Page 82 of The Champion

Christian cocked his head suspiciously. “How well do you know him?”

“We’ve been introduced a few times in the past.”

Zenobia snorted. “Then why would he listen to you?”

Frustrated, she looked at each of them in turn. “I’m ready to hear any other option the lot of you has that doesn’t involve his murder. Can anyone think of something better?”

“I throw my lot in with Kit’s suggestion,” Val said, his tone surly.

Swan shoved at the much larger knight. “Very well then, Rowena, you’re our only hope. If you fail to dissuade Damien from taking part in tomorrow’s trial, then Stryder will die.”

The full weight of that statement settled hard upon her shoulders.

Everything was now up to her.

Nodding, she took her leave of the group and headed toward the castle, but as she walked, she realized something.

This was the weight of responsibility that Stryder had lived with since his youth. He was the leader of the Brotherhood. Their lives had all been in his hands, and to a degree, those lives still were.

It was a horrifying burden that he carried with grace.

And in that moment, she realized something even more terrifying.

She loved Stryder of Blackmoor.

Knight. Knave.

Hero.And she would do whatever she must to see him free of his prison.

Eleven

Getting in to see Damien St. Cyr proved to be even more difficult than getting in to see the king.

His chambers were just off those of the king and queen themselves. In fact, he had traveled here to Hexham in their royal company and had kept to himself almost exclusively since their arrival.

Unlike the other nobles, he never ate in the hall, nor did he venture out to train with the other knights. His time in the list was reserved at dawn or dusk with only the most renowned of tutors, and during those times no other knight was allowed to be near the area.

It made her wonder how Swan had ever glimpsed the man’s cheeks, especially since the prince wore a gilded mask over the top part of his face. He was never seen without a full cloak, even in the dead of summer, with a cowl pulled up to conceal the mask.

Not that she knew what said mask looked like. She’d only heard other courtiers gossip about it. Many claimed that he had been burned as a young man and sought to cover those scars. Others said he was deformed from birth and that no one had ever glimpsed his real face or hair.

That he was a leper.

But if Swan was correct...

“He will see you, milady.”

Rowena let out a relieved breath as his servant stood back and opened the door to let her inside the prince’s private chambers.

Nervous and unsure, she entered his chambers slowly. They were lush with burgundy wall hangings and ornate, mahogany chairs covered by plush dark blue cushions. There was a closed door to her right that, no doubt, led from this sitting area into the bed chamber.

Damien stood with his back to her, looking out a corner window. He was a tall man. One of intimidating size.

“Rowena de Vitry,” he said her name in a voice that was silken and smooth. Deep and cultured. “What brings the renowned Lady of Love into the humble presence of a man such as myself?”

She swallowed and wished she knew more about the noble lord before her. But in truth, few rumors were ever spoken about him, and that in and of itself, told much about his family’s vast influence.

And Damien’s power.