Stanfleda felt his eyes on her, and she ground her teeth in unrefined furry. Upon her return from the university, Erik, to her dismay, had renewed his resolve to become her considerate.

Sarah walked by Stanfleda’s side, perfectly comfortable amid the drama.

“I don’t understand your distaste for him,” she complained. “I mean, he’s quite handsome and a wonderful dancer.”

Stanfleda clenched her jaw, “Could a man be more desperate or obsessed? No doubt he will one day make a very charming husband for some woman, but that woman is not me.” She turned a corner. Stanfleda had had enough of his games, and she finally had the nerve to say no. No doubt her brother, Paramount Sledda, would have stern words for her about her refusal.

“You’re being unreasonable, and yes, he might be a little pushy, but if you just give him a little time, you can reform him.”

“Hah!” Stanfleda barked.

Stanfleda started down the stairs into the main garden but afforded a hasty glance to the balcony on the eastern wing. A shiver ran down her spine. Erik stood with both hands clutching the rail, still looking down at her.

“Ugh,” she shuddered in disgust. “I am tired of that man looking at me like that. He’s not a cat, and I’m certainly no mouse.”

Sarah stopped trying. She was a romantic and would speak on behalf of any man, so long as he had a handsome face. To Stanfleda’s surprise, Sarah seemed to pick up on the fact that Stanfleda was serious.

“What must I do to make him go away finally?” Stanfleda asked, mostly to herself.

“You could run away to a faraway land, or elope with the stable boy, or drink poison to truly test his love and see if he will follow you to the gates of death!” Sarah answered dramatically.

“That’s childish,” Stanfleda said. “You need to focus more on your studies and avoid novels .”

“Nonsense!” Sarah cried as though the accusation was personal and uncalled for. “I don’t read enough novels!”

Stanfleda smiled involuntarily. As ridiculous as the girl could be, her light-hearted humor put Stanfleda at ease.

“It’s too bad he is as good as he is at dueling,” Stanfleda said. “It keeps most of the other men away.”

“I’ll bet some young prince is training his days away, waiting to strike Erik down to win your hand.” Sarah took a few mock stabs and slashes in the air.

“If only,” Stanfleda muttered.

“Intruder!” the alarm went out, and the guards and martial men poured out of the Manor and the longhouse.

Stanfleda scanned the garden. What could this be? Were the Rowans raiding at daylight? Did they have the nerve? Why were they so insistent on tearing her family down?

Sarah flashed pale. “Quickly paramountess,” she cried. “Get inside where it is safe.”

A Sharderin half-caste rounded the corner, grappling with and trying to throw three guards off of him. The man fought and thrashed like a lone tiger. This wasn’t a raid. It was a gang beating. Stanfleda felt her face flush with anger. She had seen it before. Board guards and martial men from her garrison would find a local debtbond or street grey and put their weight into him just for fun.

Stanfleda wasn’t actually in command of these guards. They were her grandfather’s, Prime Paramount Alred himself. But the guards would respect her authority, and she had forbidden them from bullying debtbonds, street greys, or Leomen in the past.

Captain Awiergan appeared, tackled the Sharderin from behind, and growled as he produced a gleaming dagger.

That was too far! “Stop!” Stanfleda screamed as she ran down the stairs.

The guards jumped to attention, and the snarling Sharderin’s jaw dropped when he saw her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Stanfleda stormed at the panting guards.

“We caught the spy infiltrating the perimeter, m’lady,” Captain Awiergan shouted as he held the Sharderin under his dagger. “We think he is one of Godric’s.”

“Spy?” she said. “And you were planning on stabbing him?”

“M’lady. He scuffed up two of my men pretty badly. Please go inside. We’ll deal with him.”

She looked at the men in disbelief. Such excuses were farfetched, especially directed toward a Sharderin. A second glance caused her to doubt herself. A guard was panting as he covered a black eye, and one had a bloody nose. Their injuries aside, the Sharderin was huge, not precisely the target any sane bully would pick. Oddly, something about him seemed familiar.

Stanfleda gasped. She recognized him. He was the worker from the road the other day, and his stunned look suggested he knew her.

Stanfleda stammered clumsily in shock for a moment before gaining control of herself. “Well, I’ll have you know that this ‘spy’ that you intended to stick with your knife just so happens to be my colleague from the university. I asked him to meet me in the garden.” She lied bluntly.

“You did?” The Sharderin asked, confused.

She shut him up with a death glare.

“I mean, that’s right,” The intruder said as he caught up. “I was admiring the flowers waiting for… you when your guards attacked me,” he said, failing miserably to fabricate a smooth lie.

“I’ll take him from here,” Stanfleda said, eager to get the poor man away from her grandfather's dogs.

“M’lady,” Captain Awiergan said as he looked at her. He knew she was lying. “This is neither wise nor safe.”

“You seemed to have mistaken my order as a request. Leave us.”

They glared at the man and then much more subtly at Stanfelda. She put them in a tricky situation. They were charged with her safety, and now she was isolating herself with a potential enemy. Kel, now that she thought about it, was likely putting herself in a bind. Was she foolish? Was the Sharderin a spy? Was he dangerous? It didn’t matter? Spy or not, she had just saved his life.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Stanfleda cleared her throat loudly, and the guards withdrew from earshot. Some whispered threats to the young Sharderin, but all kept a vigilant eye on him. She could also see more guards entering the scene, sticking to the shadows, watching. They were worried.

“What are you doing?” Sarah hissed.

“Don’t tell me you have changed your mind, Sarah?” Stanfleda said as confidently as she could. “You seemed quite fond of him the first time you saw him.”

“The first time?” Sarah asked. She studied his face for a moment and then let out a cry of surprise. “I don’t believe it, the roadman!”

Stanfleda nodded.

“I remember you,” the trespasser said with a nod of appreciation. “You passed me in your Remnant carriage.” His voice was very accented, smooth, and thick. The words came from deep within his barreled chest.

She flushed pink despite her efforts to remain composed, so he was looking at her the other day. She was stupid; a spy would have reason to be watching their rival’s daughter.

“So,” Stanfleda started, “are you a spy?”

He let out a deep chuckle, and she was instantly convinced that he found the idea ridiculous. “No, I came to see the garden, that’s all.”

He was not telling the truth, but not in a two-faced way; it was almost as if he was scared of her.

“Now is not the time for games, Roadman. I have a pack of dogs, and only my command keeps them on the leash,” she said, gesturing to the guards.

Stanfleda felt her heart drop as she saw Erik talking to the captain and watching. So, the commotion had got him to come down from his perch. His eye met hers, and he held eye contact.

She scoffed to herself. Erik had no right to look at her like that. She didn’t belong to him. Acting primarily angrily to the dueler’s predatory eyes, Stanfleda stood up straight and used her most proper voice. “What is your name, sir?” The term sir was far too formal in this case, especially considering he was a Sharderin, but she hoped Erik was watching. She intended to sell that her “guest” was a scholar to her audience and not some peasant. She had time for any lowly Sharderin before she would willingly give time to Erik.

“Niklas Loga,” he said with an awkward, unpracticed, sweeping bow. His clumsy attempt at etiquette made her think of a toddler getting used to walking for the first time.

“Well, Sir Loga,” she said, “if it’s my garden that you have come to see, then see it you shall. Walk with me.”

They turned to leave, but she still felt Erik's eyes on her. She had had enough of this. If he wanted to watch, she would give him something to watch.

“Sarah,” she said. “I wish to speak with Sir Loga alone. Give us a little privacy.”

Sarah nodded and fell into step a few paces behind them.

Perfect. The intimate gesture would sting Erik more than a sword wound.

“My name is Demi Paramountes Stanfleda.”

She looked back and saw Erik still looking. She smiled smugly to herself. Her self-isolation with the stranger would send him a clear message.

Hoping to drive the point further, she took Niklas by the arm as they walked. The workman stifled in surprise; it was both a formal yet intimate gesture, observed mainly by higher society.

Niklas walked stiff and uncomfortable to her touch, “Mr. Loga,” she warned, “I recommend you relax while you walk with me. You are making my guards nervous.”

“Forgive me, moth- my lady,” he said, allowing his shoulders to slump slightly. They entered the hedged gardens, and he looked around with little interest. “Your garden is unlike any that I have seen before.”

“You don’t have to lie.” She said.

He shrugged. “We don’t have gardens where I come from. There’s no food here. What’s the point?”

“There are several reasons for a garden. Esthetic, recreation–”

“Infiltration,” he added. “Your enemies probably appreciate the cover.”

“You’re kind of terse, aren’t you?”

He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. This is your home.”

“No,” Stanfleda stopped him. “Not many people will tell me what they truly think.” She looked around. “Honestly, this is only my home a few months out of the year, and it hardly feels like it, considering how many people I share it with.” She glanced back at Erik.

Niklas looked to the wall, and Stanfleda became aware he was sweating heavily. At least he was clean.

“So you obviously didn’t come here to see my garden. Why are you really here?”

He looked away.

Stanfleda felt herself panic. Was he an assassin? Was she making his job way too easy?

“I was lovesick,” he muttered.

She instantly felt her cheeks heat up. “What?”

“I have a friend who came to work here. I wanted to visit her.”

“A...friend?” Stanfleda asked, feeling foolish for overreacting but relieved that he wasn’t talking about her. “Is she here?”

“She’s over there,” Niklas said, pointing to a girl who was watching them, worried in the distance. She was a field worker, perhaps a few years older than Stanfleda. She had a healthy athletic build, mixed blonde, and black hair, and was surprisingly beautiful for a work woman who wouldn’t have access to an esthetic operator. Stanfleda momentarily thought of jealousy at the girl’s natural beauty but quickly banished it, ashamed of herself.

Stanfleda had used esthetic operators from time to time. Her flawless features were a testament to that, but it sometimes made her feel fake.

“She’s quite lovely,” Stanfleda said.

“Yes,” Niklas agreed.

“You coming here to see her was–”

“Stupid,” he said.

“Cute.” Stanfleda finished. “But yes, also stupid. You can’t just do that here. Trespassing against my grandfather is a serious crime.”

He nodded. “I didn’t know,” he thought for a moment, “but I should have figured.”

“Where do you come from that you don’t know that?” Stanfleda asked.

He looked at her. “I come from Pit.”

Stanfleda stopped. Did he hear her accuse him of being the Frezvac’s son?

“I didn’t grow up in a civilized area. I’m not from the haunted woods themselves.”

“I would hardly believe it if you said you were,” she said, surprised. “So you grew up in the surrounding woods?”

He nodded. “I grew up closer to Colgar.”

“And your family?”

Niklas nodded. “I have lived with some cattle herdsmen since I came to Relgar. They are my family now. I would probably be going home soon if I wasn't robbed.”

“You were robbed? Did you tell the law enforcers?”

“Well, technically, it was the law that robbed me.” His eyes were very dark, yet they carried a degree of ignorance.

“I hate that. I can’t stand the corruption here. You have just as much right to your stuff as anyone else. Were you hurt?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not physically.”

“What are your plans now, Mr. Loga?”

He shrugged. “Who knows?” he muttered, only this time in Sharderic.

“You don’t?” she asked, also in Sharderic.

Her sharderic was horribly broken, but he cried in surprise. “You speak my tongue? How? It's a dying language. Where did–”

“Please slow down,” she said, returning to Relric. “I only know a little bit from my studies.”

He looked at her with a ghost of a smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I miss Sharderic.”

“Well, it’s a beautiful language. I am quite fond of some of your poetry. Sharderins traditionally had such a way with words that can only properly be captured in its original script, free of translation. That’s why I started to learn it, but unfortunately, I give the remainder of my time studying government and law in light of coming events.”

He looked at her, apparently ignorant of the current events.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drown you in words.”

“Don’t apologize, Mother,” he said. “If you want me to listen, I shall.”

She was puzzled. Did he mean to call her mother? He seemed not to notice; it must have been a slip of the tongue. After all, Relric wasn’t his native language. She dismissed it politely.

In the distance, Stanfleda saw Erik weaving between the hedges, approaching them uninvited. “He has no sense of tact. How completely distasteful,” she fumed.

Niklas followed her eyes and saw Erik.

“Has he offended you?” Niklas seemed to growl, his whole personage shifting from a pleasant and youthful man to a beast who had a chance to turn on its master after too many beatings. “Should I execute him for you?”

“What?” she asked at the drastic escalation of the matter.

Two man-servants escorted Erik, each carrying a sheathed Shrye blade.

“Oh no,” Stanfleda panicked, “he wants to duel you. You need to go.”

She heard a snap, and out of nowhere, Niklas held the most peculiar knife she had ever seen. He stood in front of her defensively. “Does he mean you harm?” he asked.

“Goodness, no, only in killing you!” She grabbed him by the arm, “Please, you must leave.”

There was a snap from his hand, and the knife seemed to disappear.

“Trespasser!” Erik cried. “I challenge you to a contest of swords.”

Niklas turned red at the slander, clenched his teeth, and cursed in Sharderic, saying something about blood. Stanfleda didn’t like the look in Niklas’ eyes.