His father motioned to a map spread over a large table. Red figures dotted areas to the north and west.
“Half the kingdoms have reported incidents. The sorcerers have targeted those with Zafarian artifacts. It is only a matter of time before they strike here.”
No time at all if they learned of his collection.
“Marriage alliances will bring armies that will aid us over others,” his father said. “For the good of Florian, you need to wed. Rachel too.”
If the account was accurate, the Zafarians did pose a lethal threat to many lands, but marriage alliances and larger armies were not the only solutions. Nor the best ones.
“What we need to do is to capture their leader,” Bregovi said. “According to legend, an Order Master directs them.”
“It is impossible, son. No one knows who the man is. Those who have been caught won’t divulge his identity.”
“Are they using magik?” Bregovi asked, more intrigued than he dared admit.
“Witnesses report they have been blatant about their abilities, probably trying to instill fear among the people. I know you find sorcery fascinating, but there is no honor in setting a house afire with a word.”
“I admit magik interests me, but I have never doubted the Zafarians were dangerous. The fact that they destroyed every living creature in Zafaria demonstrates as much. That is why we need to stop them now. Before they gain in power. I have volumes detailing their history and rituals. Let me try. Let me do this for the kingdom. And if I succeed—when I succeed—let me win my freedom as a reward. Rachel’s too.”
The king studied the map of the land and then Bregovi. “If pursuing this mad quest will appease you, then you have my consent. But it must not interfere with the festival. You must attend to your duties here.”
“I will. Thank you, Father.”
“Be careful, son. And be prepared to marry when you do not locate the sorcerer.”
Bregovi understood his duty and would do what was required, even if it meant marrying a maiden he had no affinity for. But for the first time in weeks, he had hope of avoiding that duty just yet and of doing something to benefit Florian in the process.
He needed to speak to Wolfe. Bregovi would set him onto the Zafarian immediately after the man located Kate, which he suspected had already occurred if Wolfe was on his game.
At the thought of the maiden, another brilliant idea sprang to mind.
“Father, have the commoner entries been determined?”
“Yes, we decided this morning. The smithy and a barmaid.”
“May I suggest another choice?”
“You aren’t fancying a servant, are you? We need an alliance with a kingdom, not a commoner.”
“Of course not, I merely wish to bestow a favor.”
His father studied him for a moment then nodded. “Speak to Randolph.”
“Thank you.” Bregovi felt like he’d outmaneuvered a wily fox—and he wasn’t referring to his father. With Kate entered in the competition, her reclusive days would be history. He needed to find Randolph before the maids cajoled the names from him.
“Son,” his father’s stern voice halted him near the door.
Bregovi turned, hoping his eagerness to depart hadn’t altered the decision.
“Enjoy her,” his father said, rolling a red figure in his palm. “Better yet, bed her.”
Now, does one agree with one’s father about bedding a woman or dive for another topic? Unquestionably the latter. As Bregovi grasped for any idea to replace the image of Kate in his bed, the man’s unwavering eyes met his.
“Do anything you wish with her, but make certain she does not win.”
Chapter 5
That evening, sitting on the throne next to his father and Rachel in the Grand Hall, Bregovi scanned the throng for Kate and Wolfe. Making his task nearly impossible, the room overflowed with the entire population of Florian as well as an enormous contingent from abroad.
Randolph blew a short horn burst, and the crowd quieted to hear the introduction of the next competitors. Standing stoically at the base of the center staircase, the elderly crier held up a parchment and read with a voice far larger than his stature. “Presenting Sophia Rose Scarcella, Princess of Westmont, escorted by Lord Nicholas Fredrick Gryffin, Earl of Sydmore.”
The blond princess wore a silver gown that glittered with every step, and the stately earl looked sharp in a tunic decorated with golden emblems. Smiling to all, they started down the stairs.
“Princess Sophia’s kingdom is rich with sapphire. Her interests include the viola, croquet, and of course, gemology. Lord Nicholas’s kingdom is home to twenty mineral springs of great medicinal properties. He is a jousting champion, hunts wild game, and is fluent in ancient tongues.”
They paused at the bottom of the stairs, nodded toward the thrones, then gracefully joined their rivals on the dance floor. As did the ensembles of many of the other entrants, Sophia’s gown shimmered with a flagrant display of gems. They could feed a small country with the value of the gowns whirling before him. He would wager Kate wouldn’t be so frivolous. Her dress in the forest had been simple, but her curves had ornamented it better than any jewel could.
As he remembered the feel of her pressed against him, his pulse quickened yet again. Their duel had been nearly as thrilling. She’d managed the rapier and him with skill unheard of for a woman. Where had she learned to wield the weapon? And why? When most maidens were studying an instrument or the arts, she had spent hours sparring with men.
To calm his budding jealousy, he reasoned she must have been taught by a brother or father. If she had been as determined to learn to duel as she was to defeat him in the woods, they hadn’t a chance. Hell, he’d consent to instruct her on every weapon in his arsenal to see the sparks in her eyes again. The devilish grin she’d given him when he’d asked if she could use the blade could have set driftwood aflame.
He resumed his perusal of the hall, determined to find her and draw another smile or biting remark. Either would delight.
“How do you feel about being in the same room as your future bride?” Rachel whispered from across their father.
“Claustrophobic,” he whispered back.
The king chuckled.
A dancing couple paused before the throne to offer a curtsey and a bow. The royals nodded in return, and the couple continued on.
“How do you feel about being in the same room as your future husband?” Bregovi said.
“My husband?” Rachel quickly glanced around. “Did he write to Father? Has something been arranged?”
“He?” Bregovi said. “Who would write to Father?”
Another couple stopped before the throne, following the example of the first. Once again, they exchanged smiles and nods.
“If no one wrote, how can I be betrothed?”
“You haven’t told her?” Bregovi used the disappointed tone his father usually reserved for him. The man’s face grew ruddy, but he held his tongue as Rachel glanced between them.
“Told me what?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch and volume.
“I hadn’t found the right moment,” their father said gruffly.
“I suggest you make this the right moment, before she hears it from Randolph,” Bregovi said.