The Knight's Prisoner (Medieval Discipline 1)

She felt again. “Aye, my lord.”

The Prince glanced at Ferrum and rubbed his beard.

“What else?” He sat back and crossed an ankle over his other knee. “Will I win the throne?”

She got the same prickling of the skin on her arms. She swallowed. “I have already said so, my lord,” she said.

Again, he did not fail to notice the change in her skin. He ran his finger over her arm as he had the last time. “I know, I'm sorry. I just liked your answer so well the first time, I wished to hear it again,” he said, and she couldn't help but smile.

He was a very disarming man. Mayhap it was his humility that made her bold. “What would happen if I just chose not to answer your questions?”

The Prince made a sudden move, and she flinched, expecting a blow. Ferrum lunged forward at the same moment, then checked himself. As it turned out, the Prince had merely been reaching for his eating knife, which he lifted to his teeth to pick a bit of meat out as he gave a hard look at Ferrum. She tried to decipher the meaning of the look. It looked… accusatory. And Ferrum looked guilty. She replayed the moment and realized if Ferrum had lunged, it had not been to protect his prince, for surely he required no protection from her. So it had been to protect her from the Prince. And that was probably considered treasonous.

After Ferrum had lowered his eyes guiltily, the Prince turned his steely gaze on her. “What do you think is the answer to that question?” he asked icily.

She swallowed.

“Answer me.” There was not a hint of softness in the man now, and she shivered at the implied danger in his voice.

“I-I don't know.”

“Make a guess.”

“I respectfully withdraw my question, my lord.”

“Ah,” he said with a note of “of course you do.”

“Does Benton know where to find us?”

She shook her head, still feeling chilled from their interaction.

“Is he mounting a campaign against us?”

She listened. She wasn't sure of the answer. “I'm not sure.”

The Prince's eyes narrowed. “Why aren't you sure, Danewyn?”

She swallowed and shrugged. “I just can't tell. Mayhap because you scared me just now.”

The Prince uncrossed his legs and sat forward on the stool, grasping her jaw in his hand. Her heart beat rapidly in its cage, but she met his gaze steadily. If he truly was able to tell truth from lies, he would know she spoke the truth. He released her face and sat back again.

She blew out her breath.

“You were afraid last night.”

“Aye.” She felt overwhelmed, suddenly, with the questioning. The truth was, she didn't know how to control the Sight. She didn't know what made it clearer or what made it disappear altogether. And no one had ever demanded she be able use it upon command before. A single tear escaped from the center of her eye and skated down her cheek.

The Prince reached for her face again, this time his touch gentle. He thumbed away the tear and then kept him thumb there, rubbing her cheek. His tenderness made her lose composure completely, and both eyes filled with tears, which started spilling immediately, wetting her trembling lips. He released her as she pulled away, and she dashed at her tears with the backs of her hands.

“You're dismissed,” the Prince said softly.

Ferrum took hold of the nape of her neck when she met him at the tent door, and his large hand offered her comfort, even as it directed. She liked the feel of it—heavy and secure. Warm. Gentle, even with its massive size and power.

He led her through the camp on what seemed to be his morning rounds—checking in on the men and giving orders for the day. The men were curious about her, staring openly and leeringly, like customers in her tavern. Sir Ferrum introduced her every time as the Prince's Royal Seer, a title that made her uncomfortable, and not only because she had no intention of staying. She had always hidden her Sight, fearing negative attention. It was not something she would ever claim or flaunt, particularly because she had no idea how to be a Royal Seer or any such thing.

“Nay, Sir Ferrum, you jest. I heard she's a light-skirt from the tavern,” one of the men said.

“I heard you banged her in the back and then liked her so well you threw her over your shoulder and carried her to camp!” another man called out. The men roared in laughter.

Ferrum glowered. “Watch your mouth, man, or I'll beat you stupid. That's enough out of all of you!”

“Nay, Sir Ferrum, he heard it true, why deny it?” she called out so they all might hear, causing another roar of laughter and jeers.

Sir Ferrum gripped her upper arm and swung her around to face him. “Danewyn, shut it. Now,” he hissed, his expression one of warning.