Ser Dalton knocked on the door so loudly that July, it woke me up. He stepped by me as I opened the port for him, immediately going to the window to push its shutters. A brazen ray of sunlight cut across the floor and near-blinded me. "You've been summoned to His Majesty's study. Get dressed," he said.

"Aye, yeah," I muttered. I strolled to the dresser to complete the task.

Dalton sighed. I knew he had been awake. Longer than I had, despite my late hours kept in the castle, but the darkening circles beneath his eyes gave him away.

"Everything alright?" I asked.

He bobbed his head, though it was too easy and dismissive to mean the same. Something caught his eye, and he stopped and started a question in response. "You're... reading poetry?" he asked.

I looked to the nightstand where Eliza had left her favorite book of romantic odes.

"Aye," I sang, shrugging and pulling the shirt over my head. "On occasion."

"Where did you get that copy? It looks expensive," he said. His face was serious.

"I, uh," I shrugged another time, moving on to dress my boots. "Her Majesty, the Queen. She allows me a book sometimes. From the Library."

"Does she?" His face lit with, not a curiosity, but a knowledge I didn't like. "And you've chosen poetry?"

"I do like it, I guess." I tied the lace.

"Love poetry?"

"Aye, love poetry. What of it?"

We looked at one another. Ser Dalton changed the subject. "His Majesty wishes to speak strategy."

"Strategy? Of what?"

"War," he said.

"Yes, war," I moaned. "But what of it, and why me?"

"Hurry yourself, I'll inform you on the way." His eyes met the book once more before he left the cottage.

"Ser Elías," His Majesty said as I came in.

Ser Dalton was close behind. He shut the door, striding past me to take status at the somehow larger map now residing on the old desk. It hung off every side of it by nearly a foot, despite the curling edges.

"You have a sort of reputation about you, don't you?" he asked me.

I went immediately on guard, choosing a diplomatic, careful; "Oh?"

But the King was unfazed by any shift in our dynamic. "Yes, oh," he said. "Those who have served with you cite an unmatchable ethic to work."

"Oh," I sighed. "Yes. Yes, Your Majesty."

"Ser Dalton is my most trusted ally. Everything he tells me, I take as universal fact. He calls you 'unswayable.' Even my wife appears to feel the same. She says your devotion to the Crown is as if you were born to serve it."

"You humble me," I stood straighter. "That is a truth I swear by myself. I live to serve."

"Good," he was very uninterested in much past his schemes.

He nodded towards Ser Dalton and Ser Dalton pulled yet another chart from beneath the other. This was smaller, but a focused region inside of Chalke.

"I'm putting together a team," my uncle said. "And you will be on it. My second."

"Your second?" I asked. "I thought Ser Erik was set to return this month? Surely he would resume his–?"

"–Ser Erik will not be returning. He has chosen reassignment elsewhere."

I couldn't fathom the idea. Why would anyone leave over a jousting injury? Especially when his recovery has been covered at no expense. "...What?" I paused. "Ser... Erik? This is... quite the promotion? I'm not sure I–"

"You're suggesting my Knight is wrong?" His Majesty asked. "That his judgment is impaired or you simply do not want it?"

"No," I decided. "It's just that, I am... but twenty and one. I'm not–"

"We will follow the river west; come out in this area, here," Dalton went on, leading us across the map.

After an hour of deliberating, I had accepted the terms. This was the first step to War Oreia would take. I breathed once the plans were set; once I had an idea of where I would be traveling.

"You have a day to pack your things," Dalton said.

"A day," I nodded. "Fine."

As I went to leave, His Majesty clicked his tongue. "There is one other thing, Elías."

Something in the drop of my Ser was alarming. I turned to find him settling into his winged chair, steepling his hands.

"Yes, my King?" I asked.

Dalton narrowed his eyes. He had been as caught off guard as I.

"Are you fucking my wife?" His Majesty asked.

There was a thick silence in the room. I was filled with such a rage that I could barely contain it, at the use of 'fuck' and Eliza in the same context. It's a wonder that I did not lose my mind to fury and strangle him from across the desk.

"Apologies," I was the first to break the surface. "What?"

"It's a simple question really," the King said.

Dalton and I met eyes, and in that gesture... the way he looked at me... I knew. Dalton was as sure as I was, that I was, in fact, sleeping with Her Majesty, but I would never call it such a crass act as–

"Fucking?" I repeated. "No. I am not, and would never fuck your wife... Sir." I had to force myself to tack the respect onto the end.

The King picked up a leather journal off his desk and set it in front of him. "Ser Dalton," he said, never parting from my gaze. "You have never wronged me; never lied."

"Aye, Your Majesty," he hummed.

"You're bound to God by Chivalry. You both are," the King added.

"Yes," Dalton said.

"You have your eyes around the kingdom as I do. You've heard of their closeness, as I have. Does your nephew speak the truth? He would never fuck my wife?"

The King splayed open the guts of his book and started to scribe something into it. He was having this conversation so easily.

"Elías has never lied to me," Uncle said, his lips thinning. "I have no reason to believe Her Majesty's choice of companionship with her Knight has ever crossed that line."

"Good," The King remarked. It was short. Clear. Unimpeded by the anger I was feeling, the panic. "I'd hate to break another Blade so close to battle. I have a war to win."

"Break a...?" I started.

"Ser Erik," Dalton finished it.

The King scoffed at his name.

"...Ser Erik?" My stomach sank. "Ser Erik and Her Majes–?"

"I thought you said he was a sharp one," he poked at Dalton, and the two of them returned to a playful banter, as if I were no longer in the room. No longer a threat.

"I swear he is," Uncle joked. "And as I told you when we arranged this. Very righteous."

"Yes, yes," His Majesty dismissed him with a lazy wave. Then he looked me over, and nodded. "I am sorry to question your honesty, son. I just have to be sure. This heir comes as a surprise to both Eliza and I and will be incredibly vital to the longevity of the Empire. Should I fall in this War..."

I have no memory of the rest of the King's monologue. If I had to wager, I could piece it together now, with the bits and pieces of his constant talks of legacy, but in the moment, when he was done with it, Ser Dalton basically swept me from my stupor and out of the room.

We were halfway across the grounds when he grabbed my shirt and forced me into a quiet corner of the Castle. "Tell me I have lost my ever-loving mind!" he hissed.

"I don't know of what you speak!" I fought back, shoving him off of me. My teeth clenched and I paced across the corridor, hands raking through my hair.

Dalton breathed heavily through his nose, pinching the bridge of it between his finger and his thumb. "I put you on this detail to avoid this sort of thing! How could you be so stupid!?"

I didn't reply. I had found a spot on the floor to stare at and I shook my head, silently.

"Ser Erik was–"

"I don't believe it," I whispered.

"Yes, you do. Because it makes sense, and because you're hearing it from me," he said. "Ser Erik was an idiot and he got hurt for it. He's lucky to have kept his life. Do you understand how foolish you have been?"

"...Eliza, she–"

"Her Majesty," he corrected. "Her Majesty to you."

We paused, and I felt the air staccato as it entered my lungs again.

"She is pregnant?" I asked.

"How long has this been going on?" Dalton asked.

I shrugged. "Is she very far along?" I must have sounded weak, for Uncle's voice changed, softening.

He took a slower step towards me. "Oh, Gregor..." he whined. "You're in love with her?"

"She didn't tell me she was pregnant," I said. I groaned, animatedly, under my breath and then suddenly, I punched the wall.

Dalton sighed. "Gregor," he said once more. "I don't know if it's mutual. I don't know what she wants with you. But whatever it is, must end. And now. You cannot continue to be with her."

"Why not?" I ruffled. "Why can't I?"

"She is a married woman!" he started. "Besides the appalling sin, there is no future! There can't be!"

"I don't care about the future!"

"Of course you don't," he scoffed. "You're young. Naive. Stupid if you think you can just screw her and—"

"No one is screwing—"

"She is your Queen, not your plaything. Of all the places to get your dick wet—"

"I will not hear it! Don't you dare speak of her like that!" I shoved his shoulder with the heels of my hands, rocking him off his stance, but he gave me that as a free pass.

"Brown eyes, brown hair, fine. But God forbid this child comes out with black hair, or darker skin than His Majesty's. What do you think will happen to you?" he asked. "To her? To the child? To me for lying and breaking my Oath for you!?"

I blinked, my eyes, stinging. I had not considered the baby could belong to me.

"If the child..." I was in new territory. New fear. "If the child...?"

"What can you offer it?" Dalton asked. "You are nothing; you have nothing. Only the Oath, and that will not only be broken, but everyone; all of the world will know of it. You'll lose any respect before you have it. You'll never be Commander. My name will suffer, and worst of all? The Empire will see the cracks in the Crown and its Swords. They will see its weakness. Your weakness and mine, and Her Majesty's and it will break this empire."

I had to find her.

"No," I declared.

"Yes," he insisted. "Pray she loses it, and never touch the girl again."

My fist struck his nose before I could control it. It broke the feature; his blood spit over my knuckles, and when I shook them out, it painted the floor. Dalton lit, and we broke into a squabble, taking petty shots where we could until both of us were spent, sick from the number of times we'd hit each other in the gut. Panting, we held onto each other's collars, neither wanting to back off first.

"End it," he pleaded. "Look at you, you're furious. A ragged shade of the man you are! She's lied to you."

"No," I pushed.

He persisted. "Let me guess. Did she tell you she'd never touch the King? That you were all she needed? Did you believe it?"

I struggled to catch my breath; he was able to regain his spirit faster, shaking me off and straightening his armor back into place. He looked down at me as I rested my palms to my thighs and tried to breathe.

"Have dignity. Have honor. End the affair. Spare both of your lives. This is not a game, not of Swords and Horses. This is war."

"I didn't ask you to lie for me," I croaked. "I didn't force you to break your Oath. I'm not the villain here. You could have let me face the consequence."

He nodded, pissed. "When your father died, I took you in as my own. My sister's husband's son, not even my name. No one forced me to do it. To love you. One day, when you have a child, be it by birth or ward, you will finally fathom the weight of this love I bear for you. You will see that there is no thing, no force, beast or man, nor Oath of Chivalry," he hissed, "that could ever tear that love away from you. You will do things you do not want to do because you must to protect your child, and there will be no escape for as long as you haunt this world."

I stood, swallowing.

"You're a fuck-rotten idiot for this, Gregor. But you're still my boy and I love you. And even if you don't want it, I will see you through this."

A tear ran down my cheek, and I embraced him, devastated.

• • •

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