friend.’ Waving his hand, he said, ‘If Marcus came sailing into any city but Krondor or Rillanon, the local girls would be falling all over him for attention. Here on the Far Coast, he’s the most eligible bachelor, related to the King and everything. But you, my bashful boy, are the most eligible lad north of the Empire of Kesh, now that your brothers are married, and you’re the brother of our next King.
‘The lovely Lady Abigail could be head over heels about Marcus, but the moment you walk in, she’s got to stop and take a long look.’ With a shrug, he added, ‘It’s the sort of thing people do.’
At mention of Abigail, Nicholas sighed. ‘Do you think she is?’
‘Is what?’
‘In love with Marcus.’
Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Then, with a grin, he said, ‘But I can find out.’
Nicholas said, ‘No, don’t do anything. If you start poking around and asking questions, she’ll find out.’
‘Ha! You’re afraid she’ll find out you like her!’ Harry laughed at Nicholas’s discomfort. ‘Don’t worry about that, my friend. It’s too late.’
Nicholas groaned. ‘You think?’
Harry said, ‘Certain of it. You look like you’re going to faint every time you see her looking at you. How do you think Marcus knew? He’s not amused.’
‘He’s a cool one,’ said Nicholas, an observation that was half admiration, half dislike.
Harry nodded. ‘You two are a lot alike, but he keeps things closer in than you do.’
Nicholas said, ‘Well, everyone keeps saying we’re alike, but I don’t see it.’
Harry stood up. ‘Well, soak the foot and wrap it, and have a good night. I’ll bring you some food from the kitchen tonight.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m heading back to the garden to find Abigail.’
‘Not you too!’ groaned Nicholas.
Harry waved his hand. ‘Not a chance. I’m interested in Margaret.’
‘Why?’ said Nicholas as Harry paused by the door.
‘Well, for one thing, Marcus is her brother, and while marriages between royal cousins aren’t unheard of, in your case, I seriously doubt it. Besides, I think I love her.’
Nicholas’s eyebrows shot up in skeptical surprise. ‘Right.’
‘No, I mean it. She gives me a stomach ache.’ Saying no more, he left Nicholas alone.
Nicholas fell back, laughing, but soon his mirth fled, as he understood exactly what Harry was saying. Abigail gave him the most desperate twist in the stomach he had ever experienced.
NICHOLAS WINCED.
He had been laid up all the previous day, and while his foot still hurt, he could move around. So before the sun rose, he was standing at his post outside the Duke’s door, almost motionless.
Marcus’s door opened and he emerged into the hall, motioning for Harry to follow. A moment later, Martin’s door opened and Briana and Martin came through. The Duchess said, ‘How is the foot, Nicholas?’
He managed a wry smile as he said, ‘I’ll live. It’s a little tender, my lady, but I can get around.’
Martin said, ‘Accidents happen. You’re not going to be much use for running errands; go back to the Housecarl and see if he can find something you’re suited for today.’
Nicholas said, ‘Your Grace,’ and limped off.
As he wandered through the halls toward the servants’ wing, where Samuel had his office, he felt thoroughly disgusted with himself. The Sixthday game had been a debacle. As he had brooded over it all day, lying on his pallet, he realized he had looked like a fool.
Over the years, being the youngest son of the Prince of Krondor had forced Nicholas into many situations where he would rather have held back; there was no escaping public scrutiny when protocol dictated one be upon the balcony at a festival, or in attendance at court. But in most areas, Nicholas preferred to let others, like Harry, take the lead. In football, Nicholas had developed a justified reputation as a wicked defender, able to steal a ball and pass it off before the other side knew what had happened, but when it came to scoring, he always let others take the glory. Two days before had been the first time he had ever propelled himself to the fore, demanded the ball at every opportunity, and attempted to dominate by force of will alone. And every step of the way Marcus had shadowed him.
There had been scant satisfaction in realizing that he had been as effective at blocking Marcus’s efforts as Marcus had been at blocking his; the game had been more or less a stalemate, save for the injury done his foot, which finally allowed Marcus to score.
As he gingerly moved down a flight of stairs, Nicholas was more sensitive to his birth defect than usual. Like most of those born with such a deformity, he had adapted to it and compensated for it without much thought. Being Arutha’s son had saved him from much of the childhood taunting children of lower rank would have had to endure, but he had still experienced some of it, as well as more than his share of stares and whispers. But today was the first day he felt as if his foot was a true handicap. Had it not been for that, he was certain, he would have bested Marcus. He swore softly, being angry with everyone, himself most of all.
He reached Samuel’s office door and said, ‘Housecarl?’
Samuel motioned him to enter. Nicholas had been in the office only a half hour earlier and had been told there were no unusual duties. The Housecarl looked around as if seeking inspiration, then said, ‘I have nothing that needs doing, Squire. Why don’t you return to your room and rest that injured foot?’
Nicholas nodded and departed, not feeling very much like lying abed another day. He returned to his room and threw himself onto his straw mattress. Having slept most of the previous day, he felt little like resting, and the straw itched. Besides, he was hungry.
After a few minutes he heaved himself off his pallet and headed for the kitchen. By the time he reached it, the smell of food in the hallway had his mouth watering. Magya was busy supervising the kitchen staff, walking behind the cooks like a general overseeing her troops. She smiled at Nicholas and waved him over.
‘Are you feeling better today, Squire?’ asked the old woman. Tending toward the plump, she nevertheless moved about the kitchen quickly and efficiently, despite her age and weight.
‘Yes, but not quite fit for duty, according to the Duke.’
She chuckled. ‘But fit enough to be hungry?’
He smiled back. ‘Something
