Once Xenon hit full gallop, he was hard to stop. Judd knew that in order to do so, he’d have to hold fast to the reins and draw back firmly for long seconds until Xenon’s tempestuous mind realised he was being told to slow down. However, the gallop from the outcrop to Fort Mavour had done what Judd didn’t think was capable of doing which was to find the bottom of Xenon’s energy. Not his willpower, apparently because he resisted the pull to slow…but gave in much more quickly than ever before.

  He dropped to a canter, briefly into a trot before walking and stopping in front of the gates.

  Judd rubbed his neck, feeling the nomadic stallion’s chest heave strongly.

  There was little else to do but wait for the others to catch up…

  …and to not look smug when they did.

  “Unbelievable!” Kipre crowed as they arrived on horses that were wheezing almost violently. “My mount is one of the fastest in the stables.”

  “Next time the nomads try to sell us horses, we’ll be asking for mounts equal to LaMogre’s stallion.” Arsch grumbled, signalling to the gatekeeper to open the gates to let them through.

  “This stallion came from the eastern nomad tribe, not the one you would trade with,” Judd excused, “and he was the mount of a nomad before he was mine. I imagine the nomads would keep the best mounts for their own people.”

  “Did you kill him for it?”

  Judd looked at the young soldier, horrified. “Of course not! The young man was killed in the unicorn ambush and when I insisted on accompanying the nomads who were going to hunt down the herd of monsters, Xenon was the only mount I could take and we bonded.”

  “Bonded? Like…”

  “A connection born of experience and time,” Judd explained, “I believe the nomads bond with their mounts, rather than own or simply ride whatever is available.” He ruffled Xenon’s mane and the stallion tossed his head, enjoying the scratch behind his ear.

  “Wait, go back a step,” Kipre leaned forward, “you fought unicorns?”

  “Twice.” Judd nodded.

  “I call dibs on that being the first story tonight!”

  Captain Chael chuckled and urged his horse beside Judd’s. “Quickly, let’s get inside…Xenon might have outrun the rainstorm but it was right on our heels.”

  As a man who had been born in Fort Mavour and lived in it his whole life, Chael knew what he was talking about. Only a minute after they’d entered the gates, thunder rolled overhead, crashing like symbols. Judd glanced up, half expecting the sky to have shattered from the force of the storm clouds.

  “Not a fan of storms?”

  “I’ve seen my fair share on fishing boats,” Judd led Xenon walk in the only direction he could, through the marketplace where people were scurrying out of the path of the horses, trying to get home or close up shop before they were soaked through, “and believe me, after surviving a storm on a little dingy, storms don’t bother me anymore.” He felt Xenon tremble at the next crash and smile. “If Xenon had wings, I think he’d be up there, kicking the Maul out of those clouds.”

  “I would not be surprised.” Chael laughed. They made their way through the length of the markets to the lower bailey where guards were quick to open the gates. “I think someone is waiting for you.” Chael cleared his throat and jerked his head.

  Judd looked up and saw a head of dark auburn curls scattered loose over a dark red gown with almost brazen orange trim. Willower wore a cloak around her shoulders but the hood was down, the thick fur lined head covering hanging in folds over her back.

  “Miss Donimede,” Judd called, removing his boot from the left stirrup and swinging himself off Xenon’s back, “what are you doing outside on such a foul day?”

  “I was in the markets and heard that the early patrol was returning. I thought I would wait and walk up with you.”

  “That is very kind of you but Xenon…”

  “Please, LaMogre,” Arsch hopped down, “it would be an honour to look after Xenon for you.”

  Judd smiled and nodded at him. “I will see you in the soldier’s mess later.”

  “Oh,” Arsch leaned forward, “should you want to bathe, there is a soldier’s bathhouse in the fort.”

  Judd leaned back to him. “Are you saying I smell?”

  “Only of horse, sir.” Arsch chuckled and ducked away.

  Judd shook his head and turned to Willower, an icy blast fluttering the hem of her gown and flinging her dark red curls recklessly about her face.

  “Allow me,” Judd grasped the hood and flicked it over her head, pulling it close around her face, “we should hasten inside before it pours.” As if to emphasise his concern, drops began to darken the grey stone steps. “I would offer my arm but apparently I smell of horse.”

  “I do not mind at all.” Willower insisted, looping her arm quickly through Judd’s, allowing him to take the outside line up the steps. Judd looked at Willower, her cheeks flushed with exertion and her hazel eyes sparkling. His heart panged with concern, worried that their ‘ruse’ was only being cruel to the eldest daughter of Sir Donimede. “I confess a lie, Judd LaMogre. I was not browsing the stalls of the marketplace at all. I heard you were joining the early patrol and knew what time it tended to return.” Willower confided, her face softly fringed by the orange fur of her hood.

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  “Willower,” he said softly as they climbed the steps, “please tell me you remember that our ‘attachment’ is only a pretence…”

  She stopped and looked at him, clutching at her hood. “Should you propose to me, here and now, Judd LaMogre…I would accept,” Judd’s expression and indeed his entire body became stricken, “simply to be married, to gain my father’s approval and escape this place,” she worried her lips, “but am I in love with you? No.” Judd let out the breath he was holding. “I think it would be very easy for me to fall in love with you,” she admitted as they continued to climb the stairs, the wind beginning to howl and the rain starting to drop in earnest, “but even if I did, I would never reproach you for not falling in love with me. You have made the direction of your heart clear.”

  Judd wasn’t entirely sure if he was happy with her answer but there was no more time to talk as the rain began to sleet down, so sharp and hard it was like someone was throwing small spears made out of icicles. Judd tried to protect Willower as best he could and when they reached the exterior landing before the main doors, decorum be damned, they sprinted for the entrance of the fort, the doorkeeper slamming it shut behind them.

  Willower pushed her hood back and laughed as Judd ruffled his hair, flinging the excess water from it.

  “What?” He ran his fingers through it. “Too messy?”

  “No,” she smiled and gently pulled some of his curls forward again, “in fact, I rather like the tousled look on you.”

  Before he could respond they heard the clearing of a throat and sprang apart though they had hardly been engaging in any clandestine behaviour. Sir Donimede stood on the lowest stair, dressed entirely in black with a somewhat smug expression in his eyes. Standing on the step behind him was a woman who could only be Willower’s mother and behind her, with her eyes lowered and a bundle in her arms, was another daughter of Donimede, possibly the second eldest.

  “Willower,” Lady Jocasa said in a regal reprimand, “are you requiring a chaperone?”

  Judd’s face filled with heat as Willower lowered her head. “No mother.”

  Jocasa let the silence grow long and awkward. “You should change before you catch a chill.”

  “Yes mother.” Willower darted away without another word or even to send Judd a flirtatious backward glance.

  Judd swallowed and stepped forward. “I apologise for any misconduct. We were running to escape the rain, you see, and I…”

  “I am less concerned than I appear.” Jocasa confided with a raise of her eyebrows. “Cantor, will you not introduce us?”

  Judd immediately leapt into his charming persona based upon Giordi’s confidence and ease. “Lady Jocasa, I feel I need no introduction as it is clear a woman of your daughter’s beauty could only have you as her mother,” Jocasa’s lips curled up a little at the compliment even as Judd stepped back and bowed, “but of course, protocol must take priority.”

  Sir Donimede had watched this exchange, equal parts amused to bemused when he shook himself out of his stupor and into the role of husband and knight.

  “Judd LaMogre, this is my wife, Lady Jocasa Donimede.” As she was standing on the step too far from him, Judd decided not to opt to ask to kiss her hand but instead, gave as deep and sweeping bow as he could muster.

  “Forgive my not greeting you when you arrived,” Jocasa’s tone was smooth and rich, like a warm wine, “I was recovering from a long labour.”

  “No apology required when bringing a life into the world, my lady.” Judd insisted. “Sir Donimede, is this your son?”

  Donimede held out his hands. Jocasa took the baby from the younger daughter’s arms and passed it to Donimede who held the baby out proudly for inspection. The red faced babe scrunched its face up, wriggled uncomfortably from all the jostling then settled back down, as fair as Giordi but without the curl.

  “Ramon Donimede.” The knight pronounced with grandeur. “By all the stars in the heavens, I have waited so long for a son and now, I have him.”

  “He is a handsome child,” Judd said automatically, “he is so fair…”

  “A throw back to my father, Maurist Donimede, a fine man and blonde until the day he died.” Donimede explained. “My raven black hair I attribute to my mother. My father, if he was alive, would be filled with pride to know that his progeny, even to the hue of his hair, lives on.”

  Judd bit back the urge to point out that Donimede had seven daughters who should have been considered progeny but he knew that the passing of a last name, the continuation of a family line, rested on the sons of the sons of the sons and so forth. He watched Donimede hand the babe back to Jocasa who passed it to her daughter. He thought, for a moment, that there was a knowing look and nod between mother and daughter but Judd could not interpret it before the daughter whisked the baby away and Jocasa came down the stairs to stand on equal footing with Judd.

  “Now that I am recovered enough to be a proper hostess, I hope you will dine with us tonight, Judd LaMogre.”

  Judd faltered for a brief second, trying frantically to recall Giordi’s lesson on ‘declining gracefully’.

  “Lady Jocasa, it grieves me to say that I have already given my word to dine with the soldiers in the mess,” he explained with as pained a look as he could give, “it was a matter of pride, a wager between myself and the rest of the patrol.”

  “That is a shame,” Jocasa lifted her chin and smiled and Judd sensed a touch of desperation, as if she was trying to please him, “however, it affords me the time to properly organise a much grander invitation, a feast worthy of a man who completes his knighthood quest in the Arena of Fort Mavour and under the gaze of Sir Donimede.”

  Judd floundered, stunned that she would be so generous.

  “My lady,” Sir Donimede protested lightly, “LaMogre has yet to slay his minotaur. It is not even certain that he will.”

  “Even though I am not privy to the gossip of the soldiers, I have heard of the victorious exploits of you and your party,” Jocasa replied to Judd rather than her husband, “and I know that victory, and knighthood, are simply a matter of time.”

  Judd bowed, desperately trying to think of a response. “I only hope I live up to your reputation, Lady Jocasa.” He finally replied.

  “Perhaps then, if a minotaur is not forthcoming by tomorrow, you will dine with myself, my husband and my daughter in a more private setting?”

  “I promise not to engage in any wagers that would ambush such an invitation.” Judd hoped half of what he was saying made sense. At this stage in the conversation, he was just quoting Giordi.

  “Until tomorrow night, then.” Lady Jocasa curtseyed and Judd bowed once again, grateful to the formal gesture that allowed him a moment to collect and calm himself. Lady Jocasa retreated up the stairs and Judd wished fervently for something to say to Sir Donimede, his practiced assortment of small talk well and truly exhausted. “Husband,” both Judd and Donimede looked up the stairs to see Jocasa on the landing where the stairs split into two directions, as elegant as a marble statue in full, luminous colour, “perhaps you would like to dine in the soldiers mess yourself, tonight?”

  She deprived her husband of the opportunity to answer as she turned and swept away. Judd swallowed, wondering what Donimede would say to that. The knight’s expression was unreadable yet Judd was uneasy. He cleared his throat.

  “I should bathe.” Judd blurted, wanting to escape. He gave a head nod, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

  “LaMogre,” Judd turned, inexplicably expecting an attack, “I’ll see you in the mess.”

  Without another word Judd made his final bow, of which he had lost count, and retreated from the cold foyer with restrained haste.