sprinkled it over the capon. Tasting again, he nodded in satisfaction and continued eating. Before them on the table were bowls of bread beside large hunks of butter carved to resemble the great castles of Daleraia: Minas Bothe, Enthorm, Quaos Keep, Haleah Hall. The trencher his capon was served upon was imprinted with the mountain of Maignart, he saw as he scraped the last of the meat and onions from its surface.
His father’s large hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “My son!” he boomed proudly, gesturing toward Caden with the goblet in his opposite hand. “Lord Cedric, have you ever seen a finer specimen of manhood? Look at the boy … handsome, regal, strong! A commander, a born leader. A man couldn’t be prouder to call a boy his son.”
Lord Theodric was in his cups, and when he was he loved to extol the many great qualities of his sons, chiefly Caden. It was no secret that his eldest son was close to his heart, while Lady Victoria doted on Asher and Jarin.
“Aye, milord!” answered Lord Cedric Durville from the right side of Lady Victoria, who sat between he and Lord Theodric. Cedric Durville was the lord of Quaos and one of the wealthiest lords in all of Daleraia. While Caden often found their taste gaudy and bordering on the excessive, the Durvilles were a loyal house; some of his closest friends were Durvilles. “A fine young man. We will be honored to call him our lord someday.” He raised his goblet and stood, his voice booming out over the gathered knights, lords, ladies, squires, and servants. “To Sir Caden, the champion of the tourney, and future High Lord of Daleraia and Warden of the South!”
“To Sir Caden!” echoed those attending.
“To my son!” he boomed. “The firstborn child of my house, born of my seed and my love for his lady mother. Knighted at the age of sixteen for his valor.” He turned to Caden with a wide smile. “May your rule be long, prosperous, and fruitful!”
Caden was presented with the winner’s purse, and the third course was brought forth as more toasts were made, to the other lords and lordlings present, to their sons, and the other champions of the day. Caden indulged in the toasts between bites of food, the gnawing ache of hunger slowly abating as he ate his fill of lamb, beef, and quail stuffed with fragrant rice. When the dessert course was brought forth, conversation resumed and wine flowed. A traveling minstrel who’d accompanied them from Minas Bothe strummed his lute and sang in a high, clear and pleasing voice.
“Have you heard?” his father asked as he selected an apple tart from the wide array of selections before them.
Caden nibbled on an almond and grunted. “About what?”
“Prince Gaiwan of Lerrothe has docked in Dinasdale. Word has reached me of an engagement between he and the High Lord’s daughter.”
Caden shrugged as he crunched another almond. “What concern is that of ours? The Toustains still consider themselves royalty. I find it fitting that they would wed their daughter to the Bainards.”
Theodric chuckled. “The Toustains are a lofty lot, I’ll give you that, but never forget where you’ve come from, my boy. The blood of kings runs through your veins. Great kings. Men whose backs our very realm was built upon.”
It was never far from his mind. That knowledge had guided his life’s decisions from the time he’d been old enough to understand. He’d worked at his studies harder than both of his brothers; spent more time mastering sword, dagger, mace, and lance, than any other squire. Leadership was expected of him, so Caden was always the first into the fray and the last man to retreat. “What do you suppose it means?” he asked, turning the conversation back to Lady Gwendolyn of Seahaven. “You would not have mentioned it if you did not think it bore closer inspection.”
Theodric stroked his beard, now speckled with white as age made itself apparent. His weathered face was lined and leathery, but his eyes
His father’s large hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “My son!” he boomed proudly, gesturing toward Caden with the goblet in his opposite hand. “Lord Cedric, have you ever seen a finer specimen of manhood? Look at the boy … handsome, regal, strong! A commander, a born leader. A man couldn’t be prouder to call a boy his son.”
Lord Theodric was in his cups, and when he was he loved to extol the many great qualities of his sons, chiefly Caden. It was no secret that his eldest son was close to his heart, while Lady Victoria doted on Asher and Jarin.
“Aye, milord!” answered Lord Cedric Durville from the right side of Lady Victoria, who sat between he and Lord Theodric. Cedric Durville was the lord of Quaos and one of the wealthiest lords in all of Daleraia. While Caden often found their taste gaudy and bordering on the excessive, the Durvilles were a loyal house; some of his closest friends were Durvilles. “A fine young man. We will be honored to call him our lord someday.” He raised his goblet and stood, his voice booming out over the gathered knights, lords, ladies, squires, and servants. “To Sir Caden, the champion of the tourney, and future High Lord of Daleraia and Warden of the South!”
“To Sir Caden!” echoed those attending.
“To my son!” he boomed. “The firstborn child of my house, born of my seed and my love for his lady mother. Knighted at the age of sixteen for his valor.” He turned to Caden with a wide smile. “May your rule be long, prosperous, and fruitful!”
Caden was presented with the winner’s purse, and the third course was brought forth as more toasts were made, to the other lords and lordlings present, to their sons, and the other champions of the day. Caden indulged in the toasts between bites of food, the gnawing ache of hunger slowly abating as he ate his fill of lamb, beef, and quail stuffed with fragrant rice. When the dessert course was brought forth, conversation resumed and wine flowed. A traveling minstrel who’d accompanied them from Minas Bothe strummed his lute and sang in a high, clear and pleasing voice.
“Have you heard?” his father asked as he selected an apple tart from the wide array of selections before them.
Caden nibbled on an almond and grunted. “About what?”
“Prince Gaiwan of Lerrothe has docked in Dinasdale. Word has reached me of an engagement between he and the High Lord’s daughter.”
Caden shrugged as he crunched another almond. “What concern is that of ours? The Toustains still consider themselves royalty. I find it fitting that they would wed their daughter to the Bainards.”
Theodric chuckled. “The Toustains are a lofty lot, I’ll give you that, but never forget where you’ve come from, my boy. The blood of kings runs through your veins. Great kings. Men whose backs our very realm was built upon.”
It was never far from his mind. That knowledge had guided his life’s decisions from the time he’d been old enough to understand. He’d worked at his studies harder than both of his brothers; spent more time mastering sword, dagger, mace, and lance, than any other squire. Leadership was expected of him, so Caden was always the first into the fray and the last man to retreat. “What do you suppose it means?” he asked, turning the conversation back to Lady Gwendolyn of Seahaven. “You would not have mentioned it if you did not think it bore closer inspection.”
Theodric stroked his beard, now speckled with white as age made itself apparent. His weathered face was lined and leathery, but his eyes
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