Hi Friends!

Thanks so much for all the follows, favorites and reviews.

Oh and I cannot thank you enough for nominating me and this story for a Profilers Choice Award. I cannot tell you how flattered I am that you like this story that much! So THANK YOU!

P.S. Thanks also if you took part in nominating my other stories "The Raven" and "Solivagant" too!

So um...I hate to ruin the mood but WARNING: Character death coming up - like now.

Please forgive any mistakes.

Enjoy!

Spencer felt his eyes well up a little as he was pushed back onto the rough wooden floor of the king's personal box. He hated seeing the hurt look on Penelope's face when she saw his state of being. He knew that her kind heart was breaking in two at his treatment and that it was killing her to stay in character; she just didn't have it in her to remain aloof when faced with his harsh handling.

The trill of a trumpet suddenly cut through his thoughts. The tournament was starting and the first pair of knights were taking their places down in the tiltyard below. There the two vastly different horses lined up with their owners along opposite sides of the fence. The men who were about to take off at full gallops toward each other were both ranked soldiers in Charles's army. They were the appetizer round in what was sure to be a full course meal of exciting matches.

Uninterested in the outcome of this match, Spencer allowed his eyes to wander the whole arena in the hopes that he would catch a glimpse of Derek preparing for his match. Unfortunately, the only thing visible from the king's box were the bleacher seats erected across the way and the gates leading to the stables at either end of the tilt barrier.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw a white handkerchief drift down to the floor next to him. The sound of hooves clomping through the dirt followed immediately afterwards before a loud clash of steel sounded throughout the stadium. The crowd's cheers were deafening to the youth's ears but the peasant's yells did not block out Charles's laughter at the loser below.

"Did you see that?" the king exclaimed to no one in particular. "Sir Horatio didn't even stand a chance. He couldn't even lift his lance high enough to scrape Sir Edward's toe, let alone his shield. There is no way this match is going to go three rounds – he'll be unseated next time for sure." Charles reached down and grabbed the golden bell that was perched on the table next to his makeshift throne and rang it. An usher immediately emerged from the curtained area behind the seats and bowed low.

"How may I be of service, Your Majesty?" the young man asked.

"You can go down to the Master of the Ceremonies and tell him to declare this match over! I'm not out here to watch amateurs. I want to see a real joust!" the king bellowed. He then reached his hand down and grabbed the short hair on Spencer's head, forcing the slave to look him in the eye while he said, "Inform him that I want to see the battle between my brother and King Derek next."

"At once, sire," the servant said before bowing out.

A Cheshire grin erupted on the king's haggard face. "I hope you've said your goodbyes because soon your husband's blood will color the ground of the tiltyard red and his head will rest on a pike – and there is nothing you can do about it," he whispered menacingly, ensuring those around them couldn't hear.

Derek was pacing Thunderhead's stable once again when a breathless squire ran up to him and bowed.

"Your Highness, I bring a message from the Master of the Ceremonies," the lad uttered anxiously.

"Go on," he ordered, waving his friends over so they could hear the news too.

"He wanted me to inform you that King Charles decided to move your match against Sir Raphael up next, Your Grace."

"He what?" Derek demanded incredulously.

"Uh – um, well…apparently the king was displeased with the first contenders and wants to watch a more exciting match…yours, uh – Your Grace. The Master of Ceremonies said you have ten minutes before you are to report to your designated spot."

"I don't believe this," Derek bellowed, turning his back on the young man. He stomped over to Thunderhead and started to check the horse's tack.

Lord Rossi, who dismissed the messenger for Derek, walked over and stayed Derek's hand. "He did this on purpose. Tactically, he is trying to throw us off our game."

"So you think he knows why we are really here?"

Rossi shrugged his shoulders and squeezed Derek's hand, "You said it yourself last night. Something fishy is going on…and this only helps support your suspicions. We must go forward with our new plan of action."

"He's right, Your Highness," Sir Hotchner agreed.

Derek stared long and hard at Lord Rossi before he closed his eyes in defeat. He nodded his head and stepped back from his mighty steed, relinquishing his ownership to Thunderhead's new rider, "Then let's get on with this."

Penelope turned her panicked expression toward Prince Tobias upon hearing King Charles's demands. "What do we do now?" she hissed.

Tobias glanced over at his father and saw that he was preoccupied with taunting Spencer. He turned back to his friend and said, "Exactly what we were going to do before."

"But – "

Tobias shook his head at her, silently begging her to stay the course.

She nodded her head back at him, reassuring the prince that she knew what she had to do.

The once bubbly blue-eyed blonde stood up tall from her seat and cleared her throat. "Would you mind escorting me to the privy, Prince Tobias?"

"Excuse me, my lady?" the prince asked incredulously.

"Well, I figured that now was the perfect time to go since there is a break in all action. And you can't expect a lady like me to walk around your lands unescorted. Who knows who might accost me on my way?" she said innocently.

Tobias scoffed loudly, a gesture he was sure would make his father proud. "My lady, I think you mistake me for some commoner. I am the prince of this land and I do not escort anyone anywhere – especially not to the privy."

Charles, who was eating up every word of their conversation clapped his son on the back, "Well spoken, my son. It's about time you acted like you have royal blood flowing through your veins."

On the outside the prince preened underneath his father's praise but inside he cringed at his condescending words. Regardless of how crooked his next words would make him feel, Tobias pushed forth with the act, "Besides, the job of escorting someone like you – a visitor from our rival kingdom - should go to the lowest of the low; like my father's slave for example."

Penelope screwed up her face on cue, trying to show disdain at Tobias's supposed insult. "I-I suppose he'll due; if he's all you have to offer me," she said, trying not to show a hint of hopefulness as she looked over to Charles.

Unfortunately, the second their eyes met Penelope knew that Tobias had said the wrong thing. Gone was the proud father and in his place was the malicious man who held her friend's freedom in his hands. "I'm afraid that even my slave is too good for the likes of her," the king spat scornfully, incensed that he now had proof that his own son was trying to betray him. Charles then held up his hand and snapped his fingers, signaling the guard that was standing behind him to come forth.

"Your Grace."

"The lady over there is in need of the privy," he started.

"Of course, Your Highness."

"I wasn't finished, you fool!" Charles growled.

"Forgive me, your Grace," the knight said with a quiver in his voice.

Charles took a deep breath and fixed his narrowed eyes on Lady Penelope's blanching face. "As I was saying, the lady is in need of the privy. Escort her immediately to the cell we already have prepared for her down in the dungeons," he ordered. "I'm sure the bucket in the corner will meet your needs, my lady."

The knighted bowed low before quickly walking over to the blonde and clamping his hand down on her bicep. He forced her out of the box before she could utter even one protest.

Tobias, with his mouth hanging open wide at the turn of events, spun around toward his father. "Father, why –"

Charles cut his son off with the flip of a hand and a scowl on his lips. "Stand before me, son."

Nervously, Tobias stepped in front of his father's throne.

"Kneel."

The prince did as instructed.

"Look at me."

The monarch-in-training raised his head and steadied his gaze on his father. He briefly saw the king's frown transition into a smirk before he felt the backside of Charles's hand make contact with his cheek. Tobias fell to the ground and tried to blink the stars away. He lifted a hand to his nose and felt a warm substance rub off onto his skin. When he pulled back his fingers to look at them he saw a trickle of blood painting their tips.

"Leave us," Charles commanded to audience in the box. "Leave us at once!" he shouted as the stunned courtiers moved like they were walking through molasses.

The sovereign waited until the monogrammed curtains swished closed behind the last sycophant's body before he spoke to his son again.

"You will never question me again," the man seethed through is teeth. "I did not rise to power by explaining myself to those beneath me."

Tobias struggled to his knees once again, "I-I'm sorry, father. I-I just wanted to understand."

"Understand what? Why I was arresting one of your fellow conspirators? Why I was ruining your plans to rescue this piece of filth next to me?" Charles asked contemptuously.

The prince's head snapped up at his father's questions. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Charles laughed uproariously. "Drop the act, traitor. I know everything. I know that kneeling next to me like a dog is the one and only King Spencer. I know that King Derek is not here to form an alliance but rather rescue his husband. And I know that you have decided to help him."

"I-I-I c-can a-assure you, father –"

"Enough!" the king barked. "Enough of your lies, son. The lord hath taught us that lying is a sin and you my dear boy have turned out to be an even bigger sinner than the whore on the end of this chain." The malicious man paused to flash his son a bright smile.

The prince looked over at the young man he had grown to love over the past few months and shot him an apologetic look. Spencer longed to reassure Tobias that this wasn't his fault but there was no way for him to impart his thoughts.

After witnessing his son's remorseful look, the king laughed louder. "Once again you succeeded in the one thing you are good at…failure. Did you tell King Derek that before you volunteered to help? Eh? Well I suppose you didn't. Doesn't matter now. Not when he is about to die before our very eyes in a matter of moments."

Tobias furrowed his brow and looked back to the tiltyard behind him. He saw his uncle's horse come stomping out from behind the gate, followed closely by King Derek's. "What are you going to do?" he asked as quiet as a whisper.

"What am I going to do? Sit back and watch. It's what your uncle is about to do," Charles gloated before he added more details. "He's about to pierce King Derek through the heart with his sharpened lance. No blunted tip for my dear brother."

"Father, no!" Tobias beseeched desperately.

"Save it, boy. It is already done. Derek's fate was sealed the moment he mounted that horse. Now you are dismissed back to your room. You will go straight there and wait until I summon you for your punishment. I don't want to hear any nonsense about you gallivanting around the grounds trying to warn your new friends, for Derek's entourage is being arrest as we speak and unless you want to join them you will do as your told," Charles commanded, his words getting more and more heated as he gave his instructions.

A small piece of his father's spittle landed on Tobias's cheek, breaking him out of his shocked haze. "Y-yes, father," he said obsequiously, standing up from his kowtowed position.

The young man started to make his way out of the king's box when his father's voice stopped him once more.

"Now that your husband's foolish plans have been sufficiently thwarted, King Spencer, shall we watch his last breath?"

The prince turned back and watched as his father wiped away the tears that were coursing down Spencer's face with his knobby fingers. Charles then brought his saturated appendages up to his mouth and licked them clean. "Hmm," he hummed in delight, "Tears of anguish have to be one of the sweetest things I've ever tasted. It's too bad I can't bottle them up for later…but then again, I'm sure your eyes will be running like a river for the next few days. I'll just have to enjoy it while I can."

In that moment, something inside of Tobias broke. He knew now what he had to do. He silently pushed the red curtain aside and stormed down the steps, intent on making sure the two lovers got their happy ending.

Try as he might, Spencer could not stop the salt water that was flowing out of the corners of his eyes. The worst moment of his life was upon him and Charles was right, there was nothing he could do about it.

Listlessly, he allowed Charles to pull him toward the front of the box. The king grabbed the back of his neck and forced him to look down at the arena floor. Spencer's faded brown eyes immediately zoned in on his husband's steel clad body riding astride his legendary horse.

Derek's armor was shining brightly in the morning sun; its silver gleam causing a few people in the stands to block their eyes from flash of light it emitted when it caught the rays just right. His frog-mouth helmet was already perched over the top of his head with the hinged ventilation piece sealed shut. Clasped in the crook of his right arm was a four meter long lance with a blunted tip in the shape of lions paw.

Spencer watched as his husband struggled to guide Thunderhead over to his end of the tilt barrier. The horse seemed to be trying to go back to the stable and Derek had to keep nudging him along by kicking him in the ribs. The slave couldn't help but notice at how the noble steed's behavior was severely out of character for the horse, for he had never bucked against Derek's directions before.

"Get a good look," Charles said ominously as the opponents settled into their positions.

The captive king didn't even blink in response; his eyes were completely glued to the love of his life.

With a triumphant grin on his face, the Georgian king raised his hand up high and dropped the same handkerchief as before, signaling the trumpeter to start the match.

Seconds later the blaring sound of the brass instrument tore through the air and the riders were spurring their horses down the path.

Spencer watched wide-eyed as Thunderhead's hooves tore up the ground, flinging dirt clods behind him as he galloped at full speed. He saw how Derek, in perfect harmony with his horse, leaned forth slightly in his saddle before bringing up the tip of his lance to what he deduced was the appropriate level with Raphael's chest.

Unfortunately, on the opposite side of the tilt, Raphael was moving just as smoothly. He already had his lance in place and his body braced for impact.

The moment the two knights met in the middle Spencer's whole world dropped from beneath his knees. He watched in surreal slow-motion as Raphael's lance masterfully hit its mark, and drove straight through Derek's heart and out the other side, exposing the bloodied pointed tip. His beloved instantaneously fell from his saddle, taking the grotesque weapon with him down to the ground.

If Spencer could have let out a wail he would have, for he knew beyond a doubt that no one could survive such a blow.

The devastated slave closed his eyes and tried to block out the sight of his husband lying in a growing pool of his life's blood.

He couldn't believe it.

It happened.

Derek had died.

Above the shattered soul of Quantico's king, Charles stood laughing as he relished his victory.

Ever the one to rub his achievements in the face of his advisories, the king leaned down and grabbed his slave; throwing the boy's wilted body over his shoulder.

He jubilantly marched down to the battle scene and dumped Spencer down into the red tacky puddle that had developed on the ground. He look over to the knight and said, "The twerp never stood a chance against your impeccable aim, brother."

Raphael, who was holding his helm in his hand, grinned at Charles's praise. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"You've earned the right to strip him of his armor," Charles decreed.

"His helmet looks to be of good quality. I think I'll start there," he said, bending down to kneel above Derek's clad head. Raphael quickly unfastened the vent and pulled the metal helmet away from the foreign king's head, revealing –

"LORD ROSSI!" Charles shouted with a power that shook the stands.

Spencer, whose eyes had been closed the entire time, snapped his brown orbs open and fixed his gaze on the gasping mouth of the man that was like a father to him. "Nfff," he muffled out, the sound not even close to imparting his shock and grief

The enslaved young king ignored the ranting tyrant above him and shimmied over to his dying mentor. When he got to the man's side, Spencer hovered his head over the top of Rossi's and allowed a new wave of tears to cascade down his cheeks.

The swiftly failing man closed his wheezing mouth and tried to reach his heavy hand up from off the ground. Alas, the mail clad hand was too weighty to lift and plopped listlessly back to into the dirt. "D-Don't c-cry, s-son," he rasped out, clearly in pain.

Unable to answer, Spencer simply bent over and nuzzled his head into the crook of Lord Rossi's neck. Once there he started to shake uncontrollably as he struggled to keep his wails of sorrow locked behind his pierced lips.

"Shhhhh. I-Its alright, s-s-son. Don't b-be s-sad. I-I get to g-go s-s-see your m-mom," the wizened old man whispered reassuringly right before spark of life left his eyes.