The King's Traitor (The Kingfountain Series Book 3) by Jeff Wheeler

with chalk-white dust from the constant tramp of the horses. As they ascended the rocky hill, Owen could see the beautiful estates stretched out below them, and the fading sunlight and shadows filling the bay lent a purple cast to the stones of the hill.
    When they finally reached the castle, Owen was exhausted from the ride and growing concerned that he had blundered into a trap. As he gazed at the structure, he tried to examine it critically, wondering how an invading army could besiege such a place. Even with all of Severn’s sizable resources, it would be no easy feat. The castle could be held for a very long time with minimal guardians. The duchess could defend from the heights while Chatriyon’s army, once the Occitanian king learned about the siege, could ravage the countryside and attack at their rear. It was beginning to look like a foolish venture.
    The duchess had well-dressed grooms waiting to take their horses and offer refreshment to the men.
    Lord Roux dismounted and immediately made his way over to Owen, tugging off his gloves and stuffing them into his belt. “Your men need time to wash and dress. I would advise a breakfast meeting with the duchess. The view of the bay is exquisite in the morning, and I’m certain—”
    “The news I bring is urgent, my lord,” Owen interrupted, clapping his dusty gloves together and letting a cloud plume before him. “It cannot wait.”
    Roux’s eyes hardened even more. “You are filthy,” he said angrily.
    “I’m a soldier,” Owen replied with a shrug. Then he gave Roux a stern look. “I didn’t come all this way to be trifled with.”
    Roux bristled at the choice of words. “Why are you here, Kiskaddon?” he said in a low voice.
    “As I told you, my business is with the duchess. Shall we?” He gestured mockingly toward the castle.
    Lord Roux tried and failed to conceal his displeasure. He started marching across the bailey at a quick pace. There were decorative urns arranged before the entryway, and Owen stopped when he saw the symbol carved on them. He had never seen it before, but it evoked the feeling of the Fountain.
    How best to describe it? The symbol was like three interlocking horseshoes, the ends facing east, west, and south. In the east/west crescents, two faces in profile had been carved into the stone. One face looked pleasant, well-proportioned. The other face looked sharp, frowning, and angry. A third face pointed down with a neutral expression.
    “This way,” Roux scolded, noticing Owen had stopped to gawk at the urns.
    As he entered the palace, Owen noticed the symbol everywhere. The floor was decorated in black and white tiles, but unlike the sanctuary of Our Lady of Kingfountain, the tiles weren’t arranged like a Wizr board. Instead they formed a repeating hook design like waves, all the white ones symmetrical to the black ones. He felt the presence of the Fountain strongly in the palace, but as he’d noticed elsewhere in Brythonica, it was everywhere , not anchored to a specific person.
    The palace servants were all dressed in fine clothes. Not opulent, but pleasant and colorful. A few servants gave him curious looks and wrinkled their noses slightly in response to his dirty tunic and boots. The interior corridor was quite long, but they eventually reached a pair of open doors guarded by six men. Lord Roux nodded to the guards as he passed, and the men responded with dutiful nods. Owen felt his chest flutter with unease as he prepared to face the ruler of Brythonica. He dreaded fulfilling the duty Severn had given him, suddenly self-conscious of how condescending and provoking the ultimatum would be.
    The duchess immediately captured his attention when he entered the room. There was no wondering who she was, no misunderstanding. The mayor of Averanche had said she was beautiful, and he clearly was not blind.
    Her name was Sinia Montfort, and she was the scion of one of the ancient noble houses of Occitania. She had wavy gold hair