knight blogging

                “Get out.”

                Francel paused mid-way to sipping his wine. Other nearby chatter quieted around Artoirel, whose formal tone turned stern. The nobleman he spoke to stiffened, while his wife stared wide-eyed.

                The nobleman sputtered. “Lord Artoirel? What is the meaning – “

                Artoirel’s voice suddenly boomed, “Get out. Now! Both of you! I will not have such noisome slander spoken under my own roof.”

                The rest of the room went quiet. Artoirel stared the offending party guests down. He stood still and strong, giving new meaning to his battle epithet of Ironbone. With a deep breath, the nobleman eventually tipped his head in a brisk nod before escorting himself and his wife from Fortemps Manor.

                “Pray, forgive the outburst,” said Artoirel as he turned to the rest of the gathering. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

                One by one, the guests returned to what they were doing – if they didn’t switch to whispering about what just happened. Artoirel exhaled and let his shoulders slump for the briefest moment; Francel noticed.

                “Lord Artoirel…” said Francel, his voice quiet as he approached. “Are you quite all right?”

                “Yes, thank you, Lord Francel. Again, I apologize.” Artoirel gave the young lord a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

                “Might I ask what happened?”

                Artoirel paused. If it had been anyone other than Francel or his own family asking, he would have deflected. Bitterness came over his expression, his brows furrowing. “I overheard them speaking ill of Haurchefant. They said it was better for House Fortemps now that he…”

                Artoirel’s eyes clenched shut; Francel’s widened. A white-hot burn coiled in the pit of the younger lord’s chest that most people wouldn’t think him capable of. One might’ve assumed he’d be used to hearing such talk about Haurchefant, but that never happened. A part of him didn’t want it to; it would feel too much like letting them win. Hearing that his closest friend could not even be afforded respect after his death, his sacrifice, brought that old, familiar fury back with a vengeance. What Francel was accustomed to doing was containing it.

                And so, when Artoirel opened his eyes again, Francel simply nodded.

                “You needn’t apologize, then. In fact, I thank you for defending him.”