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In the Shadow of the Dragon (Corsair and Xana)

“We don’t have to figure it out right now,” Astrid offered, hating how weak the suggestion sounded coming out of her mouth. Still, she came up behind Ellistair and rubbed his shoulders with both hands.

“It’s not so bad here,” she offered, knowing it probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “We’d be welcome, of course. But…” She leaned in craving that warmth of his skin against her, and wrapped her arms around his chest.

“Well, you have as much right to Landis as your father does. If he thinks he has the authority to banish you, perhaps you just need to assert your claim. Challenge him, and prove that you belong there. It isn’t enough to be his heir, my love. Show him you are more than worthy of it.”

***​

For a few days, Hilda moped, weighed down by the knowledge that, not only could she not return home again, but she’d gotten Ellistair banished as well. Because she couldn’t suck it up and accept her marriage. But, dammit, he hadn’t either, instead running off to the mountain to marry a woman of his choosing. Ellistair didn’t hold it against her, but she still knew it was her fault.

Regardless, she fell into a daily rhythm, tending to the chores she’d been assigned and engaging in weapons training when she had free time. More and more people from throughout the ten kingdoms poured into the mountain, and it was easier to get lost in the crowd. But sometimes, she still wanted to see a familiar face.

She was still mad at Ostred, even if he may have been right. Her father still would have tracked her down to the mountain, and instead of merely banishing her brother, he might have executed him. But he was one of the few familiar faces here, and her brother had enough on his mind without having to comfort her as well. So, pushing aside the lingering resentment, she fell in stride with him, looking for a bit of company and distraction.

“Are you still a royal bodyguard if your charge has been exiled?
 
“It’s not so bad here,” Astrid said softly, rubbing his shoulders. “We’d be welcome, of course. But…” She leaned in, wrapping her arms around him.

“Of course it’s not,” he answered, wrapping his arms around hers and leaning back into her. “You’re here. But...”. He shrugged. “It’s hard to shake a lifetime of being taught to place duty ahead of self. And besides, if I don’t go back?” He sighed. “Then Duke Nevin becomes the heir after my father. And there’s something about him I don’t trust.”

“Well, you have as much right to Landis as your father does,” Astrid said. “If he thinks he has the authority to banish you, perhaps you just need to assert your claim. Challenge him, and prove that you belong there. It isn’t enough to be his heir, my love. Show him you are more than worthy of it.”

“Civil war..?” he began, horrified. Then he stopped, and turned to look at her. “No, that isn’t what you mean. Challenge him. Push back, and make him back down.” He smiled, just a little. “That’ll be... difficult. Mother said I inherited my stubbornness from him, after all. But it’s worth a try.”

-*-

Ostred whistled a merry little tune as he walked, exploring the wide streets of the fortress of Fearfire. Or, uhm, Radark Realty? Honestly, he hadn’t quite wrapped his tongue around the alien-sounding name. But the name didn’t matter. The exploration mattered. He needed to know the fortress well enough to find his way around. Blind, if necessary.

“Hello, Princess,” he said as he heard footsteps approaching. To her credit, she didn’t ask how he had known it was her.

She didn’t respond, not right away. When she did, it was with a question. “Are you still a royal bodyguard if your charge has been exiled?”

“I don’t know,” he replied casually, rounding another curve in the maze-like streets. “To be a royal bodyguard, I have to be a bodyguard to royalty. So, I assume it would be a matter of whether Ellistair is stripped of his lands and titles.”

He glanced at the princess, and winked. “I’m still your brother’s bodyguard, though. Regardless of what your father does. Master Caervin stressed that throughout my training.” He changed his stride and voice, managing a passable impression of the grizzled Weaponmaster of Castle Landis. “A Lifeguard’s loyalty is to his charge, Ostred. Not to crowns or titles.”

He laughed. “I never thought it would come to that, Princess. But here we are. Which reminds me...”. He gave her a teasing grin. “Are you still a Princess of Landis, if you’ve changed your name to Hilda Drakul?”
 
Ostred’s impression of Master Caervin was spot on, and brought about a smirk from her. “Okay, but what if Ellistair and Astrid decide to embrace this exile and become turnip farmers? Will you live with them on their farm, making him the only turnip farmer in the world with his own bodyguard?” Hilda allowed herself to laugh the absurdity of the thought. Not that she thought that could happen. Neither Ellistair nor Astrid seemed much for that sort of simple life.

“Does it bother how your life is tied by with his? I mean, were you even given a choice in the matter? I guess you’re fortunate that you and Ellistair get along, but what if you’d been assigned to someone you couldn’t stand? And anything you might want for yourself no longer mattered, because you were expected to pledge yourself to him. Is it really fair that he can have so much power over your life, and before you even turn eighteen, your entire life is already set in stone. Where you’ll live, what you’ll be, who you’ll marry…”

Somewhere along the line, she realized, she’d stopped talking about Ostred. Or perhaps she’d just finally realized how little power some people had, and she was one of those people.

Ostred seemed to work out what was on her mind. “Are you still a Princess of Landis, if you’ve changed your name to Hilda Drakul?” He meant it playfully, she knew, but it brought back everything she’d tried to push down.

“I can only be a princess of Landis if I submit to my marriage to Kamil,” she explained, tone brittle. One arm went across her chest, her nails digging into her skin. “I’ll never be a princess again.” She forced a smile she didn’t feel, forcing back the tears forming in her eyes, “So can you finally stop calling me ‘Princess’?”
 
“I think I can manage that, Hilda,” Ostred replied. “But bear in mind, you’ll always be a princess. Even if your father banished you.”

Ostred regarded her expression, then smiled sadly. “See, it’s easy for me. I’m nobody, Hilda. The bastard son of a nobleman, kept around until he produced a legitimate heir. I’m of no real use in any sort of dynastic struggle. But you?” He shook his head. “Kamil is fourth in line to the throne now, through you. If anything happened to payout grandfather and father...”

He trailed off. “At this moment? It might be war. Duke Nevin is powerful and influential, and Ellistair is young. He doesn’t have a solid power base. But Kamil might challenge Nevin, presenting himself as a champion riding out against a usurper.” He grimaced at her expression. “Yeah, I think like this. A lot. A side effect of the job, I guess.”

His expression softened, and he rested his hands in her shoulders. “I’m not saying you should go back. Not at all. But don’t pretend you’re no longer a Princess, Hilda Drakul. Ambitious men sure won’t. So you need to learn how to deal with them.”

With a bark of laughter he slapped her hip, making her scabbarded sword slap her thigh. “And this is one of those ways. Have you kept up your practice?”
 
Hilda blanched, shocked by the political reality Ostred had laid out. All her life, succession was a foregone conclusion. Of course, her brother would rule Landis after Father, she’s never imagined anything different. And even if, heaven forbid, something did happen to her brother, Aevell was a head of her, always. She might not have always seen eye to eye with her sister, but she never wanted anything bad to happen to her. Now, the thought that her marriage could lead to civil war in the kingdom. “I hadn’t even thought of all that,” she admitted, emotions jerking from dejected to guilty.

Then, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and another confusing emotion passed through her. Her breath hitched, youthful fantasies running through her mind, half wonder if -and half wishing- he would kiss her. But instead he offered more advice, more perspective. It might not have been what she wanted, but it was still welcome.

“And this is one of those ways. Have you kept up your practice?”

Turning her mind away from everything he’d said and everything she’d felt, Hilda flashed him a smile. “I’ve put in a lot of work, actually. Especially since coming here.” They were near the training grounds and she recalled the story Astrid and Ellistair had told her, about their engagement. “Come on,” she urged, pulling him along, “I can show you all I’ve learned. And, perhaps you can show me a thing or two as well?”
 
“I’m sure I could,” Ostred laughed, following in her wake.

They passed nobody as they headed towards the training grounds. It felt like it should be surprising, but Ostred knew it really wasn’t. Sure, there were a few hundred Drakul that called the fortress home. And there were a couple of thousand knights of Landis, and similar numbers of troops from a couple of the ither nearby kingdoms. But the fortress of Fearfire was a city, a city large enough to hold Landisford a dozen times over.

The training ground was large enough to host a royal joust, with a floor of marble flagstones that resembled a chessboard and tall statues of slim, inhumanly-beautiful warriors clad in filagreed plate armor standing watch. They were old, Ostred realized with a chill as he noted signs of weathering and erosion. Older than anything he’d ever seen.

“Do you think this place started as a training hall?” he asked, trying first one and then another blunted practice sword. The statue next to the rack stared down at him, seeming to judge him with his - her? - angular, achingly lovely face. “It feels more like... hells, I don’t know. A throne room, maybe. Or the way I’d imagine a temple to feel.”

Finally, he found a blade that suited him. Unbuckling his sword belt and laying it before the feet of the statue, he stride out into the middle of the hall. “So, Hilda,” he asked, “are you ready?”
 
Hilda answered his query with a smirk, and lunged in. Wood scraped as he parried her thrust, falling back two paces. She twisted to avoid his counter strike, years of graceful dance practice transforming into something actually useful. She caught his next blow on her wooden blade, holding the deadlock for a moment while she caught her breath.

“I hope you aren’t going easy on me,” Hilda purred. Twisting her wrist, his weapon slid across hers, creating an opening. She stepped into his space, close enough to feel his heat against her body. “I assure you I can take whatever you can dish out.” There wasn’t room for either of them to make a proper swing, so she attempted a thrust instead, aiming for his midsection. His offhand lashed out, grabbing her wrist before she could connect.

They were closer now, his face mere inches from hers. With a grunt, she tried to free herself from his grip, but struggled against his strength. One of his legs slide between her, hooking behind the ankle, and he let go, letting her momentum send her back and tripping over his leg.

The ground met her back with a thud, and Ostred following close behind. She rolled away from his slash and got to her knees, before she had to block another blow. Pinning his weapon allowed her enough time to get to her feet, and she retreated several steps to regain her composure. Clammy hands made the handle slippery, but she tightened her grip on the blade. No way she’d give up so easily.
 
“Watch out for my reach,” Ostred earned as Hilda regained her feet. “I’m taller and stronger, so offset those advantages with speed. Don’t let me set the pace of the fight.”

He caught her blade and drew it out of line, then faked a thrust before slashing at her torso. To her credit she partied, but she gave ground again. “And stop backing up! You’re letting e control the field!”

Annoyance flickered across her face. She resented it when he lectured, he knew. He was older and more skillful, but not by as much as his comments made it sound. Which was why he did it. It annoyed her, and she got careless when she was annoyed.

Wood thudded against wood as she came at him, high-high-low, trying to open his abdomen to attack by forcing him to guard his chest. It nearly worked, too. His parry was rushed, and he felt the flat of the blade slide along his hip. “Not bad,” he laughed. “Not bad at all!”

Her arm was slow but n the withdrawal again, so he grabbed her wrist again. “You need to work oAAK!” The last word dissolved the not a cry of pain and surprise as her left fist connected with his jaw. He spun left with the force of impact, seeing stars momentarily. Only years of training allowed him to parry her swing, as much by luck as skill.

“So it’s going to be like that, hm?” His voice was a snarl, more got effect than any real anger. He’d deserved the blow, after all. But that didn’t stop him from going on the offense, pounding at her defense like a hammer on a anvil. Because there was no way he’d give in that easily.
 
Hilda’s knuckles throbbed form the blow, but it was more than worth it to shut him up. She answered his growl with a smirk, bravado to hide how hard she was breathing. His next blow nearly knocked the air out of her, hammering with fierce strength that she could barely block. Shit, he really wasn’t going easy on her now.

His anger made him sloppier, but not by much. Truly a testament to his years of training. But she could block his blows, let him wear himself out. There! She sidestepped an overhead slash, and countered with a blow across the abdomen. He twisted away, avoiding the brunt of her strike, but she made contact, she knew.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she allowed herself only a second to wipe it away. It gave him time to recover from her strike, but she’d be in worse shape if sweat got in her eyes. He circled, clearly winded as well. Perfect, now was the time to strike! She charged; blade raised as if she were aiming for his chest. He readied a block, but she feinted, twisting her wrist to strike his. Wood hammered his arm, and his sword clattered on the stone floor.

Astrid whooped in triumph throwing her hands up into the air. After a moment, when Ostred didn’t offer a witty comeback, she stopped, and glanced over to him. He nursed the arm she’d struck, and she realized her wasn’t wearing a bracer. Wooden sword or not, that had to hurt.

“I didn’t break it, did I?” she asked, stepping closer. Taking the hand, she checked his bones, and breathed a sigh of relief to find them intact. “I think it’s okay, but I should wrap it, so it heals faster.”
 
“[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]I didn’t break it, did I?” Hilda asked, stepping closer. [/BGCOLOR]

Ostred flexed his hand and then twisted his arm, wincing as he did so. “Only thing broken is my pride, I believe.” He winced again as she took his hand and prodded his forearm. “Something of a valuable lesson in overconfidence, I think. You’ve gotten better since the last time we sparred.”

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]She turned his arm, then made a sound of relief. “I think it’s okay, but I should wrap it, so it heals faster.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Should help,” he agreed, carefully shrugging out of his doublet. Bare, his forearm showed a bright red mark where the practice sword had struck. “That’s going to swell,” he remarked, hissing as he gently prodded it. “Be a pretty spectacular bruise as well. Still, it could be worse.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]He took a seat before the statue, resting his back against the base and holding out his arm. “Good feint, by the way.”[/BGCOLOR]
 
Hilda knew she was beet-red form his compliments, but she tried to play it off as exertion. She was, after still catching her breath, “Uh, thanks,” she muttered, eyes focused on their task, as to not betray the giddy smirk on her cheeks.

Touching his hand, his bare skin thrilled her. She found herself glancing around, half expecting some authority figure to show up, and scold her about being so familiar with him. It took a moment to remind herself that no such authority figure existed for her any longer. No one would tell who she could talk to or who she could be alone with or what she could or couldn’t do with her body…

That thought, however, lent itself to further realization that her new-found freedom came at the cost of not only her exile, but Ellistair’s as well. A realization that soured her mood, just a touch. Before her mood could dip, however, she nudged Ostred. “Why don’t I make this up to you with a drink? I don’t think there is a tavern here, not in the traditional sense of the word, but I’m sure we could figure out something.”
 
“I already found a brewer,” Ostred laughed, then laughed again at her expression. “What? It’s one of those things you learn to look for. Just follow the soldiers.”

He pulled himself to his feet, and winced as he buckled his sword belt back on. Damn, but his arm was going to ache for a while. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

-*-

In straight line terms, the brewery was less than a quarter mile from the training hall they’d sparred in. The twisting streets of the fortress Fearfire meant they walked nearly a mile to reach a building that might once have been a palace for a minor noble of some sort. Or perhaps it had been a grain silo? Only the Dragon might have known what the ancient builders had intended for the elaborate structure.

“See,” Ostred explained as they mounted marble stairs, “the footmen of Landis, and a few of the knights, are quartered a little ways down that road. I suspect some clever bugger smelled the hops, and suggested the site.”

He shoved open the door, luxuriating in the yeasty smell inside. As he did, a stocky man of middling years set down a barrow. “May I help you?”

“Sure can,” Ostred declared. “I need a pony keg of dark ale, a brown if you have it.”

The man pursed his lips in thought. “Your soldiers claimed most of the dark,” he finally said. “I’ve got a red-brown ale, though. It’s a little sweeter, but...”

“Done!” Ostred declared. “Roll it out, and charge it to the account of Prince Reynard!”
 
“That’s a bit much for just the two of us, don’t you think?” Hilda asked, brushing sweat-damp strands of hair back behind her ear

“Oh, did you want some too?” Ostred teased with that infuriatingly seductive twinkle in his eye. She pushed against him with her shoulder, and only remembered after the fact that was the side of his injured arm. But he hid his wince well, and his scent invaded her mind. A strong, masculine scent, a bit musky, given they both worked up a sweat in the skirmish, but it appealed to her.

The took the barrel back to her place, or at least the dwelling she’d claimed for herself before the majority of the troops had arrived. It was small, and sparsely furnished, with the bed taking up most of the room. But it was comfortable, and it was hers. Well, as much as anything in Fairtheora could be hers.

“This isn’t bad,” she admitted, drinking deep of her pint. It wasn’t the fine wines she was used to, but it held its own appeal, and it would do its job. Namely, filling her veins with liquid courage. “I mean, it’s clearly cheap stuff, but it’s strong.” Or, perhaps she was more winded from the fight than she wanted to let on. But she was one glass in, and already she felt heady and giddy and lightheaded and carefree. Finally, she felt as if she could drop the burden of royalty she’d worn for years, and just be a teenaged girl.

“We, uh, probably should have grabbed some food too,” she murmured, resting one of her hands on his uninjured arm, “Otherwise this stuff is going straight to my head. I, uh, don’t have the tolerance you do.”
 
Ostred grunted as he levered the pony keg up onto a small table, favoring his aching left arm as he did. It meant the room he’d claimed consisted mostly of a bed, a wardrobe, and the keg. But what the hell? What more did a man need? “I figure I couldhave claimed a bigger room,” he said, hammering a tap into the barrel. “There’s a whole lot of space around here, and I figure I’m in a broom closet or the like.” Checking is work for leaks, he filled two pewter mugs. “But I don’t need a lot, and it’s near enough to Astrid’s rooms that I can respond quickly.”

“Here,” he said, handing over a mug and saluting. “To your health!”

They both drank, and Hilda wiped foam from her nose. “[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]This isn’t bad.” Another drink. [/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“I mean, it’s clearly cheap stuff, but it’s strong.”[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)] [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]Ostred peered into his mug. “It’s s little too sweet for my tastes,” he agreed. “I mean, the brewer clearly knows what he’s doing, but I like my ales a little more robust.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“[/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]We, uh, probably should have grabbed some food too,” she murmured, resting one of her hands on his uninjured arm, “Otherwise this stuff is going straight to my head. I, uh, don’t have the tolerance you do.”[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(25, 49, 66)]“Well, hang on!” he declared, grabbing the satchel sling over the end of the bed. After rummaging around, he produced a leather-wrapped package containing more leather. “Jerky! Now we have food!” Laughing, he topped off both mugs. “And this, Of course, is how you build up your tolerance. Practice!”[/BGCOLOR]
 
“But I don’t need a lot, and it’s near enough to Astrid’s rooms that I can respond quickly.”

“But is it so close that you can hear them, well… you know,” Hilda teased. And then blushed, imaging Ostred wringing such delighted and enthusiastic cries from her throat, and he worked hard and deep in her. A deep drink covered the flush on her face, but didn’t cool the heat that curled in her depths and crawled over her skin.

“Well, hang on!” he declared, grabbing the satchel sling over the end of the bed. After rummaging around, he produced a leather-wrapped package containing more leather. “Jerky! Now we have food!” Laughing, he topped off both mugs. “And this, Of course, is how you build up your tolerance. Practice!”

“Food! She agreed with a laugh, ripping a piece off with her teeth. It didn’t boast much flavor, but the salt flavor complimented the sweet ale delightfully, and she found herself disappointed when she finished off her pint. Not that Ostred left her hanging long, refilling her mug with the suggestion that she “practice.”

“And drink,” she added, taking a healthy swig of her mug. Did he just mean practice drinking? Or perhaps, that was an invitation, to practice something else. It wasn’t just dueling or drinking she was a novice in, after all. And she could definitely benefit from his wisdom in other areas as well.

“Any tipsh on how I should practish?” She threw back another mug, pleasant dizziness filling her mind and darkening her vision. With a giggle, she drew closer to Ostred, and tugged at the laces of his jerkin.

Gentle, calloused hands grabbed hers, “Hilda, what are you doing?”

“Practishing.” She advanced on him, following him as he leaned back on the bed. Her lips brushed against his, ale scented breath hot on his face. Then, before he could push her away or pull her in close, she slumped against his chest, snoring softly.

~*~

Sunlight beamed on her face and irritated her eyes. Hilda turned over, away from the insistent sun, but a poiunding headache refused to leave her be. Whether or not she wanted it, she was up now.

Wait, had she and Ostred… It wasn’t an unpleasant thought, though she really wished she’d been awake for it. But where was he?

A thud from the ground drew her attention, and leaning over the edge of the bed, she found him. He groaned, and shielded his eyes, “Morning.”

Blushed crossed her features again, unsure of how to proceed with the morning after coitus pleasantries. Were things different now, between them? What did this make them? Were they lovers, while she was still technically a married woman?

“Morning,” she breathed, brushing her hair back behind her head. Dammit, why couldn’t she have some memories of what they’d done together last night! That would have been so much more pleasant than the memories of her wedding night…

Ostred stood and stretched, and it was only then she realized that he was still dressed, save the few laces she’d managed to loosen last night. And so was she. So, nothing had happened between them last night. Relief and disappointment accompanied her throbbing headache, and she sighed big. “Ostred, about last night…”
 
“Ostred,” Hilda said slowly, “about last night...”

Last night.

He hadn’t recognized what she was trying to do last night, not until she’d tried to kiss him. He should have, mind. It was obvious in retrospect. But she’d always been like a little sister, Ellistar’s tomboy tag-along that preferred swords to dolls and mud to make-up. He’d been aware that she’d grown up, but it hadn’t really sunk in.

“Nothing happened, Hilda,” he replied, turning to look at her. “You drank more than you’re used to, and you passed out. And then I tucked you into bed and slept on the floor.”

After a momen’s hditation, he sat on the bed. “As to what you clearly wanted to happen?” He grinned at her blush. “It would be risky. Like it or not, you are still Lady Pinova and I am a bastard. Both of us could be executed, were something to happen and we were found out.”

He let it hang in the air for a moment, looking at Hilda as a woman instead of someone who was virtually a sister. She had clearly grown into a beautiful woman. “So,” he added, “we would have to be discreet.”

Another moment. “And I’m not known,” he continued playfully, “for allowing my lovers to be discrete.”

Another moment, as he watched her blush again. “But if you’re going tocuckold Lord Pinova, you should treat it like swordplay. Or war. Consider the terrain. We are, after all, in the part of the fortress quartering the soldiers and knights of Landis.” He met her eyes. “Meeting your fathers here would be... indiscreet. Particularly if you were observed emerging from my room.”
 
“It would be risky. Like it or not, you are still Lady Pilnova and I am a bastard. Both of us could be executed, were something to happen and we were found out.”

Hilda’s heart sunk at Ostred words, echoing what he’d said when she begged him to rescue her from her forced marriage. She might have freed herself, but still she couldn’t have what she wanted. “I…” She took a deep breath, pushing back against the surging pain of rejection. Still, she wasn’t worth the risk. “I understand…”

Ostred bent over to meet her eyes, “So, we would have to be discreet.”

Feelings of rejection transformed into thrill and excitement. Perhaps he wasn’t opposed to the idea? Despite herself, Hilda couldn’t prevent her hopes from growing. “Ye… yeah?”

“I’m not known,” he continued playfully, “for allowing my lovers to be discrete.”

Hilda giggled, but the implication went right through her, the heat of her blush sinking deep into her body. Damn, now she wanted him even more, wanted to scream out his name as she rode his cock.

“Meeting your lovers here would be... indiscreet. Particularly if you were observed emerging from my room.”

“Right…” she agreed, biting her lip as she considered his advice. She’d have to find somewhere discreet and private to have her affair. Oh, but it was hard to think, as badly as she wanted him. Ostred’s word of caution had only further inflamed her desire for him, anticipation driving her mad. “Have you noticed anyplace that would be more… discreet, for hosting a lover away form prying eyes?” she murmured, resisting the urge to draw even closer to him, to act on the demanding lust that chafed her thighs. “Or, perhaps I should ask Astrid? She’d likely know where we’d be safe to meet…”
 
“It seems like Radark... uhm, Rathark? Uh...” Shaking his head, Ostred tried again. “It seems like this fortress is big enough for any number of liaisons. But asking Astrid is probably a terrible idea - the more people who know, the greater the chance someone else will find out.” He shrugged. “It’s why leaders often keep plans to themselves until necessary.”

Footsteps outside made him cock his ear. “For the moment, though, we should focus on getting you out of here unseen. Some questions shouldn’t be....”

A knock at the door made him jump. It was repeated, urgently and insistently, as he looked around and then threw open the wardrobe door. “Coming!” he shouted, gesturing for Hilda to jump in.

“Hurry up!” Ellistair called back.

Closing the wardrobe, Ostred opened the door. “What’s wrong?” Ellistar’s face was lit with worry. “Shit. What’s going on?”

“Grab your sword,” the prince replied. “There’s a problem.”

-*-

Ellistair pushed his way into a large room that overlooked the Mountain. Literally. It was built out from the curtain wall for some undisclosed purpose, granting a commanding view of the lands beyond. But right now, it contained angry knights and angry Drakul.

“Sir Wallace is subject to the laws of Landis,” Prince Reynard declared, throwing the full weight of his aristocratic bearing into the word. “Not to the whims of mob rule.”

His opponent was a thick-set man with a curly black beard who looked like he crushed coconuts for fun. Clearly, from his bearing, Reynard’s aristocratic bearing was unimpressive. “Your Sir Wallace,” he snapped back, “was caught in the act of attempting to force himself on my daughter.”

“Shit,” Ostred whispered.

Ellistair nodded. “Not good at all.”

“You will release him...” Reynard began.

“That’s the plan,” the big man agreed. “Right out over the wall. He’ll be a free man, all the way down.”
 
Hiding in Ostred’s wardrobe gave Hilda a chance to think, away from the desire he inspired in her. She understood they had to be careful, even if she hadn’t quite thought it out as deeply as he had, but she still didn’t see a problem with telling Astrid. He had a point, about keeping this between them, but Astrid wasn’t someone from Landis. Astrid didn’t believe in Landis’ rules concerning marriage and sex, why would she care if Hilda cheated on her husband with Ostred? Besides, her brother certainly wasn’t go to put her or Ostred in danger.

With a sigh, Hilda pushed the thoughts away. Ostred said this affair could risk their lives, and if she were going to go through with it, the least she could do was heed his advice. Besides, there was a thrill in keeping this fling secret.

Slipping out of the wardrobe, finally, she double checked the surroundings of Ostred’s room. Once she was sure it was clear, she creeped out, and away before anyone could see.

She wasn’t going to put herself or Ostred in danger without getting laid first.

***​

Astrid recognized the man holding Sir Wallace, Thorolf, and realized this was a delicate situation. While she certainly sympathized with his anger, things could get very bad if he went through with his intentions. There had to be a way to get both sides to agree.

“Surely this would be a crime in Landis as well?” Astrid suggested, putting herself between Reynard and Thorolf.

“A peasant has no standing to accuse a knight of such base offenses.”

“There are no peasants here, Prince Reynard,” Astrid reminded with arms crossed over her chest, “Only Drakul.”

Reynard narrowed his eyes “If this allegation were true, it would be a violation of his oaths, as a knight. He’d be stripped of his title and punished according to the severity of his deeds.”

“Very well,” she decided, spanning her gaze between Reynard and Thorolf, “we shall conduct a trial, to get to the truth of the matter.”

“A trial?” Thorolf spat, “That’s not the way of Fairtheora Astrid, and you know that.”

“But it is the ways of Landis, Thorolf, and they are here on Verrier’s request. We will honor their laws, and seek justice with their consent. We can’t sentence a man to death without the full story. As both a Drakul and princess of Landis, I will sit upon the tribunal, with one representative of Landis and one representative of Fairtheora.”

Reynard scoffed, “A woman would sit in judgement of a man and knight? Preposterous.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her father-in-law, “Either I sit upon the tribunal, or I allow Thorolf to mete out his version of justice.”
 
Reynard statted to respond, then reconsidered. He and his knights were not outnumbered, but neither did they possess any significant tactical advantage. And while a show of force would scatter and cow peasants, his headache of a daughter-in-law was correct. The mongrel folk of Fearfire were no peasants,

“Very well,” he agreed, staring at Thorolf. “I accept your terms. A tribunal, with a representative of Landis and a representative of Fearfire, and you representing both.” He filded his arms. “I choose Sir Gerard Sturm as the representative of Landis.”

The knight in question, a youngish man with curly dark hair, blinked in surprise and then flushed as the assembled knights nodded and murmured agreement. “I... I shall strive to do my best, your highness.”

“You have been scrupulously honest in all your dealings, Sir Gerard,” Reynard stated. “I charge you to do the same now, and to uncover the truth that lies behind these allegations. The honor of Landis itself lies in your hands.”

“As you command, my liege,” Gerard replied, bowing.

“And now,” Reynard continued, turning to face Thirolf, “whom will you choose?”
 
Astrid spared Sir Gerard a glance, and then let it linger. He was rather attractive. Not as handsome as her Ellistair, surely, but pleasant to look at, and endearing with his shyness. She acknowledged him with a nod and a smile as he stood beside her.

Thorolf stood firm, massive arms crossed over his chest. For many heartbeats, he said nothing, and the tension built, threatening to cave in upon fragile peace Astrid had brokered. Just when she feared both sides would come to blows again, Thorolf motioned with his chin. “Danelius.”

Danelius stepped forward, a broad shouldered young man with wild dark blond hair tied loosely behind his head. He wore his facial hair thin and his beard short. Carrying himself with a confident swagger, he flashed her a smirk. “Astrid. Or, is it milady now?”

“Astrid is fine,” she stated without humor. She couldn’t maintain the appearance of impartiality if she objected to his appointment, but she wasn’t pleased by this selection. He wasn’t a bad choice, but they had history together. Whatever. The sooner they got over with, the sooner peace would return to Fairtheora. “We shall hear testimony in the amphitheatre within the hour. Have all witnesses gather there.”

The crowd dispersed and Sir Wallace was released to her husband’s custody. Astrid made her way through the fortress, trying to clear her mind in preparation to her the case. She was relieved to see a friendly face who might be able to understand her dilemma.

“Where have you been?” she asked her sister-in-law.

“Around,” Hilda said, evasively. “The mountain is a big place.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her, “I am aware.”

Hilda fell in with her, and Astrid decided against prodding her further. She had enough on her mind for now. They moved in silence for several paces, before Hilda spoke up, “So, what happened earlier?”

“Sir Wallace has been accused of attempted rape.”

Her eyes went wide, “Did he do it?”

“I don’t know. I was just able to stop the Drakul and the Knights of Landis from coming to blows. But now I have to hear the case, and decide who’s lying, and where the truth lies.”
 
“So, how do we want to do this?” Sir Gerard asked. “I mean, if Fearfire has no courts, what would be the best way to proceed?”

“By finding out the truth of the matter,” Danelius laughed. “And then executing the would-be rapist.”

The two men sat in the amphitheater, waiting for the arrival of Princess Astrid and the witnesses and spectators. Gerard sat erect in his chair, looking for all the world as if he were at attention. Danelius, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair with his feet on the table they’d brought in.

“As I understand matters,” Gerard remarked, “The Drakul hold to a doctrine of might makes right. That the strong take what they wish, unless they are stopped.”

“Yes..?” Danelius replied, eyes narrowing.

“Then how could rape - or anything else - even be considered a crime, here?” Gerard folded his arms, waiting.

“Fuck you,” Danelius snapped.

“I doubt you’re strong enough,” Gerard smiles. Then his expression turned serious. “But, without a legal system, what method should we use to prove the truth of what happened to the satisfaction of all? Trial by combat?”

Danelius shook his head. “No.”

“Surely that suits the Drakul?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah, in theory,” Danelius agreed. “But, despite what you think, we do have a basic set of laws. Or, well, codes of behavior. Expectations for being a part of society.” He gestured around. “Otherwise it’d be a noisy free-for-all, and the Dragon would probably kill us all just to get some peace and quiet.”

“Interesting.” Gerard thought for a moment. “Then can we agree that our best option is to interview the accused and the possible victim, and then the witnesses.”

“Yeah,” Danelius nodded. “Look for inconsistencies in the stories. Assuming Astrid agrees.”
 
“The way I see it, there are three possibilities,” Astrid suggested.

“Sir Wallace is guilty of the crime, or the victim is lying about it.” Hilda counted off on her fingers, but came up short. “What’s the third possibility?”

“Thorolf misunderstood what happened between his daughter and Sir Wallace, or… he didn’t care to understand it. That he chose to interpret Sir Wallace’s actions as forceful.”

“Chose to? Hmm…” Hilda was quiet a moment, then cocked her head. “I didn’t think fathers here guarded their daughter’s virtue the way they do in Landis.”

“It’s not the same, not really, but, well…” Astrid pursed her lips, and considered her words carefully. “Some Drakul have… disdain for outsiders.” Hilda raised an eyebrow, but before she could answer, they entered the amphitheater. Already an audience was filling in the seats, and Astrid could only sigh. “I better get on with it then, and hope we can come out of this without starting a brawl.”

“Oh, her majesty deigns to join us?” Once, such teasing from Danelius would have caused Astrid to roll her eyes and retort with her own snappy jab. But there was a sneer in his words that stung, and a distance between them Astrid couldn’t explain. So, she ignored his words and took her seat between both men.

“We agreed that the best course of action would be to hear from all the relevant parties, and decide who has the most credible explanation,” Sir Gerard explained.

Astrid nodded, “I have no objections. Shall we hear from the accused first? Or the accuser?”
 
“Oh, her majesty deigns to join us?” Danelius sneered as Astrid joined them.

“Highness,” Gerard said, rising until she took her seat.

“What?” Danelius blinked at the apparent non-sequiter.

“Princess Astrid is referred to as ‘highness’,” Gerard replied, taking his seat once more. “‘Majesty’ is reserved to the ruling monarch.”

Danelius considered that for a moment. “Seems awfully complicated to me.”

Gerard shrugged. “It’s all in what you grow up with.” His attention turned to
Astrid. “We agreed that the best course of action would be to hear from all the relevant parties, and decide who has the most credible explanation.”

Astrid nodded, “I have no objections. Shall we hear from the accused first? Or the accuser?”

“The accuser,” Danelius responded immediately.

“May I ask why?” Gerard asked.

“It seems the fairest way to proceed.” Danelius leaned back in his seat. “Everyone heard clearly what Sir Wallace is accused of, and it will let him know what he needs to defend himself against.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to hear from Thorolf’s daughter...” Gerard checked his notes, “Valda? First, I mean. We’ve heard her father’s accusations. Does she even confirm them?”
 
“Thorolf first, then Sir Wallace, and Valda last,” Astrid decided, jotting down her notes. Parties for the accused and accuser entered, and split off to one side or another, leaving Astrid directly in the middle, as if she belonged among neither side. Ignoring the pang of isolation, she called upon Thorolf, and he sat before the tribunal.

“Tell us about what happened between Sir Wallace and Valda,” Astrid instructed.

Thorolf remained stoic, massive arms crossed over his barrel of a chest. “He tried to force himself on my daughter.”

“In what way?”

His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Sexually.”

“No I get that, I mean…” Astrid motioned with one hand. “What was the scene, when you arrived?”

“He was atop her, pinning her hands over her head. With her skirt hiked up to her hip.” Thorold let his gaze span the gathered tribunal, before adding, “I caught him right in the act.”

“And was he exposed?”

“And why does that matter?”

“Well, how do you think he expected to get his pants off while he held Valda down with both of his hands? Perhaps he never intended to force Valda into anything.”

“Or perhaps he was too dumb to think his assault all the way through,” Thorolf snarled.

Danelius scoffed, “I thought you’d understand, Astrid. If not because you were once a Drakul, then at least because you’re a woman.”

“I’m still a Drakul,” she argued.

“Doesn’t seem like it, not with the way you are trying to find any reason to let this man get away with his crime.”

“I’m trying to get to the truth, and not judge a man from whence he hails. Perhaps you should try it as well.”
 
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