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Presented by his father, Sir Lucien Talbot, young Arthen knelt eagerly before the king, upturned face alight with joy. Behind him, Sir Lucien carried a goodly sword with which his son would be invested, with the straps of a pair of golden spurs looped over the quillons.
    â€œSo, Lucien,” Donal said with a smile, rising with the Haldane sword cradled in his arm. “How many sons of yours have I knighted now, including young Arthen here? Three? Or is it four?”
    â€œArthen is the fourth, Sire,” Lucien replied, bowing. “You knighted Caspar last Twelfth Night, and Julian the year before. And Joris was first, of course.”
    â€œAh, of course. Well, they all look incredibly like you. I can’t keep them straight. The others are not with you today?”
    â€œAlas, no, Sire, but they send loyal greetings and apologies for their absence. I fear that all of them had duties in Meara that precluded their attendance. But they look forward to having their brother join them in service.”
    â€œI’m sure they do,” the king replied, “though I imagine that the Mearans will hardly be glad to have another Talbot enforcing the king’s peace. Sir Alun,” he said to the just-knighted Alun Melandry, “perhaps you would be so good as to invest your young comrade-in-arms with his spurs. Lucien, I am also disappointed to see that your lady is not with you this year,” the king went on, as the grinning Alun knelt to perform his office.
    â€œAs am I, Sire,” the Mearan governor replied, “but the reason is a happy one. Our eldest daughter is soon to present us with our first grandchild, so her mother has gone to Laas to be with her for the lying in. When Your Majesty’s children are of an age to present you with your own grandchildren, I know you will understand.”
    â€œIndeed, indeed,” Donal said, chuckling. “When you return home, then, I trust that you will give your goodwife a full accounting of today’s honors. And send me word when the child is born.” He glanced aside at Sir Jiri Redfearn, standing duty behind the throne. “Jiri, remind me to send an appropriate christening gift.”
    â€œYes, Sire.”
    As Sir Alun rose, his spurring duties fulfilled, Donal’s gaze flicked back to the still-kneeling Arthen.
    â€œSo, young Master Talbot. Are you certain you would not prefer to receive the accolade from your father?”
    â€œWith all due respect, Sire,” Lucien said, before the candidate could answer, “we could have stayed in Ratharkin if my hand were sufficient.”
    â€œArthen?” the king insisted. “Your father is a very honored and puissant knight, else he would not be my governor in Meara.”
    â€œAye, Sire, but you are my king,” young Talbot replied. “I have always dreamed of receiving the accolade from your own hand. And I would lief swear you my fealty in person—for the bond between vassal and liege is as hallowed as that of blood.”
    â€œWell, I cannot dispute that,” the king replied, smiling as he shifted the hilt of the great Haldane sword of state into his right hand and lifted the blade before him. “Arthen Talbot, son of Lucien.” The blade flashed downward to lightly touch flat on the young man’s right shoulder.
    â€œIn the name of the Father, and of the Son,” the blade shifted to the left shoulder, “and of the Holy Spirit,” the blade lifted to rest on the crown of the young man’s bowed head, “be thou a good and faithful knight.” Donal lifted the blade to kiss the holy relic enclosed in the pommel, then reversed it to rest the tip on the floor and offered his right hand to the new knight. “Arise, Sir Arthen, and be invested with the other symbols of your new rank.”
    Only just controlling a grin, Sir Arthen got to his feet, bowing as the queen came to gird him with the white belt of his knighthood,