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sword!
    A pretty teenage boy in black livery, with curled bangs, breezed into the war room, his rouged lips and long lashes trembling at the unusual sight of an enraged King Richard. “Yes, my lord?”
    “Squire, fetch my weapons and armor! Quickly!”
    The boy ran out of the room and nearly knocked into the queen, who immediately went to her husband, sorely concerned. She rested her palms on his shoulders and gazed into his grim face. “What is it, my dear heart?”
    “A birthday present from the tyrant Cromwell!”
    “Be more specific, Richard.”
    “Cromwell encroaches upon us with troops and wizardry. At this very moment his dastardly men march on the city!”
    Malia pulled away and bit the back of her hand in fear. “God spare us!”
    Richard took her into his arms and tried to comfort her with kisses. But she was inconsolable, knowing her husband was preparing to go into the pending fray.
    “Go roust Duncan, Malia. He will ride with us. The others I leave in your charge.”
    “Must Duncan go too?” It was more of a plea than a question.
    “Yes, my love. If he is to be king one day it is time he shows he deserves to be one.”
    The queen nodded, already turning to do as he bade. But she stopped just this side of the archway leading to other parts of the castle.
    “You will take care of yourself and our boy!”
    “You have my word on it.”
    She blew him a kiss and hastened away.
    The king reached for the belt specially made for his tri-bladed sword, hanging on a peg on the wall, when he heard the rattle of metal behind him. He spung around and saw Talon standing before him, dressed for battle.
    “The castle buzzes with news of Cromwell’s army. I am ready, Father.” The lust for battle glowed on Talon’s face.
    Richard smiled. Oh, that the boy were only a few years older and that he was not needed here at the castle more than at the imminent siege! He could use more men of Talon’s courage and indomitable will.
    “I’d love to have you at my side. Father and son in battle together. I’ve dreamed of it.”
    “And so I w ill be,” he asserted.
    “Sorry, no. You must stay behind and act as king in my absence.”
    Talon was beside himself with frustration. “Let Duncan be king! I want to fight, Father! Fight—beside you!”
    Richard now assumed a more authoritative mien. The trick was to bridle the boy’s fiery spirit without killing it.
    “We each have our duties, and yours will be to stay behind and protect your mother, sister, and younger brother. The subject is closed.”
    For the first time in many years he saw Talon’s eyes flood with tears.
    “My arm is strong, Father!”
    “I know it is, son, and I am proud of your prowess.”
    The boy’s manly, comely face turned ugly with resentment. “Do you leave me behind because . . . because I am a bastard child and Duncan is not!” It was an accusation, not a question.
    Guilt and remorse clutched at Richard’s heart. So the boy had heard court gossip. He should have told Talon himself rather than risk his finding out the cruel way he had.
    “No! And I’ll hang the sow or hog who told you such a thing!” One day, if he survived Cromwell’s campaign, he would confess the truth. But the few moments they had left together was not the time.
    He held outstretched arms to his confused and frustrated son, and Talon came rushing into them. Father and son ardently embraced, Richard covering the boy’s face with kisses.
    “My God, Talon, but I do love you more than life!”
    “And I love you, Father!”
    “Wait.”
    He detached himself from Talon and picked up his tri-bladed sword off the table, handing it to his son.
    Talon’s face was a sunburst of joy as he examined every inch of the formidable weapon. He knew how much the tri-bladed sword meant to his father, and now apparently he was giving it to him! Talon felt an outpouring of love for his father such as he had never experienced before.
    “But, Father—”
    “Hush. It is yours. Should