Draka sighed with relief as they crossed the last bridge before Talkro. He never expected it to feel like home, but as the tall wooden tower of the lake fort came into view beyond the trees, he grinned at the fact it did. The smell of the wheat and barley fields being reaped, the openness of the land it sat upon, as if it had shoved its way into the forest and nestled against it the way he does against Vigora at night in the camps. Though, each time he saw the makeshift shanties that had been built along the road, slowly crawling away from the lake toward the direction they were coming from, his smile faded just a little bit more.

  The migrants were becoming too numerous to sustain since he had named himself King in the summer. They flooded from the north from Metz and Luxembourg, looking for work, and quickly established their own huts that reminded him of those his people built in the northern wildernesses—simple and unstable. There have been three fires that nearly overtook the village in as many months. There were sure to be more if something wasn’t done about them. There were a few well-built houses, propped up by trees they hadn’t cut down—illegally, Preston Vorner, whose land they were mostly loitering on, never hesitated to remind him—and streets were beginning to form between them.

  As Maud, still paces ahead of Draka, led the caravan between the first of the huts, the migrants around them quickly stopped what they were doing and sprinted to stand along the road and bow with wide smiles for her and Draka.

  Maud smiled and reached her hands out to them, sometimes taking fleeting grasps of children’s hands as they ran to keep up with her. She blew kisses and ruffled hair. A young boy tried to jump for her ankles.

  Karl spurred his horse to charge forward. Draka caught its reins with a hard jerk and glare. Vigora didn’t waste the opportunity to bite his brown warhorse on the neck, making it struggle against Draka’s hold the same time its rider struggled in his fiery gaze.

  With the help of the boy’s father, who looked barely more than skin and bones, Maud lifted the boy onto her lap and tapped her finger on his little nose.

  That made Draka smile after her. The boy’s father gave a smile and bowing thanks toward Draka while keeping pace with Maud. He returned a glare at Karl.

  “I thought…” Karl stopped when Draka pointed for him to return to his place behind the wagon. “Yes, your Majesty.”

  As if the huts had been thrown down and splattered across the road from the sky, their numbers thickened on either side, along with the people who crowded the road to bow and say their greetings to their returning King and Princess. Or Princess and King. Draka wasn’t sure which and didn’t know which he preferred. When Maud handed the boy back to his father, a baby was held up to her by a woman standing on a barrel. She kissed it and had purple and yellow leaves thrown over her to the sounds of cheers and prayer. Hands were reaching out to her.

  Draka’s brows pressed together. He looked over his shoulder to Karl with a sighing look of acquiescence.

  Karl signaled to Olaf and Hugo. The three rode forward to wedge themselves around Maud and allow Draka and the caravan to catch up to her. The people seemed to also understand what was meant by that by how quickly they spread from the road and, though they were still smiling and reaching out, they remained at the sides.

  “What? Afraid that I might get carried off and married to some dastardly young hay-snatcher?” Maud teased when she was finally returned to Draka’s side. She shook her head, looking away from him, “Why are you—? Know what, never mind.”

  Draka tried not to sigh as loudly as he did, nor slouch as much as he did. He knew he had to let her simmer for a bit. She’ll eventually break her silence and tell him what bothered her so much. Until then, as the caravan waded the muddy road toward the wooden houses that had withstood the flood nearly a year ago, he had plenty more to worry about.

  Raphael steered the wagon to Balthazar’s wood shop with the rest of the Talkro boys while the rest of them headed to the bridge for the gates of the high wooden walled fort at the center of the wide, slowly swirling lake hopping with fish. Small boats were scattered across the lake, some with the men on board holding fishing lines while others were casting nets and tugging ropes. There were barges moving from the stream—which had risen and widened to become yet another Zorn river—to be loaded with barrels of fish at the fishery building on the far side of the lake. Behind it were the rows of stilted houses that had been built for those displaced by the lake’s creation.

  Draka had to stop Vigora for a moment to give the pole standing in the center of the village square, with its bent iron rods sticking out from it at waist height, and streamers fluttering in the wind at the top.

  His brows squished together at it for a moment. They chain their unmarried men to it, blindfold them, then compete by dancing around them with a ribbon? No wonder they wanted to drive him out when he first moved here. Their women knew he’d be the only sane one among them.

  Once within the fort gates, Draka maneuvered Vigora toward the well in the bailey and dismounted her. The sounds of the smith hammering beat the rhythm of the peddling merchants in their cramped stands that filled everywhere except where the stables and barracks were. The three shops had risen another level and the walls were being trenched for brickwork by the masons they found among the migrants. The barracks was built in a ‘U’ that went from the west gate to the east gate, the stables at its center on the lowest level. The tower rose from the northern side with the spiked roof that was the mark of their Paladinate Order, the Order of the Holy Sepulcher. Draka had always been pleased by that.

  Vigora began to nibble at the water while he rubbed her cheek. The other side of the fort was the market, which had burgeoned in size in a matter of months. The ferry docks were doubling for barges that came once a month to carry goods to and from the market now. In time, Draka wondered if they would need to build an inland port or form canals to allow sailboats to traverse here. A part of him liked the idea. Another truly wished he could hand his crown to someone, anyone. He would just toss it up and over a crowd and whoever caught it would be king…no, that would lead to a bloodbath before anyone actually could hold it. Hand it to…

  Maud stopped Rosemary at the water but didn’t get off, though Hugo and Karl dismounted their horses behind her. “I’m bored. Tell Gerard to plow himself for me while you’re here.” She turned Rosemary and trotted away toward the eastern gate and the ferry docks.

  Draka only gaped after her. What did she just say?

  “Don’t know what you did, your Majesty,” Hugo shook his head with a frown. “But my condolences.” He put a hand out for Vigora’s reins, ignoring Draka’s look of surprise, “You want me to stable her at your house for you?”

  Draka shook his head after a few blinks.

  Hugo shrugged and headed toward the barracks stables for his own horse, saying almost to himself, “Suit yourself. Might do her good to get used to you not being around if you keep this up.”

  That made Draka pinch his mouth to one side and cross his arms at the boy. It can’t be that bad, can it? He looked to see Maud galloping Rosemary off the ferry on the other side of the lake. Not once did she look back before she got to her house. Not even a goodbye. Or, ‘see you for supper.’ Just, ‘I’m bored,’ and…Draka pursed his brows at the part about Gerard. He wondered if he just got put on the same irredeemable list as him, whatever got the man put on it. Perhaps Draka will be doing the world a service if he never allows her to marry anyone.

  “Your Majesty,” Valmond’s unmistakable deep and overly pronounced voice said from behind him. Draka smiled when he saw him. Valmond didn’t smile back. “Word from the Bastion of Our Lady of Strasbourg has arrived.”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Draka began untying packs from Vigora’s saddle to lighten her load. He didn’t have to look around, Hugo was already charging from the stables to grab them for him.

  “Neuse-Baden is interested in signing an agreement that would allow them use of our canals between here and Champagne. King O’Dolan of Eire has sent a letter to announce that his aunt and cousin are to arrive within the month,” Valmond had a paper in his hand he was reading from as Draka began loading Hugo’s shoulder with saddlebags.

  Why? Draka motioned to Valmond.

  “His cousin is a widow, thirty-two years old, no children,” Valmond answered. “Very pretty, if her reputation is correct.”

  Draka rolled his eyes and piled another bag on Hugo’s shoulder. A pat and Hugo was on his way to the ferry. He leaned back on the bricks of the well and crossed his arms. Vigora took a nibble at his hair. He swatted her with one hand while trying to maintain a serious expression for Valmond.

  “Anyway, she’s very hopeful that you might consider her for marriage. You also have news coming from Paris. King Francis and Presidente Menot have finally agreed to an armistice until Michaelmas, when they agree to your terms and will meet to finalize peace wherever you designate in Alcalia. I would suggest literally anywhere but here.”

  Draka smiled at that. He wasn’t wrong. He waited for Valmond to continue. The man was maybe a year or two older than him, but had a way about him that made it seem so much more. Perhaps it was the way he always dressed before he came to Talkro with his proper tailed coats and white buttle shirts? Now, he looked like a man who was well-to-do, but as common as they come in brown trousers and cotton shirt. It was the shoes he would never let go of. Black polished leather. Always shined. And he always kept his face clean of whiskers, his salt-and-pepper hair trimmed and combed back, and his hands washed but for the stains of ink on his fingers. It was those thin rimmed round glasses that always hung nearly off his long nose that made him look exactly like what he was; the steward of a dynasty House.

  “Right…” Valmond turned his page over. “Your orders from Alcer and Nancy—Alcer has fallen behind but will have the last shipment a week overdue and no later. Nancy’s will be on time,” Valmond looked over the rims of his glasses, “they called you King of Burgundy, by the way. Thought you should know that.”

  Draka chuckled at that one. Wonder how King Charles would feel about that, if he knew about it, being the King of Utrecht, which was once a Burgundian vassal.

  Valmond grinned a little, too. Back at the paper, “Cardinal Thomas intends a visit on Michaelmas as well—both about why you haven’t chosen a wife and the reason you haven’t moved your men on the Talkro Abbey yet. I didn’t have an answer for that last one. But I did write a draft for the wife part, seeing as everyone has been showing you daughters and nieces younger than Maud.”

  Draka’s ears perked when a sound, at just the right pitch, touched it. It couldn’t be, could it? No, he shook at himself, trying to concentrate on what Valmond was telling him. Vigora took a chunk of his hair and tugged. He haphazardly swatted her for it.

  “I took the liberty of arranging for workers out of the migrants to build their houses and would like you to look over some ideas I have for redistribution of lands in order to compensate the Vorners for their losses because of it. They will agree with all but the first one I drew. Alice helped me with the rest of them, but don’t tell her I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it. Anyways, if you approve, they should all have suitable housing before the first snows, which was, if I knew you well enough, something you would want.”

  Again, Draka heard it. He tilted his ear skyward. He left him in Sodiulakim for a reason. It couldn’t be him. He’s not supposed to be here for another year, at least. Vigora took another chunk of his hair and tugged. Alright, it’s certain now.

  With his arms behind his back, Valmond lowered his chin and his tone with a deep breath, “And there was a letter from the Holy Lands.”

  Draka slapped his hair from Vigora’s mouth and stepped up onto the well’s bricks to look up to the balcony of the barracks. And there he was, arm and arm with Gerard, with a wide, healthy smile, and that same awkward gait he always had.

  “Your Majesty?” Valmond called from behind him. “The letter…”

  Draka dismissed him with a wave before jumping down. He grabbed a small stone and chucked it at Adrian, pinging him on the back of his neck, and waved high in the air.

  “Draka!” Adrian dodged around soldiers walking to and from their posts with tall pikes and shields. He sat on the stair rail and slid down it until he was close enough to the ground to jump off. Then he limped and held his back with a hiss, shaking his head, saying over and over, “That was stupid. That was really stupid. Should not have done that.”

  Draka grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. If only he could say how glad he was to see him. It might have been just a year, but it felt like a lifetime without him. His eyes glistened and blurred. His heart leapt from his chest.

  “I missed you,” Adrian said over his shoulder between groans.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Valmond grinned where Draka could see him.

  Draka nodded and motioned for him to go. Then, he let Adrian lean back from him. He moved a hand over Adrian as he watched him hop to sit on a chair nearby.

  “Oh, this? Ah, it’s nothing,” Adrian stiffened his back proudly with a wave of his hand. “Actually,” he held up his hands to indicate something enormous, “it was a big red spider. This big…not including the legs—and those were long, I can tell you! Huge.”

  Draka blinked at him, then cocked a brow.

  Adrian gave him a sideways glance, “Cute spider. Vicious, but cute. I just got in. Was supposed to meet with the Clerics, but you know Gerard. Nothing a Cleric will do that a few shots of schnapps won’t make easier to endure.”

  Draka nodded. Then, looked around to see if Valmond was still nearby. There were only merchants and passersby. Some soldiers milling about between posts. No one with pen and paper.

  “You want to know why I’m here before I finished my studies?” Adrian drew his attention back to him. His face had hardened. “It’s a good reason. But right now, I want to see a Cleric. That…spider…really got me.”

  Spider, Draka mulled it over as he helped Adrian to his feet. Gerard was only halfway down the steps to them. He waved for Gerard to continue on his duties. He would catch up with him tomorrow, too. Gerard knew better than to infringe on their time together.

  Spider. Draka limped Adrian toward Olaf’s barracks room. Big red spider…long legs…cute spider. Vicious. Good, Olaf hadn’t made it to his room yet. Draka snapped his fingers when he saw Olaf was still brushing his horse.

  Wait…

  “Oh, do I have news for you, Majesty,” Enya emerged from the barracks door of the stables.

  Draka pointed at Adrian and nodded. Adrian was also nodding at her. He knew that, because Enya looked at both of them the same way she did when the two Paladins who followed Draka around like lost puppies were doing their mischief and antics. The same way a mother does when her two boys emerge out of the woods with pet bear cubs begging to keep them.

  “Yes, that.” Enya paused for a moment. “And, Nina’s here.”

  Draka tried not to react. He didn’t want to react. But the memory burst through him in the blink of an eye. Her brazen green eyes piercing into his, her lips suddenly snug against his, the warmth of her hands on his face, and the hushed, “don’t die,” after.

  “Yup,” Enya jabbed a finger at him, nodding over-emphatically. “That Nina.”

  Adrian held up his hands, “Big red spider.” He widened his arms, “Long legs.”