The dance of sword blades always served as a stress reliever. Zachary found comfort in the familiar rhythms, and sharpened his focus around the quick exchange of deadly steel. This early in the morning, there was hardly anybody on the training fields, and he was able to practise with Drent without the added stress of prying eyes from those of the garrison who wouldn't normally see this side of their King.

And today Zachary had enough stress to deal with. With only two days left until he became a married man, and even less time to put his plan into action, to save himself from the web that was closing around him, he needed every ounce of calm and diplomacy he possessed – not a state of mind that came readily to him when his stomach was knotting itself together with anxiety. Training with Drent was the only effective relief.

"Stop! STOP!" shouted Drent at last. Zachary finished the parry and lowered his sword. He was slightly out of breath. "Are you paying any attention at all!?" the training master demanded, the veins standing out on his great bull neck. "That's some of the sloppiest sword-work I've seen – the sort of slap-dash, namby-pamby blocking I would only expect from the rawest of recruits!"

Zachary knew better than to argue with the big man. King he may be, but Drent, charged with teaching Zachary how to preserve his life, was at liberty to shout at him until he was purple in the face. A colour he was fast achieving.

"Well!? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I –" the King was spared from answering as Donal swept in from a few feet away to remind Zachary of his earliest appointment. The King nodded wearily and turned back to take his leave.

"Fine, take him," Drent grumbled. "He's no use to me in this mood anyway." The training master turned away in disgust, scanning the field for any other of his students to round up and intimidate. He spotted one in green, marching towards the equipment store, and seeming to be in a towering temper. Excellent.

"Gir- G'ladheon! Come here!" he hollered. Knowing the King's sensibilities when it came to the proper naming of his Riders, Drent thought it better to play along while still in his presence.

What happened next though, was very perplexing. The G'ladheon girl looked up and froze. Half-way along the training ground behinds Drent, Zachary turned at hearing the name, his heart jolting against his ribcage, as his gaze fixed on her. She was looking from the training master to the King, her eyes darting like a frightened rabbit's, and colour rising quickly in her cheeks. With a final glance at him, she made to bolt. Drent got there first.

He caught Karigan's arm in his thick, strong fingers and spun her round to face him. She was ready, glaring up at him with all her might. "Don't walk away when I give you an order," he barked.

"I only have to take orders from you when you're training me," she retorted. Why couldn't he just let her go so she could run in the opposite direction? Embarrassment was creeping up her face, burning her cheeks. It was typical that the King would be here, now, just when she needed to stop thinking about him and release some of her tension.

"You will not take that tone with me," Drent shouted, the level of his voice rising. Thankfully there was still nobody around. Nobody except the King. Karigan glanced in his direction to make sure he wasn't going to come over and tell Drent to back off. That was the last thing she wanted. Or was it? The King still confused her thoughts enough to make her undecided on the matter.

"Let me go," she said stubbornly. "I didn't even come here to train!"

Drent looked nonplussed for a moment. He recovered. "Why did you, then? It's a very odd direction to be taking for a walk." The grin on his face was ugly and triumphant.

"I –"

Zachary watched from afar as the argument developed between them, and a mixture of longing and guilt crept up inside his chest. She looked particularly beautiful in the morning sunshine, the sun haloing her hair like fire as she shouted back at Drent with all the vehemence of a demon. The so-called 'spunk' that had served her so well, the wildness that made her as untouchable as the wind. He sighed, unknowingly. He was also the cause of her current predicament, he was sure. Why else would she backtrack so quickly unless it was because she had wanted to avoid him? Oh, how he wished…

"Sire," Donal said in his deep voice. "Your meetings."

Reluctantly, Zachary turned away from the woman he loved, still so distant from him, and followed the Weapon to his study.

Xandis Amberhill paced swiftly after the Green Foot runner, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The King had asked to see him. He hadn't said why, which seemed ominous, especially considering the early hour. Most nobles weren't even awake yet. Xandis himself, having been sneaking around as the Raven Mask the night before, should have been one of those nobles. Had Zachary somehow found out his involvement in Estora's kidnapping? He hated to think what the repercussions would be if that were the case.

The Green Foot runner stopped outside an imposing oak door, flanked by statue-like Weapons. The room beyond had become the King's new study after the old one had been given as a gift to the queen-to-be. Xandis had never seen inside it.

"Enter," came the voice from within. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Lord Amberhill entered.

Zachary was sitting behind a large desk topped with marble – moved from the previous study – and he was surrounded by all the trappings that marked him, not as a king, but as one who loved his homeland. Xandis recognised the landscapes as belonging to Hillander Province, and many of the artefacts displayed in the room were first rate specimens of Hillander craftsmanship. Luckily, though, the King himself, seated in his oversized armchair, wore neither the heather mantle nor the silver fillet which marked his status. Immediately Xandis' anxiety relaxed, replaced with curiosity. His shameful secret must still be safe. So what did the King want?

"Good morning, Xandis," Zachary said with a smile, his face impassive. "I'm glad you were able to join me this morning."

"Not at all, Majesty," Xandis replied. "I am an early bird by nature. I am merely curious as to why you summoned me." The King surveyed him, and Xandis wondered if he had been too bold. But then Zachary smiled.

"Please sit," he requested, indicating the chair opposite his desk. When Lord Amberhill had seated himself, Zachary began, his king's mask slipping over his face to cover the nervous excitement that had been growing in him since he had formed his plan.

"All pretence aside, Xandis, there are several things I wish to discuss with you; matters of a serious nature. But first of all, if I may ask, you are my second cousin, correct?"

Surprised by the question, Xandis did not answer immediately. "Once removed, Sire." Queen Isen was my grandfather's cousin.'

"Hmm," was all Zachary would say to that, stroking his beard. "I must say, though," he continued a moment later, "we were most fortunate that you came to Court. Were it not for your quick actions, Lady Estora might have been lost to us."

Xandis froze in his chair, fearing that he had been found out, after all. "I-I did all I could to help, Sire," he stammered out. "I'm just glad it was enough to ensure Lady Estora's safe return."

"I'm sure." Zachary could no longer contain his agitation. A nervous twitch would not be kingly, so instead he rose from his chair and paced over to his bookshelves, careful to keep his face turned from Lord Amberhill. "I must ask you now – are you in love with the Lady Estora?" He turned. Xandis looked stunned under the King's penetrating gaze.

"In… love, Sire?" His heart was beating far too fast. This was not at all what he had expected, least of all from the man who would be marrying Estora in less than forty-eight hours. It was true that his feelings for the lady had grown enormously; her spirit and humourous eyes had enchanted him, and the sometimes sombre look behind her eyes made him want to discover more about her character. If he examined the emotions that came to light when her face came to mind, when he remembered her voice speaking his name, they could be called love. But how would Zachary react if he said these thoughts out loud?

When he remained silent, Zachary seemed to shrink slightly, as though a great burden wore heavy on his shoulders. He crossed back to the desk and sank into the chair, eyeing Xandis mournfully.

"I ask because it is extremely important to Lady Estora's happiness, to yours, if my suspicion is true… and to mine." He paused. Xandis stared. He hardly dared believe what he was hearing. That Zachary would admit so openly – and to a minor noble, at that – that he was unwilling to go through with the political marriage arranged to keep the country together showed an amazing amount of trust, and no small amount of desperation. It must be true then that Zachary had fallen in love with somebody other than his bride to be. Suddenly, he wanted to prove that the King's trust had not been misplaced.

"Yes, Sire, I admit I have fallen for her."

Zachary nodded and sighed. "There is a clause in the marriage contract that states that Estora shall not be made to marry me against her will – if there is any reason for her to doubt her happiness as my wife. The terms are far more detailed than that, of course, but that is the general gist." Zachary allowed himself a wry smile. "I tell you this because I was watching, quite by accident, your exchange in the gardens yesterday, and from what I saw, Estora is also very much in love with you. She hides it well, but I am practiced at reading body language."

It was amazing how these words affected Amberhill. A shock ran through his body, elation such as he had never known before. Many women had loved him, but none that he had loved back. Could it be true?

"So you plan to break the contract, Sire?" he enquired, now anxious to help the King, who had given him the joyous news, and who was, after all, his cousin.

"The contract was made as a political alliance," replied Zachary gravely. "Even with Lord Coutre's newly discovered care for his daughter's wellbeing, if she refuses to marry me, it could cause ruptures between the throne and the eastern clans. Unity will be tenuous, and I am sure you are aware of the dangers of that, given that Second Empire now roams Sacoridia." He ceased his pacing. "What is needed is a way to break the contract between Estora and myself, and still maintain the profits of a political alliance with a husband of her choosing. Which is why I have brought you here, to ask if you are willing."

"Willing to do what, Sire?"