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Breckton. “Marquis of Melengar? Grand Marshall of the Imperial Host? What say you?”
    Sir Breckton showed no emotion. “I serve the Earl of Chadwick, just as my father and grandfather before me. It does not appear he wishes this. If there is nothing else, I must return to my charge in Melengar.” Sir Breckton pivoted sharply and strode back to Archibald, where he knelt once more.
    Ethelred stared after him in shock.
    “Don’t leave Aquesta just yet,” Archibald told the knight. “I may have need of you here.”
    “As you wish, My Lord.” Breckton stood and briskly departed.
    The hall was silent as they listened to the knight’s footfalls echo and fade. Ethelred’s face turned scarlet and he clenched his fists. Saldur stared after Breckton with his usual irritated glare.
    “It seems you didn’t take into account the man’s unwavering sense of loyalty when you made your plans,” Archibald railed. “But then how could you, seeing as how you obviously don’t understand the meaning of the word yourself. You should have consulted me first. I would have told you what the result would be. But you couldn’t do that, could you? No, because it was me you were plotting to stab in the back!”
    “Calm down, Archie,” Saldur said.
    “Stop calling me that. My name is Archibald!” Spit flew from his lips. “You’re both so smug and arrogant, but I’m no pawn. One word from me and Breckton will turn his army and march on Aquesta.” The earl pointed toward the still open door. “They’re loyal to him you know—every last one of the miserable cretins. They will do whatever he says, and as you can see, he worships me.”
    He clenched his fists and advanced, maddened that his soft heels did not have the same audible impact as Breckton’s.
    “I could get King Alric to throw his support behind me as well. I could return his precious Melengar in exchange for the rest of Avryn. I could beat you at your own little game. I’d have the Northern Imperial Army in my right hand and what remains of the Royalists in my left. I could crush both of you in less than a month. So don’t tell me to calm down, Sauly! I’ve had it with your condescending tone and your holier-than-thou attitude. You’re as much a worm as Ethelred. You’re both in this together, weaving your webs and plotting against me. You just may have caught your own selves in your sticky trap this time!”
    He headed for the door.
    “Archi—I mean Archibald!” Ethelred called after him.
    The earl did not pause as he swept past Chancellor Biddings, who was just outside the throne room and gave the earl a concerned look. Servants scattered before Archibald as he marched in a fury through the doorway to the inner ward. Bursting into the brilliant sunshine reflected by the courtyard’s snow, he discovered he was unsure where to go from there. After a few moments, Archibald decided that it did not matter. It felt good to just move, to burn off energy, to get away. He considered calling for his horse. A long ride over hard ground seemed like just the thing he needed, but it was cold out. Archibald did not want to end up miles from shelter freezing, tired, and hungry. Instead, he settled for pacing back and forth, creating a shallow trench in the new snow.
    Frustration turned to pleasure as he recalled his little speech. He liked the look it put on both of their faces. They had not expected such a bold response from him. The delight ate up most of the burning anger and the pacing dissipated the rest. Taking a seat on an upturned bucket, he stomped the snow from his boots.
    Would Breckton turn his forces against Aquesta? Could I become the new emperor and have Modina for my own with just a single order?
    The answer formed almost as quickly as the question. The thought was an appealing dream but nothing more. Breckton would never agree and would refuse the order. For all the knight’s loyal bravado, everything that man did was subservient to some inscrutable