“Paris,” he greeted. “I will not pretend to be ignorant as to why you are here, but I want to hear it from you.”
Paris met William’s gaze a moment before looking around him, seeing Troy with Kieran.
“Get out of my way, William,” he said. “This is between me and your son.”
William wouldn’t budge. “Tell me why you have come or I will not move.”
“You said you already know why.”
“I also said I want to hear it from you,” William said. “Do you think so little of me that you would not give me that courtesy?”
Paris looked at him. “This is not about you,” he said. “This is about your son. He thinks he is a man, so let him handle this like a man.”
“I am waiting.”
Paris took a step back, his jaw working angrily. “Very well,” he said. “If that is what you wish, then I shall tell you why I am here. You have raised a scoundrel for a son, William.”
“Why?”
Paris snorted, his cheeks beneath his three-point helm turning pink. “Did he tell you that Helene is pregnant?”
“He did.”
William said it so emotionlessly that Paris ripped off his helm, throwing it down in a rage. “My daughter is fifteen years old, William,” he snarled. “Fifteen years old and seduced by… by that feral cat you call a son. He seduced her!”
“He loves her.”
Paris’ jaw was ticking so furiously that he was close to snapping teeth. “I told him that he could court her,” he said. “I did not tell him that he could fuck her. That’s what he did, like a dog after a bitch in heat.”
William was struggling to keep his cool. He didn’t like to hear Paris calling his son names. “It is my understanding that she was a willing participant,” he said, trying to slow down Paris’ building fury. “She loves him, too, Paris. You know this.”
“I also told him that she was too young to marry!”
“My mother married at thirteen.”
Paris began to stomp around, kicking at anything that came near his foot. “I told you that this is not about you,” he said. “Your son has defiled my daughter and I shall have my satisfaction!”
William just stood there and shook his head. “What satisfaction?” he said. “Killing my son? And just how do you think I will respond to that? Did you ever think about that?”
Paris came to a halt, facing William with wide eyes. “I have every right to seek satisfaction.”
“If you do, then I have every right to seek revenge.”
That brought Paris great pause. He stood there, staring at the man he loved best in the world, a man who was closer to him than any brother. But at the moment, he was flabbergasted that William didn’t see his point.
Paris, as usual, only saw what he wished to see, in this case, the man who had impregnated his fifteen-year-old daughter. It didn’t matter to him that they were in love. It didn’t matter to him that Troy wanted to marry Helene. All that mattered was that his daughter was pregnant out of wedlock.
He simply wasn’t being rational.
“You would do that?” Paris hissed. “You would punish me for something that is my right?”
William was starting to harden. He was no longer the understanding friend, but the father put in a position of defending his son.
The situation was turning dark.
“It is not your right to kill my son,” he said, lowering his voice. “Stop being so ridiculous and understand the situation for what it is – there is no slander against your daughter. She loves Troy and he loves her. They demonstrated that love. May I remind you that you demonstrated your love to your children’s mother, many times, that resulted in your eldest child’s conception before you were married, only Caladora didn’t have an enraged father to defend her honor.”
Cracks were appearing in Paris’ stance. “That is completely different.”
“It is not.”
“Caladora was not fifteen years old!”
“Even so, you were the feral cat that you accuse my son of being, as you’ve been a feral cat your entire life,” William snapped back. “They say that it takes one to know one, and having known you since you were a child, I have seen your collection of deflowered women, so your anger against Troy is not only ridiculous, it is offensive. You were exactly what you accuse him of being, Paris.”
Paris stiffened. “That may be,” he said. “But those days are gone. I have daughters to protect – three of them. Your son violated my trust when he bedded my daughter.”
William could see that Paris wasn’t going to relent so easily. The man was angry, and incensed, and his argument kept moving from one reason to the next. William just looked at his friend, realizing that no matter what he said, Paris was going to find an excuse to punish Troy. He felt the de Norville family honor was at stake somehow.
Perhaps that was really what this was all about.
William finally looked away.
“You want to punish my son?” he said. “Then punish him. Do what you will. But whoever draws the first blood is the winner and when you leave, in whatever condition you happen to leave in, you will never return here. Ever.”
Paris’ brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
William looked at him, angrily. “You are forcing me to take sides,” he said. “Very well; I shall take a side. I shall take Troy’s side and anyone who tries to harm my son is my enemy. Even you, Paris. So, if this foolish surge of manly honor is worth the risk, then go ahead and fight my son. But if you do, it will be the last time I ever speak to you.”
With that, he turned away, heading back to where Troy and Kieran were standing. But as William drew near, he saw two more heavily armed knights emerging from the keep. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at Scott and Patrick, armed to the teeth as they prepared to defend their brother.
William was so angry at Paris that he was going to let them.
“First blood drawn is the winner,” he told Troy and Kieran as he walked past them. “Troy, if Paris de Norville lifts his sword to you, you have my permission to defend yourself. But if he insists on fighting you, then he is dead to me. I think you should know that.”
As William continued towards the keep, Troy and Kieran passed concerned glances. Troy looked positively shocked. Kieran finally held up a hand to Troy, silently asking him to remain where he was as he went to speak to Paris.
Paris was in the process of picking his helm off the ground, grunting unhappily when he realized he had scratched it up by throwing it into the dirt. When the man saw Kieran coming, he looked away quickly, trying to ignore him as he put on the helm.
“Save your breath,” he told Kieran. “I have nothing more to say.”
Kieran came to a halt. “Maybe you do not, but I do,” he said. “I was told about the situation with Troy and Helene. I take it you have come to avenge your daughter?”
“I would be a poor father if I did not.”
Kieran watched Paris, his jerky movements, and knew this situation was close to exploding. But he wondered if Paris really did.
“William says you are dead to him if you lift a sword to his son,” he said. “Knowing that Troy loves your daughter and wants to marry her, and knowing your daughter loves Troy and wants to marry him, are you still prepared to go through this ridiculous farce?”