“I once had the pleasure of looking upon The Lilies of the Lake.” Rezkin shifted his gaze to Shiela and grinned as he mock-lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If I did not know any better, I could swear that fairies lived among them,” he confided with a wink. Shiela giggled and blushed as she batted her lashes.

Reaylin, who was standing behind the stunned Frisha and Tam, leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, he’s good. I didn’t know the tough warrior had that in him.”

“Say, Lord Rezkin,” Malcius spoke up, “is that your magnificent beast?” Malcius waved a manicured hand toward Pride who was standing further down the dock. The reins hung limply, brushing the ground in a silent command for the horse to remain where he was. Pride was nearly as opulent as Rezkin today. The stallion’s black coat was clean and brushed to a shine. The embossed black saddle and black and silver bridle were polished, as well. The horse’s mane and tail were braided and woven with silver ribbons in a parade style.

“Why, yes, he is. But, please, you may dispense with the title. I am quite sure none of you will forget who I am. Just call me Rezkin, although my friends sometimes prefer to call me Rez,” the young man said with such confidence it was infectious.

“Yes, quite right, Rezkin…Rez. It would please me if you called me Malcius, as well,” the noble replied. Frisha’s jaw dropped. Her egotistical cousin never dropped his title—for anyone. No doubt Malcius thought he would look weak and insecure if he insisted on continuing to use his title after Rez’s speech. The announcement was followed by a round of permissions by all to dispense with the titles. In only a matter of moments, Rezkin had completely disarmed the nobles of their pretentious snobbery, at least as far as he was concerned.

“You were speaking of the horse?” Shiela prompted demurely as she batted her lashes.

“Yes, tell us about the stallion,” Palis piped up. “It is massive. I have not seen the like. The only horse I have seen that comes close is Uncle Marcum’s.”

“What breed is it? Is it of the Cronelis stock?” asked Brandt.

Rezkin grinned like he was holding all of the candy. “No, Palis is quite right. He is a purebred battle charger of the Augmerian line. I call him Pride.”

The men’s jaws were slack as glances darted back and forth between Rezkin and the horse. “But, that is the king’s stock,” protested Malcius.

Rezkin grinned broader as he placed his hands loosely in his pockets and rocked back on his heels in an uncharacteristic display of pride. “Indeed,” was all he said. “Speaking of which, it is time I get him rigged so they can haul him aboard. You had best keep your distance. He tends to maim or kill anyone but me.”