The Knight of Her Heart

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by Laran Mithras

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The Captain of Her Heart

The Captain of Her Heart: Assassin's Gambit

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After Her Death

Cover Photo courtesy of FreePixels.com

The Knight of Her Heart is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright  ©  2013 - All Rights Reserved

Then said He unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one.

~ Jesus, to his disciples, Luke 22:36

CHAPTER 1

The woman's life hung in the balance. Her actions in the next few minutes would determine her fate, but she was unaware. Spymaster Zabren watched the Lady Emma of Du Sarron dress through the peephole in the painting. He licked his cracked lips as she slid undergarments over naked, well-formed hips.

He maintained spyholes in every room of the castle – even the chambers of the king and queen. But he was the Spymaster of the empire, how else was he supposed to learn the secrets upon which he was depended?

The Lady wasn't really a lady of noble birth, though her lover Prince Arostolo helped her pass off her deception. Lady Emma was the Prince's Consort. Indeed, she was merely the daughter of a merchant from Sarron who had fallen on hard times. Past the prime age of marriage, Emma tried every persuasion to get Arostolo to marry her. But he resisted. At forty, Zabren doubted she could get anyone to marry her.

King Brukki would never consent to marry off Arostolo to Emma; she was simply too old, though she was younger than the prince by two years.

Ah, there. Zabren wet his lips again as she found the tiny, scrolled note tucked into her perfume box. She unrolled the scroll and tilted the scrap of parchment to the light of the oil lamp.

*  *  *

Emma du Sarron bent to read the familiar crabbed scratchings on the parchment. She wished Master Zabren would leave her alone. Not only was he shorter than her, but he was old, perverted, and smelled like the oil used on the battlements for burning attackers.

The writing was meticulous, though, and direct.

...will meet me this time or I will be forced to drastic measures...

There was no way he was going to stick his paws on her and this would not be the first time this week she had denied him. Months of constant rejections and still the little man persisted.

She walked to the open fire and scanned the little parchment while she thought. The prince was no great gem himself, being arrogant and proud. He knew the kingdom was his and he let everyone know it. But at least he was handsome in his own way. She wasn't sure Arostolo really loved her, but their love-making was spirited and frequent.

She didn't have many other options. She had been betrothed to two other men over the years. But both had been killed in the constant warring with the Tajumwali Hordes before either marriage was celebrated or consummated. Desperate, her father had pulled all the strings he could and spent the rest of his wealth to get her into the palace.

Marry a rich lord, he had told her. Don't die lonely, my Emma.

Crumpling Zabren's parchment in her hand, she threw the offending thing in the fire.

I won't let that toad touch me.

She finished dressing and attached her best earrings – pearls – to her ears. She would have to hurry; Arostolo was expecting her.

*  *  *

Zabren waited just down the hall from Emma's chamber. The heavy door opened and he saw her emerge. He wanted to be directly in her path so that she saw him and understood that he knew of her rejection. But this rejection was her last.

He studied a huge vase and ran his crooked finger over the design. A maid tried to watch him from further along the hall. She was likely worried that he had found dust or grime and would report the offense to the king.

Zabren almost laughed.

Emma slowed as she approached, but then resumed her pace.

He shot a look at her unlike any look he had given her previous. His eyes glared holes into her and she stumbled as she glanced at him in passing.

Your life is at an end and you will regret having rejected me.

He sneered at her, but said nothing. He was  satisfied that she got a good look at the face that would result in her death.

*  *  *

Terry von Auttenberg strode along the castle corridor in the capital city of the Empire. He had recently been called to court and arrived two days gone. He had set up in his assigned chambers with his longtime companion and wizard, Baylum. As one of the newest knights of the court, Terry enjoyed a three-room suite that allowed him an anteroom, and a bedchamber each for he and his friend.

He spared a smile for one of the pretty maidservants as he passed.

The castle was enormous and he had never seen the like. But he was not impressed. Certainly, the opulence was in abundance. The numerous tapestries and vases would satisfy the greediest of collectors.

He inclined his head to a passing Lady of the Court. She was more his age compared to the  maid he had passed a minute ago. The dark color and occasional strands of brilliant silver in her hair were impressive. He watched her until she turned the corner toward the royal chambers.

Sir Terry, is it?

He turned at the sound of the raspy voice. A diminutive man stooped there behind him.  Terry recognized him, but barely. He had seen him constantly in the background, watching.

I am not knighted yet, but go to the ceremony even now.

Ah, of course.

Terry could see the man already knew that.

The man bobbed his head. Your man, is he a retainer?

A man versed in the minor ways of magic, he said.

Ah, yes.

The man's nod told him he already had assumed such but was seeking confirmation.

My best wishes on your knighthood, today, my good sir. The man bowed.

Terry inclined his head and then bowed in return. It never hurt to be kind to those who appeared to have little import. But something about the way this man stooped and spoke told him he was more than some inconsequential castle-dweller.

He arrived at the throne room ahead of time. The steward there, a bald and efficient man, nodded curtly and motioned him to wait. He entered through the open doors and gestured left and right while approaching the throne. King Brukki sat there in conversation with a couple of counselors while several others of the court stood nearby.

The throne room was not the usual meeting place, of course, but a ceremonial place. That the king was here even earlier than Terry spoke well of the man. Typical dealings with the crown were held in the counselors chambers where court was held. Almost as spacious as the ceremonial throne room, the real power was dealt there.

The steward approached the throne and signaled to the king.

King Brukki glanced at his steward and nodded, but held up a hand.

Apparently, even in ceremony, his counselors had something of import to whisper in his ear.

The steward retreated a dozen paces and waited, just out of earshot. The man was exemplary in his duties.

The king appeared to be arguing with one counselor, but not in anger. A debate then on policy. A few seconds later, Brukki nodded and waved off the counselor. With a nod to the steward, he sat back.

With a turn, the steward faced Terry and lifted his chin.

Three short trumpet blasts from either side of the room brought the room to attention.

Terry von Auttenberg, approach your king, the steward said.

Stepping forward, he entered the throne room and marched up to the king. Two knights stood facing each other at the foot of the steps to the throne and he stopped between them.

With the rasp of swords from scabbards, the two knights drew and raised their sword hilts up to their faces in salute.

Terry knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

Brukki stepped down and stopped before him. With another ring of sword clearing scabbard, the king slapped his blade smartly on Terry's right shoulder, holding it there.

Knighthood is a solemn duty to the realm, Brukki said. The calling requires fortitude, perseverance, and honor. Do you stand ready to discharge these qualities as a knight of the Palanisi Empire?

I stand ready.

Brukki whipped the sword