Chapter 24

Tristan shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Weak bloodlines, I’d guess. Haywood’s much more cosmopolitan than it used to be. And it’s not ‘so few of you’; it’s quite literally just you. You’re the first trainee from Haywood in a hundred years, Sam. I imagine that’s why the duke insists on meeting you.” “Me?” Sam squeaked. “Aye, he is eager to meet the lad who brings honor back to his city.” “I couldn’t possibly,” she said, racking her brain for an excuse and finding none. “The duke was adamant, though his letter implied he had some bad news to share with me, so he may request to speak with me in private,” said Tristan. “Listen, the duke is a very important man, so try not to do anything foolish. And remember, you lot are a reflection of me.” “I think we can manage,” Braeden said dryly. Sam was not so certain. “Well, that’s that. Now, run off and do whatever it is you young lads like to do.” “Many thanks, O Ancient One,” Braeden said with a mocking bow. Sam choked on her laughter as Tristan shot him a frosty glare. Served Tristan right for putting on airs. But her amusement was short-lived as Tristan’s words sunk in. Unless she thought of something, and fast, tomorrow Sam would be sitting across the table from her father. For all his faults, no one would argue that the duke was stupid, and she doubted her top-knot or men’s clothes would fool him. Sam sat upright on the bed in her room for half an hour before brilliance struck. Brilliance, or extreme stupidity, but she was too desperate to care. She knocked on the door between her room and Braeden’s, and he unlocked the door a moment later. “Thank the gods you’re still here,” she breathed. “What’s wrong?” asked Braeden, allowing Sam to slip past him into his room. “You’ve been acting strange all day.”  He closed the door behind her and took a seat on the edge of the massive canopied bed. “It’s complicated,” she said, wincing at the understatement. Braeden arched a brow. “I can do complicated.” “I’ll explain it all to you one day, I promise. But right now, I need a favor,” she said. “Go on.” Sam took in a steadying gulp of air. “I need you to punch me.” Braeden nearly fell off the edge of the bed. “What!?” “I need you to punch me,” she repeated. “Beat me up a little.” Braeden stood up and cupped her face in both hands, and looked into her eyes intently. A scant inch separated their noses – and mouths, but Sam willed that thought away – and up this close, Sam could see that Braeden’s eyes were really beautiful, the clear irises faintly green in a reflection of her own. She shivered. “Sorry,” said Braeden, dropping his hands and backing away. He’d assumed he’d frightened or disgusted her, though in reality he'd done the opposite. “What was that for?” she asked indignantly. “I was searching for signs of illness. Clearly, you’ve gone mad.” “It’s not madness, it’s just—” she stopped. “I’ve got some money saved up. I’ll pay you to do it. How does three gold coins sound?” “Like you’ve lost your mind. I wouldn’t do it for five hundred gold coins." He folded his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” "It’s my father,” she said, clasping her wrists behind her back. Her hands always trembled whenever she was about to tell an outrageous lie. But, as she told herself later, she’d told him as close to the truth as she could safely tell him. It didn’t assuage her guilt. “Do you remember what the Cissonian priest said? Back in Cordoba?” Braeden nodded. “That you were likely a bastard of the duke’s." His eyes widened. "Is it true?” Sam squeezed her wrists. “Yes, but he hasn’t acknowledged me,” she lied. “And I’m afraid what will happen if he recognizes me tomorrow. He might even make me leave the Paladins.” “Why would he do that? You heard what Tristan said. The duke wants to honor the first Paladin from Haywood in a century. Maybe he’ll finally acknowledge you.” Sam shook her head. “I can’t risk it. More likely he’ll be concerned about the publicity around the blemish on his reputation.” “Fathering a child out of wedlock is not exactly uncommon among the nobility." “Yes, but it’s still not talked about,” she argued. “I know the duke well enough to know that if he hears his offspring has joined the Paladins, he’ll be irate.” That, at least, was not a lie. Braeden sat back down on the edge of the bed. “That’s tricky,” he acknowledged. “But how will my punching you solve anything?” “I bruise easily,” she replied. “If you blacken my eyes and bloody my lip, the duke won’t know it’s me.” “Want me to break your nose as well?” Sam thought it over. “I’d rather you didn’t. Call me vain, but I’d rather not do any permanent damage to my face, if I can avoid it.” Braeden buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook silently. “Will you do it?” she prodded. “You’re mad,” Braeden gasped between laughs. “Absolutely stark raving mad.” “So you won’t do it then?” “Not for all the gold in the king’s treasury,” he replied, still laughing. “Fine,” she snapped. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”