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then there might also have to be an execution—no matter how distasteful it might be.
    Calling for his steward, he began the process.
     
    He didn’t wait to be announced, not that King Steffan expected him to.
    Any other man in the kingdom would have worn his best clothing for an audience with the king. Any other man would have waited with held breath outside the heavy, ornate double doors for the arrival of a steward to show him through. Then, he would have slowly walked the long, golden pathway through the great, airy hall to the foot of the king’s throne. At this point, he would have dropped to his knees and bowed his head in complete submission, waiting for acknowledgment from the most powerful man in the land. Not unlike that villager from Farr.
    But Christoff was not just any other man.
    He strode into the hall through a narrow side door, his armor scuffed and muddy, his usually gleaming chestnut hair now dark with sweat and dirt. Dust smeared his lean cheeks and streaked down the side of his jaw. With an equally dirty helmet nestled in the crook of his elbow, he walked briskly towards the throne. Pausing only to bend at the waist in an offhanded attempt at due homage, he proceeded to speak without introduction or permission.
    “Father, you summoned?” His voice was deep and controlled, masking the annoyance Steffan knew he felt at being beckoned from the middle of a training session with his men.
    Steffan sat quietly, regarding his only son. He and his wife had been blessed with three children: a daughter fully grown and living with her new spouse in Trigden; another, younger girl, who was visiting her maternal grandparents for the rest of the summer; and then this tall, proud son. Christoff was everything a son and heir to the throne should be. He was distinguished, handsome and intelligent. Despite his young age, he was captain of a company of knights and commanded them with power and exactness. Steffan couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride in the magnificent younger man standing before him. Oh, he certainly had his faults, as did all of humankind. He was proud, opinionated, and oftentimes stubborn. But despite his faults, Christoff would become an ideal leader for Aggadorn after Steffan left this world. The boy was tenacious in upholding the law, regardless of the consequences to himself and others. He was a man who truly defined honor and duty.
    It was the young man’s exact obedience that made him perfect for the assignment Steffan was about to give.
    “I’m sorry for interrupting you during your practice; I know how hard you work to set an example for your men on the field. Unfortunately, this couldn’t wait another moment.”
    “What’s going on?” Christoff pressed.
    “I have an errand for you that will take you away from your training for several days. I wouldn’t ask you to do it, except that I trust you to see it done. The failure of the task would affect not just my standing with the people, but possibly lives.”
    Steffan watched his son’s head jerk back in surprise. “Tell me, and I will see it done!” he exclaimed.
    “I need you to take a dozen or so of your knights to a village at the northern boundaries called Farr. I assume you’re familiar with the location?”
    “Of course; though only academically. I’ve never travelled there.”
    “I want you to locate a woman by the name of Larra Stoneworth and arrest her. She has been accused of using magic—”
    “A witch!” Christoff exclaimed in surprise. “The last witch reported was when I was just a young boy! Surely they would have all died or fled to a different kingdom by now.” The young man shook his head in disbelief, his arms dropping to his side, helmet in hand. “Could it be a mistake?”
    “I only wish. But there are witnesses. Several, if the signatures the messenger brought are anything to go by.”
    “You’re not going to execute her—!”
    Steffan ran an agitated hand over his brow. “I