Revenge of the Rose by Nicole Galland

said quietly, eyes averted.
    “My seed is always cherished,” Konrad snapped. “Yes, Marcus has the lineage of a peasant, a bondsman, but he is my bondsman and I have exalted him as my father exalted his father. I can give him a dukedom. I can invent a dukedom to give to him. God knows he deserves such elevation more than others around here who have only their blessed pedigree to back them up. It’s still your turn.” This was not how he had intended to reveal his intentions to Marcus, but the steward’s astonished face was still a very satisfying sight.
    So was Alphonse’s. “Sire,” he said in a low voice, trying to contain himself. “Are you serious? Are you telling us that you shall make Marcus— Marcus — a duke ?”
    “I did not say I shall, I merely noted that it is my prerogative,” Konrad said, pretending to be absorbed in the chess game. “And that it would not be undeserved.”
    Marcus was staring at him with his jaw hanging open.
    For a moment, Alphonse seemed to be contemplating the private mysteries of his own digestion. Then he stood abruptly and bowed. “With your permission, sire, may I be excused to dictate a letter to my daughter regarding her imminent nuptials?”
    “Certainly, you obviously can’t keep your mind on chess. Here’s a present for being such a good sport.” He pulled off one of his many rings without bothering to notice which one it was, and tossed it. Alphonse looked insulted but caught it anyhow. Konrad dismissed him with a wave, and he went out.
    The emperor and the minstrel turned in unison toward Marcus. He shook his head, stunned.
    “You owe your gratitude to Jouglet, it was his idea.” Konrad smiled.
    “Actually, sire, that’s not quite accurate, as I have always genuinely advocated Your Majesty’s child as Marcus’s perfect match,” Jouglet pointed out. “Especially since it would make him a duke. A duke, Marcus! A count is a pullet next to the rooster of a duke! And you’d get even more from her than from Burgundy’s Imogen— “
    “Thank you, Jouglet, I don’t require your further assistance in statecraft,” Konrad said, yawning. “From the way you have been carrying on, I’m half inclined to offer this Willem fellow my daughter.”
    “Sire,” Marcus stammered. “I want— I don’t— I should not believe, should I, th— “
    “I meant everything I said,” Konrad said. “But there will be no more discussion of it until it becomes timely.” There was a noise outside the window, which looked down from a great height onto the only entrance to the fortress. “That must be our papal spy’s return from his official tour of the town,” said Konrad, sighing. “My brother always did like people to make a fuss about him, jealous little whoreson.” He gestured toward the window.
    Jouglet peered down, then looked back into the room, beaming. “It’s not the cardinal, sire. It’s Nicholas the messenger, returned from Dole.”

    * * *
    Once he was satisfied that Willem and his minuscule entourage had settled comfortably into their lodgings, Nicholas rode through the town and the sunny fields, up to the castle. There was a cool breeze on the slope, but this was always a difficult climb for the horses; even with the switchback road, it was a steep ascent up what was virtually a cliff. He was grateful Konrad never came here in winter.
    Just inside the main gate of the lower courtyard, a groom took the heavy-breathing mount from him. Nicholas sighed with satisfaction at being within the sheltering arms of a castle, any castle— he had gone to Dole straight from the damp and dewy summer camp and had not slept near a royal hearth in at least a month. He turned to face the final ascent up to the palace proper— narrow steps cut crookedly into the living red sandstone— when he became aware that he was being, literally, shadowed: somebody walked directly behind him, step for step, only a hand’s breadth from his back. He stopped and spun around,