edward’s quiet acceptance of his punishment suggested guilt.
Nightfall waited only until the guardsmen closed the door behind themselves and Edward. He listened for the sounds of returning footsteps and heard nothing over the ear-filling clamor of the oath-bond. Finally, he slithered through the window and to the side of Willafrida’s bed, resisting the urge to clutch his stomach in agony. The oath-bond felt like a burning knife, twisting through his guts. "Where’s your dungeon?"
Willafrida stiffened, obviously not noticing the intruder until he spoke. “Our dungeon? It’s deep. Below the ground floor. But why?"
Nightfall suspected he might have only a few moments before the duke returned to confront his daughter alone. He stumbled from the room, batting the door without bothering to see if it fully closed. Willafrida could handle that. He had graver matters to attend.
"Sudian, wait." Willafrida’s desperate whisper chased him down the corridor, but Nightfall dared not stop. Movement toward the goal of rescuing Edward dimmed the oath-bond’s alarm enough to let him function. If he turned back, he felt certain it would overwhelm him, driving him to twitch and writhe until it robbed him of soul as well as vigor. Finding the hallway empty, he charged toward a corner tower at random. He hit the door running, scarcely managing to trip the latch as he did so. The panel slammed open, crashing into a waiting guardsman so hard it sent him tumbling down the stairs, armor ringing against stone.
Nightfall cursed his lack of caution and his luck. Obviously, the guard had not expected trouble from the second story and so had positioned himself to block the exit from an intruder coming from below. Seeing no merit to trying to find another stairway now, Nightfall pounded down the steps, the oath-bond seething. On the next landing, he found the fallen guard sprawled, another crouched at his side. Glad for the distraction, Nightfall charged past, leaping down the stone stairway into the gloom below.