Guinevere ran off into the castle, headed to her bedchamber. As soon as he had sent her on her way, Alexander walked to the edge of the field, even as the sword valet approached him. Edmund came to him. Alexander handed his sword to the young valet at his side and began to massage his bruised palm. Unlearned as she was, Guinevere had delivered a hard blow that punished his little finger. The fault was his; he had held his sword incorrectly for a moment. The valet bowed and hurried away.
"Your Majesty," Edmund bowed upon arrival. "Lord Denney has come calling."
At such a late hour? The evening sun was almost gone, casting a pink glow across the sky. His uncle was evidently too eager to confront him, not even bothering to wait for the new day. His urgency told that he had made a new discovery and could not contain his impatience. Why had he come in such haste?
