“Oh.” The syllable emerged in a feeble squeak. I searched my memory for anything in my high school history classes about a Battle of Crécy and came up blank.

“It was in 1346,” Stefan said. “Part of what is now referred to as the Hundred Years’ War.”

Okay, at least that rang a distant bell. “Um . . . wasn’t that between England and France?”

“Yes.” He accorded me a faint smile. “Two powerful countries that called upon their allies to fight alongside them in their wars.”

I didn’t know what to say and I really, really didn’t want to say something stupid. This was the most Stefan had ever shared with me, and whatever complicated emotions I felt for him, I didn’t want to ruin the moment with my unfortunately stereotypical American ignorance of history and geography. So I studied the features of the dark-haired knight kneeling on the shield instead. Although they were blurred, you could see the resemblance. “What was your father’s name?”

“Jakob,” Stefan said, a world of centuries-old sorrow in his tone. “Jakob Ludovic, Count of Žatlovy.”

I turned back to him. “I’m sorry.”

The bond between us tightened, the air seeming to shiver. Stefan’s pupils were immense and full of swimming darkness and pain. I could feel a part of my innermost self spilling into them—

With an effort, Stefan closed his eyes and took an abrupt step backward. The bond loosened. When he opened his eyes, his pupils were small and steady. “Thank you,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

Yeah, like more than six hundred years. I cleared my throat. “It’s an amazing artifact. I can’t believe it’s in such good shape.”

“Yes,” he said. “The piece is museum quality. I should donate it, but . . .” He shrugged. “It is my only keepsake.”

I glanced involuntarily at the weaponry on display on the wall.

Stefan followed my gaze. “Mere tools,” he said. “Implements of battle with little or no sentimental value.” His tone changed, becoming more businesslike. “But speaking of shields, that is precisely what I wish to show you, Daisy. Or more accurately, to give you.” He beckoned. “Come.”

I trailed after him as he went to retrieve an item wrapped in dark blue velvet cloth from a sideboard. With one of his formal little half bows, Stefan presented it to me.

I removed the cloth to reveal a round steel shield. Other than a hand grip welded onto the concave back, it was plain and unadorned. It was both smaller and heavier than I would have imagined, and polished to a mirror-bright shine inside and out. “You got me a shield?”

“You were having difficulty visualizing one,” he said. “I thought this might help.”

“Where do you buy a shield?” I asked. “And it’s so . . . petite! Did you have to have it custom made?”