Was it him, or did Isabella seem to fancy him as much as he did her? His thoughts about her were dishonorable, and he should thus seek to avoid her. Vanion had only an arranged marriage to a woman he loathed to look forward to. The Lady Mara Hawkthorne came from a family of merchant lords.

 

In theory, it was a good match. House Gabriel was short on money and had a great deal of respectability. It would also give them a claim to the throne of Escor. House Hawkthorne was immensely rich. But they lacked the respect of neighboring lands in Antion. A link between their families could be overpowering.

 

It could be.

 

But Vanion disliked Lady Hawkthorne and her treatment of those beneath her. And he suspected that her family wasn't near as wealthy as they claimed to be. Not that Father ever listened to him. He was too dead set on regaining the throne of Escor, not realizing it was already lost.

 

Vanion came out into a square enclosure with a fountain. It was bubbling with crystal-clear water at the center. Something about the place troubled him, and he could not drive Isabella from his thoughts. It was maddening.

 

The whole thing was unfair. Why should he be promised to another without his own consent? He was a master of armies, and yet he could not even be the master of whom he married first. He had been called a hopeless romantic, and perhaps he was, but he could not change his feelings. Then, he could refuse it, just as she could. Yet that would be politically disastrous for their families. It would also be a violation of their duties.

 

Vanion paced back and forth, becoming no calmer as he did so. He could not drive her beauty from his mind, and the more he tried, the more he desired her. He could not have her, of course. It was both impossible and dishonorable. Not only was she already married, but even if she were a partner in such a crime, the opportunity simply did not exist.

 

"You can have her, you know," said a calm voice.

 

Vanion halted and looked up. Leaning against one of the hedges stood a figure clothed in a white tunic. His hair was long and golden, and his eyes a brilliant blue. He was very handsome, yet his features were almost girlish. He was looking at Vanion with a friendly bearing, but Vanion did not like the look of him. He wasn't sure why.

 

"Who are you?" asked Vanion.

 

"Call me Melchious," said the man, walking forward.

 

Melchious! Vanion drew his dagger and took a stance. Melchious laughed merrily. You would never think him a demon from the way his voice rang with music. "Please, please, put down your weapon, knight. If I desired you dead, I should have slain you before you knew I was here. I am merely here to strike a bargain."

 

"I am not selling my soul," said Vanion.

 

Melchious smiled and widened. "Please do not underestimate me, sir knight. I know well that one such as yourself would understand. An eternity of damnation would not be worth any worldly pleasure.

 

"No, my aspirations are far more humble than that."

 

Vanion found himself sheathing his dagger in relief. He could trust Melchious; why not? What was he thinking? This was a demon, yet Vanion felt he should regard him as a trusted friend. Something about his voice. "What do you want?"

 

"To help you, of course," said Melchious. "I assure you the arrangement I wish to come to is mutually beneficial. I need no service from you, no dishonorable deed you would not do anyway with half a chance. Only a small thing-"

 

"What are you offering?" asked Vanion, wanting to cut to the chase.

 

Melchious seemed annoyed at the interruption, and his smile lessened momentarily. He seemed a little less glamorous for an instant and far colder. Then it passed. "When these celebrations are over, Duke Borinius will return to Brisgald. As is his custom, he will go hunting sooner or later. Such trips take days, even weeks.

 

"When he departs, I will transform your physical appearance to be like him.

 

"His mother would not know the difference between you and him. Entering his abode, you may have your way with the beautiful Isabella, and no one will ever know you were there. Your desires will be satiated, and she will have a son."

 

Vanion opened his mouth to agree, and he could hardly stop himself. Some magic of Melchious' was driving him to be reckless. He knew he ought to refuse outright and end this at once, yet it seemed more a harmless joke than the crime it was. Was it so significant?

 

A voice urged him to accept it without asking further. Vanion was not such a fool. "I take it there is some price to this offer."

 

"Price?" mused Melchious as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Well, yes, there is one. If indeed, disposing of the evidence can be considered a price. The son born of your lust will be mine. The child will have been created under my authority. Thus, it is only fitting that I should hold influence over it.

 

"But it will hardly be your problem. Borinius has been without a child for years. It is a source of some humiliation for him and his wife. If and when he finds out about the child, even if he suspects the truth, he will not reveal it."

 

"How does this benefit you?" asked Vanion.

 

The question annoys Melchious further. He did not seem to like being questioned. "A just question. I have many plans that may take centuries to come to fruition. Nevertheless, having authority over a noble bloodline could give me a significant advantage. And some greater ones.

 

"You need not fear such machinations. They will bear fruit long after you are dead, and in the meantime, you will get what you want. What else is there?"

 

"Quite a lot, I'll wager." mused Vanion, but he realized he was actually considering it. It was disgraceful! This was utterly dishonorable, and he would have no part in it! "Leave."

 

Melchious took a step back and sighed. "Yes, I suppose such momentary value when considering the honors you have received." He turned to walk away, pointedly not saying them. They did not exist.

 

Vanion considered what honors he had been given for his victories? Nothing. He had kept Artarq from falling into the hands of Baltoth. Yet it was Lord Argath Marn who was given the position of governor. He'd orchestrated many victories, yet it was Raynald and Rusara who everyone cheered.

 

What had honor gotten him? What pleasures had it denied him?

 

"No one needs ever know what happened here tonight," said Vanion.

 

Melchious stopped and turned with a smile. "I knew you had it in you."

 

He was before Vanion offered a hand. Vanion reached for it but halted. He felt as though something was screaming at him to stop, not go further. He should have abandoned this plan before it was too late.

 

Then, he felt a surge of spite for those who had snubbed him. For the King of Antion for giving Artarq to the highest bidder instead of the one who saved it. For Borinius. How he had revealed his contempt for Raynald was unforgivable for Isabella. She had treated Rusara with such disdain. They deserved it — all of them.

 

It was the most foolish, reckless, and dishonorable thing he'd ever do, and he knew it at the time. It didn't stop him, though. He clasped Melchious' hand.

 

Melchious let go. His smile faded, and he drew back, seeming paler and less fair. "Excellent; when you pass Brisgald during the return journey, you'll know where to meet me. We'll make arrangements then. Until that day, farewell, Sir Vanion Gabriel."

 

Then he was gone as though he'd never been there in the first place. Rusara came around the corner, looking concerned. "Vanion, are you all right? You didn't need to leave on my behalf." She halted. "You look pale. Is something wrong?"

 

Vanion looked at his palm, feeling like a mark should be there. Yet there was nothing — not a sign of what had transpired. So no one would ever know. "No, I just needed some air. We'd best get back."

 

"Right," said Rusara. "I'm leaving this morning, so we'd better make the best of tonight."

 

"So am I." realized Vanion.

 

His departure could not come soon enough.