Years before, William's Father, Vanion, had returned from the Calishan Wars a hero. The latest siege of Cowcal had been greatly helped by several victories he won. His spear and the weapons of his companions had seen the Calishans beaten at Desora. The memory of them being driven into the sea by a mere fragment of the Harlenorian army. It had been unforgettable. The sunlight was glinting off spearpoints as they closed on the enemy. The cries of dismay and triumph had been breathtaking. Though he'd nearly lost his life.

It was a sight he would remember, no matter how far he went in life. Alas, the attack had forced the siege of Cowcal to end early, but Artarq remained secure. The army had also taken much plunder and renown gathered.

And yet he was in no hurry to get home and tell the story in the hall of his Father. That was why he'd let Raynald convince him to journey to visit the manor of the De Chevlons. It was a very awkward situation, for him at least. He'd learned soon on his arrival that only some of the De Chevlons were as eager as Raynald to mend fences. As the party continued around him, he felt like Raynald had only invited him to offend his relatives.

It worked. Vanion kept getting icy glares from various members of the De Chevlons. A social person would have been able to win them over through sheer sincerity. But, unfortunately, he was not a social person.

"Feeling isolated in a crowd?" asked a familiar voice.

Vanion looked up to see Rusara leaning against a wall. The gray-skinned elf looked very beautiful after her fashion. Her violet dress suited her well. As did her silver earrings, an appealing change from the usual robes she wore. Yet she had chosen Raynald and not him.

"More or less," he admitted, "I don't see why Raynald even brought us here."

"You were looking for an excuse not to meet your family quite so soon," said Rusara. "Raynald didn't want to meet with his family and decided to use you to make a point."

"What point?" asked Vanion.

"I'm not sure," admitted Rusara, "that he still remembers their mistreatment of him. I gather there isn't much love between him and his brothers. After showing them all up in battle, it would add insult to injury to bring you here."

"An alliance between the Gabriels and the De Chevlons would be mighty," said Vanion. "You would think they would see past the fact."

"Power or not, blood seeks more blood," said Rusara. "When you leave here, I should avoid traveling alone. Some De Chevlon's are hotheaded and might decide to correct Raynald's error."

"So you aren't coming with me?" asked Vanion, feeling more alone than ever.

"I would like to see Carn Gable someday," admitted Rusara, "but I have been away from the Dusk Lands for decades. I do need to check in with my family."

"Yes," said Vanion. "Family does come first."

"Not for Raynald," noted Rusara, "or for you."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Vanion.

At that moment, the crowds shifted and parted. Vanion looked up to see the fairest woman he had ever seen. Her hair was wavy and dark, and her skin was light. She wore a silken white dress and walked with a grace that defied reason. Then Vanion saw the man on her arm, and Vanion almost cursed. He was far plainer than his wife, a very ordinary-looking sort. Nevertheless, Vanion tried and failed not to resent him.

"Who are they?" asked Vanion.

"Duke Margravine Borinius and his Duchess, Isabella," said Rusara. "He's the Lord of Brisgald, one of the most important and formidable fortresses-"

"I know what Brisgald is, Rusara," said Vanion.

"Right, right," said Rusara, "he can trace his lineage back to the first King of Antion. His wife is a cousin of the King. People of great influence."

"So I had guessed," said Vanion. "Why do you always tell people things that are common knowledge? I didn't recognize them initially, but I know who they are now."

"I'm trying to remind you of something important," said Rusara. "You shouldn't become interested in them."

"I'm not," said Vanion. "I just think I ought to speak with them."

Duke Borinius was speaking with Raynald now. They were getting on very well. Vanion parted company with Rusara and approached. He needed to figure out how to introduce himself. It would suit his standing to make a favorable impression with the Duke of Brisgald. He had to keep focused. Even so, he'd never been good at talking with people, and as he approached, he grew increasingly nervous.

He decided that he would go elsewhere. There was no sense in disturbing them. At that moment, Raynald looked up and saw him. "Ah, Vanion," he said. "I was just telling Duke Borinius some tales of our adventures."

"You seem to have had many of them," noted Borinius. "I've already heard of your victories in the Calishan Wars."

"There isn't much to tell," said Vanion, keeping his eyes off the Duchess. "I did my duty in what way seemed best. Raynald is the real swordmaster here."

"You belittle your talent," noted Borinius. "No others I have spoken to share your views. But, in my experience, men who command are not always those who fight well. With no disrespect to Raynald, of course."

"None taken," said Raynald, pleased to find someone who didn't judge him by his looks. "I prefer to think of myself as a blunt instrument. Vanion guides me to where I'll do the most damage once he sets me loose. We work well together."

"An uncommonly down-to-earth viewpoint." mused Borinius. "This is my wife, Isabella." Now, he had no choice but to look at the Duchess. As he took one elegant hand, Vanion found a lump forming in his throat. But, of course, it didn't help that she eyed him with a particular appreciation. "Milady, it is a pleasure."

"No, the pleasure is all mine," said Isabella. "I have heard such great tales of you and your companions? Tell me, are you, as some say, close with the Lady Rusara?"

Vanion wanted to avoid where this was heading. Not because the question seemed improper. It was more because of the disobedient fantasies that played across his mind. He was rescued from having to answer when Rusara herself appeared.

"You should not listen to rumors," said Rusara. "My relationship with Vanion is one of friendship. But, in truth, it is with Raynald that I am quite taken."

"Indeed?" asked Borinius, surprised. "You told stories to me when I was only a boy. I never thought you would be taken with anyone, let alone a... human." He sounded like he was about to say something else. Then his eyes glanced at the cloak, which concealed Raynald's withered arm.

Raynald let it pass. Vanion supposed he was used to it by now.

Isabella smiled in a manner that made his heart flutter. "I am glad," she said. "One such as yourself, Vanion, ought to be promised to a woman of high and noble blood."

Something about the way she swayed as she said those words affected him. Yet the allure was entirely broken by the realization that Rusara had been insulted. "Excuse me, I will walk in the gardens."

He entered the De Chevlon family gardens and walked among the hedges. Was it him, or did Isabella seem to fancy him as much as he did her? His thoughts about her were dishonorable, and he should thus seek to avoid her. Vanion had only an arranged marriage to a woman he loathed to look forward to. The Lady Mara Hawkthorne came from a family of merchant lords.

In theory, it was a good match. House Gabriel was short on money and had a great deal of respectability. It would also give them a claim to the throne of Escor. House Hawkthorne was immensely rich. But they lacked the respect of neighboring lands in Antion. A link between their families could be overpowering.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It could be.

But Vanion disliked Lady Hawkthorne and her treatment of those beneath her. And he suspected that her family wasn't near as wealthy as they claimed to be. Not that Father ever listened to him. He was too dead set on regaining the throne of Escor, not realizing it was already lost.

Vanion came out into a square enclosure with a fountain. It was bubbling with crystal-clear water at the center. Something about the place troubled him, and he could not drive Isabella from his thoughts. It was maddening.

The whole thing was unfair. Why should he be promised to another without his own consent? He was a master of armies, and yet he could not even be the master of whom he married first. He had been called a hopeless romantic, and perhaps he was, but he could not change his feelings. Then, he could refuse it, just as she could. Yet that would be politically disastrous for their families. It would also be a violation of their duties.

Vanion paced back and forth, becoming no calmer as he did so. He could not drive her beauty from his mind, and the more he tried, the more he desired her. He could not have her, of course. It was both impossible and dishonorable. Not only was she already married, but even if she were a partner in such a crime, the opportunity simply did not exist.

"You can have her, you know," said a calm voice.

Vanion halted and looked up. Leaning against one of the hedges stood a figure clothed in a white tunic. His hair was long and golden, and his eyes a brilliant blue. He was very handsome, yet his features were almost girlish. He was looking at Vanion with a friendly bearing, but Vanion did not like the look of him. He wasn't sure why.

"Who are you?" asked Vanion.

"Call me Melchious," said the man, walking forward.

Melchious! Vanion drew his dagger and took a stance. Melchious laughed merrily. You would never think him a demon from the way his voice rang with music. "Please, please, put down your weapon, knight. If I desired you dead, I should have slain you before you knew I was here. I am merely here to strike a bargain."

"I am not selling my soul," said Vanion.

Melchious smiled and widened. "Please do not underestimate me, sir knight. I know well that one such as yourself would understand. An eternity of damnation would not be worth any worldly pleasure.

"No, my aspirations are far more humble than that."

Vanion found himself sheathing his dagger in relief. He could trust Melchious; why not? What was he thinking? This was a demon, yet Vanion felt he should regard him as a trusted friend. Something about his voice. "What do you want?"

"To help you, of course," said Melchious. "I assure you the arrangement I wish to come to is mutually beneficial. I need no service from you, no dishonorable deed you would not do anyway with half a chance. Only a small thing-"

"What are you offering?" asked Vanion, wanting to cut to the chase.

Melchious seemed annoyed at the interruption, and his smile lessened momentarily. He seemed a little less glamorous for an instant and far colder. Then it passed. "When these celebrations are over, Duke Borinius will return to Brisgald. As is his custom, he will go hunting sooner or later. Such trips take days, even weeks.

"When he departs, I will transform your physical appearance to be like him.

"His mother would not know the difference between you and him. Entering his abode, you may have your way with the beautiful Isabella, and no one will ever know you were there. Your desires will be satiated, and she will have a son."

Vanion opened his mouth to agree, and he could hardly stop himself. Some magic of Melchious' was driving him to be reckless. He knew he ought to refuse outright and end this at once, yet it seemed more a harmless joke than the crime it was. Was it so significant?

A voice urged him to accept it without asking further. Vanion was not such a fool. "I take it there is some price to this offer."

"Price?" mused Melchious as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Well, yes, there is one. If indeed, disposing of the evidence can be considered a price. The son born of your lust will be mine. The child will have been created under my authority. Thus, it is only fitting that I hold influence over it.

"But it will hardly be your problem. Borinius has been without a child for years. It is a source of some humiliation for him and his wife. If and when he finds out about the child, even if he suspects the truth, he will not reveal it."

"How does this benefit you?" asked Vanion.

The question annoys Melchious further. He did not seem to like being questioned. "A just question. I have many plans that may take centuries to come to fruition. Nevertheless, having authority over a noble bloodline could give me a significant advantage. And some greater ones.

"You need not fear such machinations. They will bear fruit long after you are dead, and in the meantime, you will get what you want. What else is there?"

"Quite a lot, I'll wager." mused Vanion, but he realized he was actually considering it. It was disgraceful! This was utterly dishonorable, and he would have no part in it! "Leave."

Melchious took a step back and sighed. "Yes, I suppose such momentary value when considering the honors you have received." He turned to walk away, pointedly not saying them. They did not exist.

Vanion considered what honors he had been given for his victories? Nothing. He had kept Artarq from falling into the hands of Baltoth. Yet it was Lord Argath Marn who was given the position of governor. He'd orchestrated many victories, yet it was Raynald and Rusara who everyone cheered.

What had honor gotten him? What pleasures had it denied him?

"No one needs ever know what happened here tonight," said Vanion.

Melchious stopped and turned with a smile. "I knew you had it in you."

He was before Vanion offered a hand. Vanion reached for it but halted. He felt as though something was screaming at him to stop, not go further. He should have abandoned this plan before it was too late.

Then, he felt a surge of spite for those who had snubbed him. For the King of Antion for giving Artarq to the highest bidder instead of the one who saved it. For Borinius. How he had revealed his contempt for Raynald was unforgivable for Isabella. She had treated Rusara with such disdain. They deserved it — all of them.

It was the most foolish, reckless, and dishonorable thing he'd ever do, and he knew it at the time. It didn't stop him, though. He clasped Melchious' hand.

Melchious let go. His smile faded, and he drew back, seeming paler and less fair. "Excellent; when you pass Brisgald during the return journey, you'll know where to meet me. We'll make arrangements then. Until that day, farewell, Sir Vanion Gabriel."

Then he was gone as though he'd never been there in the first place. Rusara came around the corner, looking concerned. "Vanion, are you all right? You didn't need to leave on my behalf." She halted. "You look pale. Is something wrong?"

Vanion looked at his palm, feeling like a mark should be there. Yet there was nothing — not a sign of what had transpired. So no one would ever know. "No, I just needed some air. We'd best get back."

"Right," said Rusara. "I'm leaving this morning, so we'd better make the best of tonight."

"So am I." realized Vanion.

His departure could not come soon enough.