The dining hall buzzed with life.
A bard's music drifted through the space, woven together with the laughter and chatter of men enjoying the feast.
Above them, a lavish chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a grand wash of light across the hall.
A long oak refectory table occupied the centre of the room, laden with food. Platters of meat, bowls of fruit, and an array of drinks were set out in abundance for the celebration.
Seated at the place of honour, the lord of the fief wore a broad, satisfied smile. He clapped his hands twice, summoning a servant.
"Bring in the dancers," he commanded.
Moments later, five women were ushered into the hall, clad in revealing garments. The bard shifted to a livelier tune, and the women began to dance.
The murmur of conversation faded as eyes turned toward them. Men leaned forward in their seats, cheers rising as the dancers swayed to the rhythm.
Some watched with undisguised hunger, their gazes lingering as the performance drew them into a haze of indulgence.
At the far end of the table, the Knights of Gerhard sat rigid and unsmiling. Their commander remained composed, but it was evident none of them took pleasure in the spectacle.
"He's deliberately stalling us," Eric muttered from beside Kyren, arms crossed.
"Behave," the commander replied evenly. "We are in their land."
"He wants something," Luke added quietly. "That's why he's dragging this out."
"What are you waiting for, Your Highness?" the count exclaimed cheerfully, lifting his glass. "Please, enjoy the meal!"
"Thank you, Count of Abinair," Kyren replied, raising his drink. "We certainly will."
He set the half-empty glass down and glanced at his men. "Eat."
"He's not poisoning us, right?" Drystan whispered, lifting his food and sniffing it with exaggerated caution.
"If he intended to, he would have done so on the first day," the commander said flatly. "Do it."
"Yes, Commander." The knights complied.
Five days earlier, the captives had fled toward the Dracor border. Upon crossing into the kingdom, they were seized by the soldiers of the Count of Abinair, one of the region's lords.
The pursuing knights from Cassian were barred from advancing further while armed, and the count's men refused to surrender the prisoners. Tensions flared, nearly erupting into violence, until both lords intervened to negotiate.
When the count learned that the neighbouring kingdom's force was led by the Grand Duke of Gerhard—a renowned warrior—his interest had been piqued.
He invited Kyren and the knights to his fief, promising to release the captives if they attended his birthday celebration. To avoid further conflict, the commander agreed.
What was meant to last a single night stretched into three.
"I believe this birthday to be my most fortunate yet, with your presence," the count declared brightly. "Thank you for attending such a humble celebration, Your Highness."
"The pleasure is ours," Kyren replied with a faint smirk. "Should you ever visit Cassian, you would be welcome in Gerhard."
"Then let us toast to the friendship between Abinair and Gerhard!" the count proclaimed.
"To the friendship of Abinair and Gerhard," Kyren echoed, raising his drink.
The knights followed suit. Glasses emptied, and the count's grin widened.
"Aaa!"
A scream suddenly pierced the hall.
"You stupid b*tch!" one of the count's men shouted, striking a dancer hard enough to send her collapsing to the floor.
Before anyone could react, he kicked her viciously, hurling her body against the wall. The women cried out in terror, dropping to the ground as the assaulted dancer lay motionless.
The bard halted their music. The hall went still.
Luke surged to his feet—but Eric's hand clamped onto his shoulder, forcing him back into his seat.
"Don't," the second-in-command knight warned.
"But—"
"Sit down," he hissed. "Don't make this worse."
Luke let out a hard breath, his nostrils flaring before he finally obeyed. The other knights watched in tense silence.
Kyren continued eating, his gaze calmly fixed on his plate, as though nothing had occurred.
"What is the meaning of this?" the count demanded, turning sharply on the man responsible.
"My lord, forgive me," the knight said hastily. "That slave struck me when I touched her."
From his bearing, he was clearly of rank.
"I told you not to use that word in front of our honoured guest!" the count snapped, his face flushing red.
The knight bowed repeatedly, apologising to both his lord and Kyren. When he straightened, he cast a cruel glance at the women, several of whom were already sobbing.
"I apologise for my knight's rudeness," the count said tightly to the commander. "I hope it has not dampened your spirits."
Conscious of Cassian's anti-slavery position and the instability it had provoked in Cassian's border territories near Tarnova's slave market, the count was careful to obscure his involvement.
He clapped his hands again, forcing cheer back into his voice. The bard resumed playing, and the dancers were ushered out.
Kyren drained his glass, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and let it fall onto the table.
"Not at all," he said smoothly. "Your dancers were most entertaining. I will not take offence over such a minor disturbance."
He glanced briefly at his knights before turning back to the count.
"And forgive my men as well. We are a nation that holds our women in high regard."
"Of course, of course," the count replied eagerly. "You are as benevolent as they say. Let us continue—there is still much of the night left."
"I appreciate the invitation," Kyren said, rising, "but we will retire early. We are rather tired, are we not, Eric?"
"Exhausted, Commander," the knight replied loudly.
The count scowled. "Mind your address! You speak to His Highness."
"He speaks correctly," Kyren said calmly. "In Cassian, soldiers address their leader by rank while on duty."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Especially among the Knights of Gerhard. We value skill over title—unlike those who elevate incompetence by birth alone."
Kyren's gaze flicked briefly to the knight who had struck the dancer. The message was unmistakably aimed at him.
The man lowered his eyes.
Kyren reached for a red apple from the fruit basket. Its glossy skin reminded him of Anna's flushed cheeks; its scent echoed the sweetness of her hair.
"A pity to leave so soon," the count said. "Tonight is the final celebration. Perhaps we could discuss future ventures between our lands."
At last, his intent was revealed.
"Ah," the commander replied mildly. "I am indeed seeking opportunities in Dracor. Though I wonder whether cooperation would suit you."
The count nearly leapt from his seat.
"Of course it would! I have proposals that would yield excellent profit!"
"Send them to Gerhard," Kyren said. "They will be reviewed. Naturally, there will be costs."
"Name them," the count said eagerly.
The fish had taken the bait.
"The dancers," Kyren said. "I would have them—all of them—as a token of goodwill."
The count laughed. "Women? Done. I'll send them to your chambers. Also… if you are looking for a more formal and stabilised relationship, I also have a daughter—"
"I must decline," the commander interrupted calmly. "I am officially married."
"Married?" the count blinked. "I thought you vowed celibacy."
"That was years ago," Kyren replied lightly. "Fate had other plans."
"My congratulations. I have heard how greatly women admire you, and, seeing you in person, I cannot deny it. A lady who could capture your attention and marry you must be truly exceptional."
"Let's just say no one captivates me as she does," Kyren smiled, biting into the apple afterwards.
His knights exchanged puzzled glances, wondering if it was some joke. The commander's expression was unreadable.
Later, as they withdrew from the hall, Eric finally asked, "You agreed to the count's request so readily. What is your actual plan?"
"I'll offer him a minor trade," Kyren replied. "Just enough to appease him and see this matter concluded. He would continue to stall us until he gets what he wants, and I do not have the luxury of time to indulge him. We need to return."
"And the women?" Luke asked."Do you truly mean to have them sent to your chamber?"
Kyren stopped abruptly, scowling at him. "Have you lost your mind? I'm a married man."
"Then what will you do with them?" the knight asked back.
"Send them home. If they don't have any, escort them somewhere safe within our reach."
"That could take weeks," Garin pointed out.
"If we don't, they'll be taken again," the commander said. "We are not only here to pursue criminals—we are also bound to protect those in need. Are we not knights of chivalry, the honourable Cassian men?"
"Yes, we are, Commander!" they replied in unison.
"I'll check on the injured dancer," Rafe offered, breaking his silence.
Kyren nodded. He had already weighed resistance against restraint. Cooperation was the safer path in a foreign land—helping those women without inviting further conflict.