Chapter 43

“Hold on, my dear sir, I did no such thing.” Soren rose to his feet to better face the man on equal footing. The man’s hand fell away, and he stepped back and looked down his nose at Soren, an incredible feat considering Soren was easily a full head taller. 

“I was reading that novel because I wanted to understand the ladies of the court, and the Rhinnean people by extension,” Soren said as he held his hands in the air as if to signal that he wasn’t a threat. “Your daughter is the one who walked up to me, asked to sit in the open seat, and requested that I read a specific chapter. I complied with her request until I realized that the content wasn’t suitable for reading out loud in public, and especially not suitable for a man to read to a woman who is not his wife, at which point I stopped. Lady Dakoa seemed keen on the book, so I handed it to her and left the room. I have not spoken to her since.” 

“But you admit to giving her the book?” 

From the corner of his eye, Soren saw King Nelan raise his hand, and the conversation around the great hall fell quiet. 

“What are you hoping to accomplish with this, Lord Wethernon?” King Nelan asked.

The old lord drew himself up to his full height, and his lower lip jutted out as he clenched his jaw. “As you know, Your Majesty, my daughter is betrothed to Lord Grenlef’s son. The events of the past two days, including her having that hateful book in her possession, have called her morals into question. I wish for a trial by combat.”

King Nelan rubbed his jaw. “I see. What terms do you desire?” 

“If my champion wins, Captain Kierson must marry my daughter to restore her honor.” The title sounded like a slur in the Rhinnean’s mouth. 

“And if you lose?”

“I doubt that outcome, Your Majesty. I will not lose.” The lord’s manner was that of a puffed-up rooster in the midst of winter, and Soren would have laughed if the mood wasn’t so serious.

“Captain Kierson, what would desire if you accept this duel?” 

Soren ran his tongue over his teeth. As much as he wanted to glance at Annalise and see what she thought of the whole ordeal, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on King Nelan. “Lord Wethernon has insulted my honor with the implication that I would do anything inappropriate with his daughter. If I win the duel, my only desire is for an apology, and that in the eyes of the court the reputations of both myself and Lady Dakoa Wethernon are fully restored and this entire matter is considered closed and acknowledged as what it is—a misunderstanding.”  

Once both parties had agreed to the terms, servants cleared the area in front of the high table for the match.  

At one end of the space stood Soren. Next to him was Matheus, who’d volunteered to act as his second. 

“This won’t impact your standing among your men, will it?” Soren asked.

“It shouldn’t. I just got back from a mission a few hours ago and found out that I’ve been assigned as your personal near-permanent guard. Apparently, King Nelan wasn’t impressed with my predecessors and wanted someone well-acquainted with you sneaky Doveans.” 

“In that case, I’m sorry about the time I hid old fish in your hammock on the ship.” 

A grin played at the corner of Matheus’s mouth. “I suspected that was you, but to be honest I was just glad you resorted to pranks instead of trying to gut me while I slept. It’s a good thing I’m the forgiving sort. It’d be hard to guard your princess if your second tripped at an inopportune time during the duel and you ended up with a sword in your back and another in your front.” 

“Is that a promise from you that you won’t do such a thing?” If Soren had been any less confident in his abilities, or hadn’t spent years under the service of Matheus he would have insisted on one of his own men seconding him—he didn’t trust any of the other Rhinneans to have his back if things went foul. 

“Let’s just say I grew quite fond of Cabin Boy Kierson; in the absence of a ship puppy he was the next best thing, and I’d much rather see what kind of man he grew up to be than do something that might cause old Captain Earon to rise from his watery grave and strangle me.” Matheus’s eyes danced in the firelight. “Plus, I have a reputation for being quite steady on my feet. If I were to suddenly lose my balance and throw the match, I’d never hear the end of it.” 

“Glad to hear you’re on board, then.” Soren nodded across the open space. On the other side stood Lord Wethernon and a rather hulking young fellow who hefted a greatsword like it was a stalk of wheat. “I take it that’s Wethernon’s champion?”

“Aye; that is Lord Grenlef’s son, who was betrothed to Lady Dakoa. The Grenlef’s are a wealthy and rather tight-laced bunch who don’t tolerate insult well, either real or imagined, and the rumor mill says that the discovery of the novel in the lady’s possession has thrown a wrench into their wedding plans. The match was a good one for Lady Dakoa, and the prevailing sentiment is that the Grenlef’s are using this as an excuse to break the betrothal and find a wife more suitable to their station.” 

“I see. Well, I suppose I should count my blessings that my Rhinnean dueling debut doesn’t involve a tired old man who looks like he’s spent more time in a library than a sparring field,” Soren said as he placed his left hand on his sword hilt. 

Matheus nodded at his hand. “The years have clouded my memory, but did no one ever teach you to fight with your right? My old sword master would have thrown a fit if I’d fought left-handed.” 

Soren shrugged, a grin cracking his face. His adrenaline rose when he saw the Grenlef son shake Lord Wethernon’s hand. “My weapons teacher was rather unorthodox. He allowed me certain… liberties, I suppose you could call them, that others wouldn’t have. So far it’s paid off, but we shall see if my luck holds,” he said over his shoulder as he walked forward to meet his opponent in the middle of the cleared space. 

They both bowed to King Nelan and then to each other. 

“I’m sorry for this misunderstanding, Lord Grenlef,” Soren said. 

“Flimsy apologies won’t save you from the wrath of my house. You and that harlot have dishonored my family name, and now you will pay,” the other man replied with a growl, his deep voice like the rumbling of a mountain. 

A quick glance at Annalise warmed Soren right to his toes. Her eyes were wide, lips were parted, and her fingers toyed with her napkin on the table. He wished he could tell her not to worry and made a mental note to check on her after the fight. As he and Grenlef took three steps away from each other, Soren wasn’t sure how he felt about Annalise’s expression—she’d seen him fight the Muranan guards, and should know that he was a skilled swordsman. Her obvious care for his wellbeing was quite touching, even if she was just concerned that her sworn protector had gotten himself caught up in such a mess. 

It didn’t matter. He’d show her that he could handle anything the Rhinneans threw his way, even if it was a duel on a full stomach against an angry giant of a man. After he settled into a balanced stance, Soren glanced once more at Princess Annalise, and then King Nelan hit his empty goblet on the table to signal the start of the fight, and he shifted his focus back to Grenlef.  

Instead of running at him head-on like a mad charging bull as Soren had initially expected, Grenlef had at least some brain to go with his brawn, and they circled each other slowly. 

Soren was the first to charge in a quick attack meant to test Grenlef’s defenses, although he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to end the fight early if he saw an opening. 

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Grenlef’s defense was impressive, especially considering the size of the greatsword he used. 

“Well, isn’t this delightful?” Soren called out after a handful of darting attacks. 

Grenlef grunted as he turned in a half-circle, keeping his eyes on Soren. 

“Yes, quite delightful,” Soren repeated as he pushed his advantage, flowing through each form of his attack as smooth as a gurgling stream. “I must say, Lord Grenlef, as much as I abhor the circumstances that led to this fight, you are a worthy opponent; it would have been terribly unchivalrous of us if the fight to defend Lady Dakoa’s honor was of poor quality.”

“Don’t you dare speak her name with your filthy mouth. I’m going to gut you like a fish and feed your innards to my father’s pigs.”

“If only the innards are going to the pigs, where is the rest of me going? The hunting dogs?” 

“I’ll skin you alive and turn your hide into a bag for our servants to carry night soil in when they clean out prisoner chamber pots.” 

“As fun as that sounds, my skin is far too nice for such a dirty job, and using it as a bag for night soil would be wasteful. If you insist on skinning me alive, it’d be a shame to give such fine material a purpose so base. Do you mind if I make a suggestion for a more suitable alternative?” 

Grenlef’s eyebrows drew together until they were a solid line, and he shifted his weight back half a step. Soren took advantage of his confusion and darted to the side, drawing a thin line of blood along Grenlef’s calf before jumping back as the greatsword whistled in front of his face. “You see, Princess Annalise holds a special place in her heart for the poor and disadvantaged. I would prefer that my skin go towards making leather vests for young Rhinnean boys who seek to join your military or rise in the ranks of the castle guards but who cannot afford the proper gear.” Soren frowned and tapped his chin with his finger as he balanced on the balls of his feet. “I suppose you could also turn it into a kind of vellum for educational books. Military theory or seafaring would probably be most appropriate considering my line of work, but you could always use it for a romance novel if you wanted to be ironic.” 

With a roar, Grenlef lunged at Soren, swinging his sword with enough force to cleave him in two. Soren dodged the attack and ducked under Grenlef’s arm, scoring a cut along his side. It was a move that wouldn’t have worked if they were wearing armor, but their dining wear provided little resistance to the edge of his sword. Grenlef didn’t react to the cut and pressed his attack, closing with Soren. Instead of dodging again, Soren allowed their swords to lock to test his strength against Grenlef’s. While they strove against each other, he pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, I have a question: if you kill me, who will marry your fiancée? It would be a terrible misfortune for Lady Dakoa to lose two suitors in one day.”

“She can rot in her father’s house doomed to a life of loneliness and regret, for all I care. Such a woman has no business bearing my children and polluting our family name with spawn of her filth.” Grenlef spat to the side, and Soren’s face twisted in disgust. 

“That’s quite a harsh punishment considering her only crime was reading a book.” With a hard shove, Soren unlocked their swords and pushed Grenlef away. He’d started the match hoping to test his strength against one of the Rhinnean lords over what he’d assumed was a simple misunderstanding, but his opponent was being willfully obtuse and hardheaded, and Soren started to wonder if perhaps Lady Dakoa wasn’t better off with a broken betrothal no matter the outcome. 

“Of course, an immoral Dovean like you would see it like that.” Grenlef scoffed. An evil glint in his eye sent a chill down Soren’s spine. “Do all Dovean women hold the same morals as you, then? Was the Princess the one who recommended that filthy book to you? Perhaps she’s already practiced the acts recorded there.” 

“Bite your tongue before I cut it out,” Soren growled as they closed quarters again to trade blows. He received a cut on his right arm, although Grenlef was the worse for wear with a cut on his cheek when Soren punched him during an opening. 

“She acts so prim and proper with her long sleeves and calm demeanour, but I bet under that thin veneer of propriety she’s as wanton as any of the whores who lurk in the underbelly of Rea,” Grenlef muttered low enough that only Soren could hear. 

A rush of blood flooded Soren’s face, and he took three large steps back. He trembled with rage, his chest heaving as he struggled to contain his temper and not run Grenlef straight through.  

“Tired already, Dovean? I’m not surprised, but I’d hoped for an actual fight out of you,” Grenlef taunted.

Soren ignored the insult. “King Nelan, I wish to amend the rewards of our fight if I win,” he called out. 

The king held up a hand to pause the match. “It’s quite unusual to request a change in the midst of your duel, Captain Kierson. What amendments would you wish to make?” he asked. 

Soren adjusted the collar of his coat and bent his knees, coiling for his next attack. He’d had his fun, but Grenlef was annoying him. “If I win this in the time it takes a priest to chant the Goddess’s prayer three times in a row, my opponent must apologize to Lady Dakoa Wethernon in front of the entire court for impugning her honor, and she must be given the choice to break the betrothal with no fear of retribution by him, his family, or her father. If she terminates their contract, the Grenlef family must pay her a lump sum equivalent to her dowry as a damages fee and to ensure she doesn’t feel pressured to continue with the betrothal out of survival.” 

“It’s obvious he’s tired and only stalling for time to recover. I accept his new terms,” Grenlef said with a shrug as he hefted his greatsword as easily as a lady lifting a hair brush.  

King Nelan tapped his lip for a moment and shrugged. “So be it.”

The priest started the first chant, and Soren lunged forward.