~Three Months Prior~

The lavishness of the celebration was surely wasted on him, but Roderick held his head high and smiled as best he could to the many milling nobles, their daughters, and their sons.  Henry stood at his back and chattered on brightly with whoever approached.  Even so, no amount of reticence could dissuade the flock of guests before him.

“Well done, young man!” said one broad, garrulous earl.

“A feat more than worthy!” declared a thin, monocled alderman.

“Tell us about it!  Tell the story!” begged a young, fresh-faced squire.

“Sir Roderick!” cried several young ladies, in hopes of his attention.

The banquet spread out around them, with musicians plucking a lively tune and bards nearby with ears perked to memorize his exploits, that they might write epics and songs.

Exaggerated, aggrandized tales.  That was what they wanted, one and all, as they waited for the king to arrive and bestow Sir Roderick of Endshire with a peerage of his own.

Amid that merry mess, there was one other who insisted on being at his side—Lady Calanthe, the daughter of the earl who knighted him.  She was a woman whose face hid nothing, if one were to phrase it kindly.  That night, in particular, her expression was communicating volumes—her disdain for the people, her pride in herself, her lust for Roderick…and her spite for any other woman who laid eyes on him.

A proud and unwise lady.  A flower filled with poison from root to petal.

Many men had confided their desires for her while acknowledging that poisonous nature.  They idealized her as the sweetest of deaths, or perhaps the mightiest of highs.  The comparisons to nightshade and opium were endless.  In her expensive red gown, with its long train and intricate embroidery, she flaunted wealth well beyond the means of an earl beleaguered by battle upon battle with drakes, bandits, barbarians, and the tempestuous seasons themselves.  The borderlands were filled with troubles aplenty to empty their coffers, and yet she wasted what little they had on gold jewelry and pelts of rare, pale colors.

The earl was a loving father.  Commendably so.  But he and his sons, one and all, were blind to the faults of their precious daughter and sister.  The knights and nobles were likewise blinded by her beauty and breeding.  Only the servants seemed as aware of Lady Calanthe’s avarice and pride as Roderick was.

And yet Roderick was sworn to honor and serve her father, and her by extension.

He said nothing when she hovered close enough for her body heat to crawl up his arm like possessive fingers.  He said nothing when she found excuse after excuse to touch him and stake her unwanted claim.  Some of the older gentlemen tried to gently hint she was getting too handsy, but Calanthe deflected them with insidious smirks and pretty words.