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felt alive. Siegfried would not have that power; she vowed it more fervently and with more feeling than she had made her wedding pledge.
    And if all her plans failed, if there was no other way to keep the power of the throne in her hands—it was still possible for deliverance to come in the form of a so-tragic accident.

    â€œHah, Dorian, you’ll never disarm me that way!” Siegfried taunted his opponent as he countered a clumsy attempt to knock his sword from his hand. Sweat poured down his back and neck, and he had a bit of a headache from squinting through the slit in his helm, but he wasn’t even breathing hard. This little exercise was just enough to get him warmed up, and he was enjoying himself to the hilt. He replied to the move Dorian had attempted with an expert version of the same blow. As his sword hit solidly, the vibration of the strike ran up his arm until he felt it in his shoulder, calling up a momentary ache—but at that point, it was no matter. Dorian’s blade went flying, and the young man swore, shaking numb fingers as he backed out of the way of Siegried’s blade.
    â€œDammit, Siegfried, can’t you disarm a fellow without taking the use of his hand?” Dorian shoved up the visor of his helm with his uninjured left, and glared at the victor. Siegfried laughed and doffed his helm altogether, casting it carelessly into the hands of his squire who caught it expertly and set it aside for cleaning.
    â€œI warned you that you were no match for me,” Siegfried responded, still laughing, as he handed his sword to his second squire. He walked toward Dorian, pulling off his gauntlets as he did. “I warned you, but you insisted on trying my paces. Just because you’ve gone off to the Emperor’s court and learned a trick or two doesn’t mean you can come back and give me a drubbing.”
    â€œYes, well, now I am well and truly defeated, and won’t be able to close my fingers for the next hour, and I hope you’re satisfied,” Dorian said sourly, a scowl turning his handsome, fair face into a mask of irritation. His own squire hurried to his side and pulled off the gauntlet on the injured hand.
    â€œDon’t sulk, Dorian, you look like a thundercloud,” admonished Siegfried’s best friend Benno, slapping the defeated knight on the back as the maidens who’d gathered to watch the contest giggled behind their hands. “Here we’ve got the prettiest ladies of the court come to welcome you back and cheer you on, and you’re going to frighten them away with your black looks!”
    Dorian cast an involuntary glance at the colorful little knot of girls in their delicate linen gowns and embroidered surcoats, braided hair coiled neatly under light veils, and managed to smooth his expression into something more acceptable. “All the same, Siegfried, it’s damned hard, coming back after all this time to have you trounce me first thing without even having to catch your breath!” the knight complained, with less heat. “Don’t you think you could at least have let me win just this once, as a courtesy to somebody you hadn’t seen in three years?”
    â€œSiegfried doesn’t hold back for anyone, not even me,” Benno broke in playfully, before Siegfried could say the same thing. Siegfried raised an eyebrow at him, but added nothing to that; after all, it was true. “Once his blood gets stirred up, he just forgets everything but fighting. If you ask me, there’s a bit of the berserker in our Prince.”
    â€œEr, well, you’re probably right,” Dorian grumbled, but he seemed mollified. Siegfried snorted, but kept his thoughts to himself. He hasn’t changed, not in three years. Still can’t admit it when he’s beaten, and expects a man to hold back for him. Holding back doesn’t serve any purpose even in practice, and doing less than your best isn’t honorable.