a boast, Ransom. Who else could he have sent that I wouldn’t have laughed out of the Vexin? You serve the king now, like you did my brother. But I must ask you. How does he intend to take it away? Does he intend to wrest it from me, like a sweet from a child? Will he send a horde of mercenaries who are loyal to coin and not to him?” Benedict grunted. “You tell my father that if he moves against me, he will find that he has miscalculated my strength. And yours. I’m not afraid of you, Ransom. The last time we met, you bested me. I’m not so weak anymore.”
Ransom stared at him, feeling the rage and hostility inside those blue eyes. “Fighting your father destroyed Devon. I watched it happen,” Ransom said softly. He remembered the sunken face, the bloodied lips of the Younger King. The look of defeat in his eyes. “Don’t make the same mistake. Make peace with him. Before it’s too late.”
The words affected Benedict. His bravado began to fade. “He makes enemies where there is no need, from his own sons to our neighboring kingdoms. But he was wise to send you. I want him to free my mother. If she must be in confinement, then let it be here, among her own people. His revenge is . . . blind. Whatever she may have done, it is not worth this punishment. I also wish to be named his heir. I want to see both orders in a writ before I meet with him again.”
Ransom stared at him, knowing how implacable the Elder King was on this one issue. While he suspected the king wouldn’t hesitate to name Benedict his heir—it was clearly his intention to pass the kingdom to him—he would never willingly free his wife. “I, too, wish he would free her, Bennett. But do not provoke him. Bend your knee to your father, your king, and he may be more willing to listen to wisdom.”
The duke snorted in disgust. “What if I make him bend the knee to me?”
Pride. Ransom could see it seething inside Benedict like a hungry flame. He’d witnessed what it had done to the older brother. He dreaded it happening again. Ransom’s talents flourished in battle, but he would prefer not to use them against his own countrymen.
Benedict looked away in the silence, his mood darkening then shifting again to reflection. “I am nearly the age my father was when he began conquering his lands. And I’m not like my brother. I could do this thing. I feel it in my heart. I would win.”
“Why take by force what would be willingly given?” Ransom asked. “He sees you as his heir.”
“Does he? That’s more than he’s confessed to me.”
Ransom stepped closer. “His words are wounding. I won’t deny it. And yet I find myself remembering the night he captured you and your brother. You heard your father’s pain that night. We all did. Do not betray him again. Be loyal, and he will reward you.”
“You seem so sure, Ransom. I almost pity you. But my father is good at making promises. He’s not as good at keeping them.”
The look of defiance in Benedict’s eyes showed Ransom that the trouble between the sons and their father was far from over. And the prince’s words were the sort that wouldn’t leave him anytime soon—he had given his allegiance to King Devon, but all the king had given him could be easily taken away, like grains of sand slipping through a fist.
It was such a delight to get a letter from Ransom. He confided that he received permission from the king to send letters to me on occasion. His letter was much too short for my taste, but he told me a little about his journey—the sand and heat of it, the strange creatures he encountered in the desert. He told me also about the shock he felt to have so quickly found himself in the king’s favor, which isn’t surprising at all to anyone who knows him. Choosing Ransom is one of the only good decisions Devon’s made.
Ransom actually asked if I would be open to writing back to him, the eejit, as if he didn’t know this is the best news I’ve received in years. I don’t know how faithful a correspondent he will prove, but the prospect alone makes the confinement of the tower more bearable. I already wrote one back, asking for more details