Alden
“She has escaped the siege.”
A cheer went up from the class. Lady Elara did not have to specify who she meant. All had been waiting on news from Oxford, the situation more and more dire with every update.
Alden watched as their strategies instructor paced the front of the room.
Their beautiful, intelligent, extremely off-limits strategies instructor.
“Before I share precisely how it was done, I would ask, given the information I’ve shared with you these past weeks, how you would have helped the empress escape? I understand this has been a topic of discussion before, and can tell you, none of the strategies thus far presented are the ones she used.”
One by one, his classmates proposed theories on how such a feat could be accomplished.
As usual, Alden said little. It was not that he had nothing to add, but aware he was an outsider here—the only blacksmith’s son, the only man not a knight at this Knight School—he thought it prudent to let the others venture their guesses.
It was only with Darien, Gareth, Roland, and the former two wives, that he felt less ill at ease.
And, of course, on the training field.
From here, through a single arrow slit, he could see that training field, covered in white. Watching as snow fell, he imagined his comrades out there, conspicuous in their black surcoats against the white landscape.
Despite himself, the idea forming in his mind, Alden raised his hand.
Lady Elara called his name.
“Disguised,” he said. “She somehow disguised herself to escape.”
Roland snicked beside him. Alden punched him in the arm, none too lightly.
“Pray tell, what do you mean?” she prompted.
Attempting not to let his instructor’s full lips as she formed the question distract him, Alden looked back through the arrow slit onto the training field.
It had been snowing for some days, heavy at times.
“In white.”
He turned back, surprised to see Lady Elara’s eyes narrow at him. Even when wrong, she typically encouraged all answers.
“You learned of her escape already?”
Alden cocked his head to the side.
“Pardon?”
“You learned of it. Her half-brother devised a plan for Empress Matilda to disguise herself in white and escape with a small party into the snowy countryside.”
“I did not learn of it until this moment,” Alden countered. “I looked onto the training field and—”
“Impossible,” Roland muttered. “You must have known.”
Alden gave his attention to his friend. “I did not know.”
Roland held his gaze, discerning if Alden spoke the truth. Apparently satisfied he did, Roland said, “Impressive.”
Lady Elara had moved on, describing the precise strategy they had used. But glancing back at him, Alden could tell she still did not believe he’d thought of the strategy himself.
And why should she?
He was from no noble family.
Had no title, not even one of “sir.”
He was but the son of a blacksmith, whose strength was the only reason he graced these halls.
Reminding himself he should be proud, and not ashamed, to sit among such men, he repeated a familiar phrase to himself.
I am Alden of Shirsten St. Mary. My father is John of Dunridge, and I am proud to call myself his son. I need no accolades, or titles, to prove my worth.
“You are scowling again,” Roland said next to him.
“I do not scowl.”
Thankfully, Roland’s laugh earned him a terse glance from their instructor. His friend deserved it. How Amalia endured him as a husband, he could not be certain. Alden would tell Roland so after class. Or so he thought.
“Alden, I would speak to you,” Lady Elara said just after dismissing the others.
With pleasure.
He kept that thought to himself.
…..
Don’t miss out on the special release price of book #3 in the series, TO LOVE, coming this summer. Get a new release notice here.
