The Conqueror

“Why?” She couldn’t even glance sidewise at Griffyn, her agony of self-loathing was so complete.

Marcus affected a baffled expression. “Who knows? Perhaps he got word of some perfidy here in the north.”

She looked at him in growing horror. “Oh, Marcus, no. No.”

“Did he know of your plan?” Marcus turned to look at Griffyn in mock appraisal. “Did she tell you how I was to hurry Eustace away, from under your nose?”

“Stop talking.”

“But I chose a different route, Guinevere. It seemed wise to me to have a few manœvers that even you were not privy to. That, now,” he gestured to the battlefield, “seems most wise.”

She grabbed the thick mail of his hauberk sleeve. “What have you done?”

“Henri will know of your beloved’s treachery, Gwynnie. Hiding the prince in his cellars?” Marcus clucked his tongue in mock dismay. “Henri is forgiving enough with those who’ve never claimed for him, but your betrothed? His right hand in the field, trusted councilor, esteemed diplomat? Première spy? Friend?” Marcus shook his head. “It always hurts most when those closest to us do the evil deeds. Treason is a terrible thing.”

She was shaking her head, spilling hair from its case. “No, Marcus. No.”

“Rather, I should say it hurts most when one is disemboweled while still alive, dismembered, parts flung to the four corners of the realm. That hurts a great deal.”

The only reason Gwyn wasn’t weeping was because she was about to scream. Her head was ready to explode with rage and self-hate and unadulterated fear.

Griffyn stood, arms crossed, staring out across the fields and distant forest. He shifted at this, angled his head in Gwyn’s direction without actually looking at her. “This matters to you?”

“Of course,” she exhaled the words, deep, hot sounds of agony.

Marcus clapped his hands together. “Then let us bargain. I am willing to do business. You want Griffyn safe.”

“And what do you want?” she asked wretchedly.

“You.”

Gwyn’s mouth dropped open. Griffyn finally looked down. Marcus smiled.

“Glad to have your attention. Now,” he continued in his blithe tone, “maybe you”—he looked at Griffyn—“actually do not care if you’re alive or dead. I do not know. Your father was a wild man, unpredictable, so perhaps it runs in the blood. But while you might not care so much about your living or dying, I have something you care about above all that.”

An almost imperceptible shake of Griffyn’s head. “You have nothing I want, fitzMiles.”

“Oh, but I do. Something meant only for the heirs of Everoot. The one, true Heir.”

This finally got a flicker in Griffyn’s eye.

Marcus’s voice dropped. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? The thing you’ve been looking for? Oh, I’ve heard how you renounced the treasure, and your destiny. But I know you. I know this thing. You’ve been looking for it, haven’t you? I have it, and I will give it to you. If you give me Guinevere.”

The winds blew around them, pulling hair from helms and hair bands. Gwyn’s skirts flattened against her legs, as if they’d tried to flee but got caught on her knees. She looked at Griffyn. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were furious, wrecked. The muscle beside his jaw ticked. She spun back to Marcus.

“What are you doing to him? What are you talking about? What is this thing?”

Marcus never looked at her. “Tell me, Griffyn: how much is she worth to you?”

Silence, again. It was as if Griffyn were doing battle inside himself, only barely aware of the words being said. Except that his eyes were locked on Marcus, his look murderous.

Gwyn’s eyes filled up with hot tears. A year ago, she swore to kill herself before marrying Marcus. She and Griffyn had shared a laugh over it. Now it was Griffyn, not she, who would die if she did not submit. She bent her head.

“I will do it.”

She said it so quietly neither man heard at first. For the moment she was incidental, although she was the chip they were bargaining with, she who had incited this madness. Griffyn’s face was impenetrable and hard as stone, but when Gwyn said it again, “I will marry you,” he turned to her.

Marcus did too. Many emotions raced across his face, but all of them seemed to make him smile. “I’ve said it all along, Gwynnie: you’re impetuous, but not stupid,” he observed with real affection. Gwyn felt astonished at that. “So we have a deal.”