Perhaps she was destined to marry Elwis. If so, he would have to prove himself to her with consistency and determination—and not just because her heart still yearned for another. Trynne longed for adventure, and since her little brother, Gannon, would inherit both Westmarch and Brythonica, she did not feel the need to rush into marriage. She wished to visit all the places on her mother’s map, and all of those beyond it too, including the Forbidden Court of Gahalatine.

There was noise on the battlement steps as the irate count jostled his way up the stairs. “I don’t care! Stand aside, you old badger! I will speak with her!”

Trynne hung her head for a moment. Despite her position on the king’s council, people still tried to treat her as a child, especially the most persistent of her suitors.

Count Bastian was a big man, at least thirty, attended by a whip-thin servant with groveling manners. The count was handsome and arrogant and very, very rich. He was also clearly used to getting his way.

Her herald, Farnes, could not keep up with him as he launched up the rampart steps.

Trynne turned and started walking toward them, bridling her anger.

“Ah, there you are!” Bastian said. He had clearly abandoned his composure down below. He threw up his hands. “I find it highly offensive that you have not only ignored me, but refused to see me, Lady Trynnwy. I’ve called for my carriage, and I will depart this miserable town at once. You did wrong to treat me so discourteously.”

The beetle-eyed servant looked at Trynne with open hostility. Farnes, panting, finally reached the top of the steps. “How dare you address the Lady Tryneowy in this manner,” he huffed. “If you do not leave at once, I will summon Captain Staeli—”

Trynne gave him a covert gesture to remain silent and he did.

“Captain Staeli,” Bastian sneered. “What can he do? I’ve seen your defenses, my lady, and they are woefully inadequate. You have perhaps a score of guards manning the entire castle. Twenty! I will not leave without taking what I came for.” He lowered his voice, the boastful outrage vanishing. “This man is a poisoner from Pisan,” he said, jabbing with his thumb toward the man, who had suddenly produced a dagger. “If you utter a word, he will kill your aged herald. And anyone who dares interrupt. I have fifty men concealed in the woods outside Averanche with orders to enter the city at nightfall. You are coming with me, Lady Trynnwy. Our women do not have such airs as you do. I’ve seen your little girls in the training yard.” He spat with disdain. “Believe me when I say that you are not prepared for the world of men. But I will teach you obedience. Now, you will come with me quietly or your friends will get hurt.”

He reached out and grabbed her arm.