Maud was glad for her Aunt Leta staying the night with them. After Draka returned to his house, she and Leta took up working on preparing Pa and Alden for the pyre. Aurie still didn’t move, frozen with her eyes constantly drifting over Balor’s lifeless features. Even when they finally decided to rest from the washing and wrapping, when Maud and Leta drifted to sleep in their chairs at the table, Aurie never moved from his side or let go of his hand. Many times throughout the night, Maud woke up to find Aurie exactly where she had been before.

  It was just before sunrise that Gregor loudly came in through the front door with her cousins to help with carrying their belongings to the house across the lake. Maud stretched with a yawn, glad to see that Aurie had finally fallen asleep. Also glad that she loved Balor so much that she never let go of his hand.

  “Are they already gathering?” Maud said through a yawn.

  “A duel is no place for a girl,” Leta shook at her, splashing water on her face from the basin near the smoldering hearth. Anita, Leta’s eldest, was already beginning to light the hearth to begin breakfast with whatever food she had brought in the large basket under her arm. “Leave it to men to think bloodshed solves anything.”

  Anita kept her eye roll away from her mother’s glance. She and Maud met smiles. Leta had her two youngest fetch water for the pot and directed Gregor and Anita’s twin brother, Hugo, to set a table outside for them to eat on so they didn’t disturb the departed.

  “If it is her betrothed she wishes to support, then it is proper in me mind.” Gregor said without wasting a breath. He eyed her, “That was your father’s doing, was it not?”

  Maud decided not to answer him and instead declared with a whip of the golden pelt over her shoulders like a cloak, “I’m no girl.”

  She didn’t wait to hear their rebuttals. The last thing she needed was to have someone take her mother’s and father’s places in telling her what to do and what not to do. She intended to be there to see Balian finally get what he deserved. It was ever sweeter that it would be her beloved Draka to do it.

  She knew how tortured he was now. She had seen it on his face whenever he looked at her. Or her mother. He blamed himself for their deaths. But it was her fault. Had she stayed with her mother, he wouldn’t have been forced to turn back and take her to safety first. He would have been able to save all of them. If only she had stayed with her mother like she was supposed to. Like she knew was right. But she had to go and do what she wanted, Maud spat at herself as she stepped lightly across the pontoon bridge. She would give herself a thousand lashes if it meant that Draka would forgive himself and see that it was her fault instead.

  “The whore comes to see her patron depart,” Balian growled as she came trotting toward the gathering villagers. He had on a leather jerkin and had an iron rimmed wooden helmet. His sandal wraps were around thick fur cloths to mimic boots and he had thick cloth bracers on his wrists. Ready for battle.

  Maud couldn’t help but stare at him with a brow raised in confusion at the sight. Preston and the other men who once drank and cheered with her father were standing around him with their families, children and all.

  They saw him fight before, didn’t they? She wondered. There was no way they had missed his battles.

  She found Gerard and Pierre standing close by and went to them.

  “What, nothing to say, niece?” Balian took up his shield and spear from Preston, who had been holding them out for him.

  She suspected he had helped Balian get all of his ‘armor’ on. The sun was beginning to peek over the hill, coating Draka’s house in shadow.

  “Look,” Balian nodded towards it, “He’s too much of a coward to even show up to his own funeral—I mean, duel.”

  Maud and Gerard met glances as the gathered crowd chuckled at Balian’s little joke. Her brows did purse, however. Beyond her Uncle Gregor and Aunt Leta, followed by her four oldest cousins, there seemed to be no stir at Draka’s house. Though the sun, as it only began to be seen beyond it, was already blinding all who looked. She put a hand over her brow in hopes of seeing him.

  “I see him!” One of the younger children called out with pointing fingers.

  At the peek of the hill, she saw his brilliant figure appear in the shape of a brave knight upon his valiant steed. She knew Draka had donned his armor in all its splendor and dark intentions, by its shape. Vigora rose on her hinds with kicking forelegs for all to see the shape of his kite shield and the streaming banner flapping in the wind above him.

  The moment Vigora’s hooves touched the ground, she charged for the village at her fastest. Maud would never see how fast Vigora was capable of galloping without being stricken with awe and this was no exception. The look of awe was coupled with her pride at such a defender. He would be worth any sacrifice she might make in the coming days. She owed him all for what he took upon his shoulders, for the guilt she would never be able to convince him was actually hers.

  The whole of the village turned to watch his approach. Maud turned and watched their faces change with a glaring smile. Their eyes widened, their mouths dropped, the men standing near Balian sunk back from him, and Balian found himself standing alone as the knight in armor shining from the brilliance of the morning sun crossed the stream and the lake in a single bound of his similarly shining armored steed. Her hinds might have splashed at the end of the lake, but there was no mistaking that Vigora had done the impossible with such a leap.

  Draka pulled Vigora to a halt on the grass and slid off the saddle with the chime of metal on metal. With a long singing pull, he drew a blade as long as a spear from the saddle. Its handle alone was as long as a man’s arm and the blade was thick as her father’s legs at its widest. Each step Draka took toward Balian was like thunder in the distance. Maud snickered. His body was covered by armor, head to toe. Only a dark cross on his helmet that her finger could barely fit in allowed for Draka see. He was a walking mountain of steel.

  Balian locked his knees to stop them from shaking.

  Maud flicked her brows at him. “Not what you expected, Uncle?”

  He raised his hand as if to backhand her but stopped when Draka’s mountainous form stopped a few paces from him with his claymore held to rest in front of him. Maud’s lip lifted in a sneer.

  “This is outrageous! This is meant to be an equal fight! I haven’t such armor!” Balian jabbed a finger at Pierre.

  Metal shrieked as Draka’s helmet turned to Pierre.

  With a long breath, Pierre nodded. “He’s right. Unless you provide him with such armor, you must take yours off to match what he has.”

  Draka’s helmet leaned to look himself over, then turned again to Pierre, back to look himself over, then to the sky before falling forward and shaking. Thunderous steps were taken back toward Vigora who was calmly munching on the grass.

  Maud went to him, though Gerard got there first.

  “Let me help you,” Gerard reached, but Draka held out a gauntleted steel hand to stop him.

  Draka pulled his helmet off first and turned with a wink to Maud, knowing that his back was to the rest of them.

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  Maud returned the grin.

  He handed her his helmet. Then, piece by piece, he removed his layers. One after another. The steel outer shell, the chain shirt beneath, the thick quilted coat and trousers, the boots, the gauntlets, even the silk shirt. Bit by bit came off as Vigora meandered.

  Children began to play. Wives and daughters sat in boredom. Husbands became frustrated. The sun crested the hill and Balian began to drip with sweat both from the heat and the realization that he had severely underestimated Draka.

  “That should do it,” Pierre said when Draka reached to pull his last shirt off.

  Draka only shrugged and pulled the shirt from his shoulders, revealing his back and all of the scars left by his many battles, some yet to fully heal, to an orchestra of gasps. Maud looked to Balian who was squirming in his thick furs and thin armor. No amount of armor or jaw clenching would hide the terror in his eyes.

  Draka sheathed the sword in his saddle, now shirtless. Balian held his breath as Draka went to his place a few paces away, unarmed, bare-chested, and—much to Maud’s unabashed amusement—barefoot. Balian went to hand his spear and shield back to Preston but Draka shook his head at him.

  “What are you doing?” Pierre said to Draka.

  Before Gerard could answer, Maud said proudly, “You said it needed to be equal. I’d say this is as equal as it can be.”

  Draka nodded calmly toward Balian. Balian’s confidence returned as he laughed. He thought Draka was now underestimating him.

  “Very well, then. Begin.” Pierre said.

  “Tear his plowing head off!” Maud shot a fierce glare at the roar from her Aunt Coralin from within the crowd. The rest of the village began cheering as well.

  Balian leapt at Draka in a blink. He jabbed with his spear, swung it this way and that, even tried to slam Draka with his shield, but met only air and dust that rose from their feet.

  Maud could barely follow each of Balian’s strikes, let alone Draka’s bare feet dancing around the spear with a few leaps and flippant dodges. As far as Maud could tell, he must have been doing well since Draka never came close enough to punch his smug ugly face.

  Balian struggled to catch his breath, holding his spear point toward Draka with the haft under his arm for balance. He kept his shield lifted and close to him. Draka circled with him, jerking side to side before feigning an attack that sent the two into another dance of bare feet and spearhead.

  “Stop playing with the man and end this, I have other things to do!” Gerard barked.

  Maud caught Balian’s smug smile, “With pleasure.”

  Gerard laughed, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  And that was the cue she realized Draka was waiting for. Balian’s eyes widened at Draka’s wink. Maud’s breath stuck in her throat.

  Draka was a blur of movement.

  Balian was fast, everyone knew that. They had seen how fast he was, how good he was up until this very moment. But it was nothing compared to the barefoot and shirtless man who came at him. In a blink, Balian’s spear was broken in two, his shield was pulled from his arm and tossed into the lake. Draka’s bare knuckles smashed against Balian’s face like meteors, filling the silence of the onlookers with the resounding crackles of bones. Not Draka’s bones, but Balian’s.

  Even barefoot, Draka’s steps were thunderous. One fist held Balian up by his shirt while the other smashed into his face swift as lightning. They were but figures surrounded by the storm clouds of the dust kicked up by the brutality of Draka’s temper. Maud saw the blood fly into the dust, spraying pink, even before it met her face and dripped into her gaping mouth.

  Balian’s feet had long since failed to keep him upright. Draka was holding him up for his slaughter, for his cruelty. Maud saw the rage flowing from her beloved hero into her uncle’s battered, swelling face.

  “Draka!” She nearly rushed to pull him from Balian herself.

  Draka froze with his fist, splintered by teeth and tears, held ready and his blazing eyes turned to her.

  His rage faded as their glances met, softening nearly to weeping. He turned back to Balian, who lapped with bloody lips for breath, and let go. Balian hit the ground with a thud.

  “To the death, Draka,” Gerard growled.

  But Maud leapt to cover Balian. No one else should die for her mistakes.

  Draka staggered backward almost drunkenly, his face full of confusion as he looked at his bloodied fists, one then the other.

  “Submit, Uncle,” Maud shook Balian, straddling him. “He’ll kill you if you don’t! Submit, damn you!” Don’t make him into a monster! Don’t turn him from his God! She screamed in her head while screaming aloud, “Submit, Uncle!”

  “I…submit…” Balian was able to say before his head fell to the side.

  Maud swallowed knives. No, she thought, hesitating. She leaned to hear his breath. There was a whistle from his broken nose. He was alive.

  Maud smiled with teary eyes. She looked to Draka only to see him lifting his pile of armor to drape over Vigora’s saddle.

  Everyone else was frozen in awe. Terrified awe. The way Maud had felt after watching what they had done to her mother and father. The way she felt when she realized that this village was willing to follow Balian to a place where each of them were murderers. But not Draka. She was able to save Draka from following him into becoming a murderer as well.

  Pierre took a step forward. He read from a scroll he pulled from his red cloak, “As is the way of a King’s Duel, according to the laws of Greater Europe, Balian Clevlan has surrendered himself and all who bare his name or his blood and all the properties, inheritances, and wealth, from this day and to the last, to the victor of this duel.”

  “What does that mean?” Coralin shoved through the crowd toward Pierre.

  Maud’s heart darkened. Draka merely continued strapping his armor to the saddle.

  “Means that if he so chooses, you and your daughters along with Balian are his slaves,” Pierre said flatly. “But,” his voice lifted a little, “those are not the terms he presented me before entering the duel. Instead, his terms are the following and shall be adhered to: all property that belonged to Balor Clevlan upon his death will remain the property of his surviving widow, Aurelie Clevlan, including the full amount—to the very last copper—of Maudeline Clevlan’s dowry, until which time that she, Aurelie Clevlan, dies or remarries, returning it to the surviving heir of the Clevlan line which bares the family name.”

  Maud looked to Draka, but he didn’t look to her. He lifted himself onto his overburdened saddle and turned Vigora toward his house.

  As Draka began making his way to the bridge, Pierre continued, “Balian Clevlan is also to bear the weight of his brother’s and nephew’s funerals, relieving his brother’s widow of such responsibilities. Balian Clevlan will hereby be exempt from any ownership, by his or anyone else’s doing, of any kind until his death, so long as he lives within any lands west of the Holy Lands. As of this moment, all shall bear witness that Aurelie and Maudeline Clevlan, their rights, responsibilities, and any needs are hereby the responsibility of the Paladin Grande Prince Dietrich Luminis of the Principality of Alcalia, your sovereign.”

  “Who is that?” was asked a dozen different ways.

  Maud knew the answer even before Gerard pointed toward Draka’s shadowy figure rising up the hill to his house.

  “That can’t be,” Gregor said, echoing similar statements from all the rest of the men, though his was less accusatory.

  “I did warn you,” Pierre shook his head at Balian, “that you should treat him better.”

  “Paladin Grande Prince?” Maud turned to Pierre, still gaping.

  “He has been given this land in the form of a principality to celebrate his righteousness and bravery in the Holy Lands. In all but name, he is our king. And above all that, he is also a warrior of God, blessed with the Holy Spirit as his companion in arms to fight against the Enemy and evil he brings to this world.”

  Prince? Maud nearly fell to her knees had her cousin not caught her.