Rage burned in Orden’s eyes.

Then his mouth opened in a little O of grief at what he’d done. He turned away and walked to an archery slot, stood with both hands on the stones of the casement, gazing outside.

“Iome and her father were under my protection, bound by oath,” Gaborn said hastily, realizing that he’d just broken his promise to Borenson. He’d told Borenson that he’d not let his father know that they’d met. Yet, at the moment, Gaborn felt so betrayed he did not much care if he broke his word. “I’d have fought him for them. I told him that I would take the matter up with you.” He hoped these final words might appease his father.

Through a window, Gaborn could hear men cheer. More troops were coming into the castle, gathering for battle.

“Your actions are akin to treason,” King Orden muttered, back still turned. “They run against everything I’ve ever taught you.”

“Yet they followed precisely the desires of your own heart,” Gaborn said. “You ordered your friends’ deaths with your lips, but could not consent to it in your heart.”

“How can you think to know my heart?” Orden said distantly.

“I . . . just do,” Gaborn said.

King Orden nodded thoughtfully, then turned and gazed at Gaborn a long moment, at war with himself. He took a deep breath, tried to sound casual. “Then I, too, rescind the order. Thank you, Gaborn, for bringing my friend back. . . .”

Gaborn sighed in relief.

King Sylvarresta had wandered over to the breakfast table. He began eating from plates, pulling off huge chunks of ham with both fists. Gaborn’s father whispered, “But I fear he is lost to me still.”

“Until Raj Ahten is dead,” Gaborn said. “Then you will win back your friend, and I will win my wife.”

Gaborn did not want to bear this news now, but he felt it was important, and he wanted his father to hear it from him, rather than hear it later from a stranger. He fully expected another blow. “Father, I told you that I took an oath to protect Iome. I am bound to her, as one Oath-Bound Lord to another.”

Gaborn’s father looked off toward the hearth. His jaw clenched. He seemed dismayed by the news, but his voice cracked only the tiniest bit as he said, “Ah, I. see. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.”

“You are not disappointed?” Gaborn asked.

“Disappointed, yes,” Orden said, “but not surprised. Though I cannot help but say that you picked the worst possible time to have this attack of conscience.”

“But you are not angry?”

His father suppressed a chuckle. “Angry? Hardly. Dismayed, perhaps. Saddened. But how can I be angry? My only friend is an Oath-Bound Lord.” He stood a moment in thought, nodding his head. “But still . . . I feel that I’ve lost you.”