"Send forth your champion, Ashlynn, and may the Holy Lord of Light defend the righteous."
Owain's words washed over the Blackwell table like a rolling wave at high tide, calling men like Captain Devlin, Sir Elgon, and many others to their feet as though they were boats floating up on the rising tide. The wave passed quickly, though, and before any of them had made it halfway from their seats, Lady Ashlynn's retort that she didn't need a champion acted like an anchor, holding them back.
They'd known. She'd made it very clear from the beginning that Owain's life belonged to her, and she'd spent much of tonight goading him toward this moment, increasing the pressure bit by bit even as she cut off his avenues of escape. In that respect, she'd proven every bit as methodical as her father and several times as ruthless, so when Owain finally sailed into her trap, no one was surprised.
