Amelia chooses her own path.

The room felt strangely quiet once the door closed behind Jacinta. Amelia rose from her chair and crossed towards the nearest window. Below her the castle was preparing to sleep. Torches flickered along the walls and towers. Men patrolled the battlements. Somewhere a smith continued hammering late into the evening, no doubt repairing armour damaged in the fighting of recent days. Beyond the safety of the walls stretched the valley and with it the countless campfires of the enemy.

Three years they had endured. Ever since Lord Maugh had first appeared at the head of his army demanding rights he did not possess.

Amelia wondered how many lives the old fool's ambition had consumed.

She wondered how many more would die before the siege ended.

Her thoughts drifted inevitably to her father.

Lord Caiden still slept more than he woke. The healers remained cautiously optimistic, yet Amelia could see the strain the injuries had placed upon him. The great bull of a man who had carried her upon his shoulders as a child now struggled to sit upright long enough to drink broth.

She feared losing him.

More than that, she feared facing the future without him.

The knock came sometime later.

Soft.

Respectful.

Amelia felt her pulse quicken despite herself.

"Enter."

The heavy oak door opened and Sir Rifkin stepped inside.

The older knight wore no armour, only a dark woollen tunic over the heavy bandages wrapped about his chest. Though still pale from blood loss, he carried himself with the same confidence he always had. His greying hair hung loose about his shoulders and a sword rested at his hip despite the late hour.

"My Lady."

Amelia noticed Jacinta close the door behind him before withdrawing into the corridor beyond.

The sound of the latch settling into place seemed unnaturally loud.

Sir Rifkin looked about the room briefly before turning his attention back to Amelia.

"You wished to see me?"

"I did."

The knight frowned slightly.

"Has there been trouble?"

"No."

"News from the walls?"

"No."

"Then perhaps your father has worsened?"

Amelia shook her head.

"He sleeps."

The knight's confusion deepened.

Amelia gestured towards one of the chairs near the hearth.

"Please sit."

Sir Rifkin obeyed though clearly uncertain as to the purpose of his summons.

Amelia remained standing.

For several moments neither spoke. The fire crackled softly between them.

At length the knight broke the silence. "You seem troubled, My Lady."

"I am."

"I expected as much. Tomorrow is no small occasion."

Amelia laughed softly.

"No. It is not."

The knight folded his hands across one knee and waited patiently.

Amelia had always admired that quality in him. He never rushed others to speak, never filled silence with needless words.

At length she said, "Tomorrow I am to be married."

Sir Rifkin nodded. "So I have heard."

"I do not wish to marry Welwyn."

The knight sighed. "Many noble marriages begin without affection."

"This one lacks even respect."

That earned the faintest hint of a smile from him. "I cannot disagree." The smile faded quickly.

"Yet some duties cannot be avoided."

"I know."

Amelia moved closer to the hearth.

Orange firelight reflected from her eyes.

"It is not the marriage itself that troubles me."

The knight frowned.

Amelia **** herself to continue.

"I do not wish to share my wedding bed with him."

For perhaps the first time since she had known him, Sir Rifkin appeared genuinely shocked.

He stared at her.

Understanding dawned swiftly.

The knight rose so abruptly his chair scraped loudly across the floor.

"No."

Amelia remained calm.

"No?"

"No, My Lady." He turned away from her and ran a hand through his hair. "This is madness."

"Is it?"

"Utter madness."

Amelia folded her arms. "Would you trust Welwyn to defend Arrowthorn?"

Sir Rifkin stopped. "No."

"Would you trust him to command men?"

"No."

"Would you trust him with my life?"

The knight remained silent.

Amelia already knew his answer. "He is my cousin only by blood. In every other regard he has failed this family. He hides whilst others fight. He seeks comfort whilst others sacrifice. Yet tomorrow he shall become my husband."

Sir Rifkin closed his eyes briefly.

"My Lady..."

"I have spent my life doing my duty."

The words came harder now.

"I shall continue to do my duty. I shall marry him because Arrowthorn requires it. But if I am to bear children, if I am to preserve my family's line, then I would rather their father be a man I respect."

The knight stared at her.

The fire popped loudly in the silence.

At last he spoke.

"You understand what you are asking?"

"Perfectly."

"You place me in an impossible position."

"I know."

"I swore my sword to your father."

"And to House Arrowthorn."

The knight looked away.

Amelia could almost see the conflict raging within him. Duty battled duty. Loyalty battled honour.

Finally she stepped closer.

"When Duke Blackmuir drew steel at the parley you did not hesitate."

"My duty required it."

"You bled for me."

"My duty required that also."

"And if you had not acted?"

The knight said nothing.

"Then I would likely be dead."

Silence settled over the room once more.

Outside, somewhere upon the walls, a watchman called the passing of another hour.

Amelia continued.

"My father may yet recover. I pray to God that he does. But if he does not then Arrowthorn falls to me. Everything rests upon my shoulders. Every life. Every decision. Every sacrifice."

Her voice softened.

"I am tired, Sir Rifkin."

The knight looked at her then, truly looked at her. Not as a noble lady or as the daughter of his Lord, but as a young woman carrying burdens few grown men could endure.

"I know," he said quietly.

The words almost undid her.

At length Sir Rifkin walked slowly towards the hearth. The older knight stared into the flames for a long time.

When he finally spoke his voice was weary. "I have served House Arrowthorn for over thirty years."

"I know."

"I held you when you were an infant."

Amelia smiled faintly.

"So, my father often tells me."

"I trained your brother."

The mention of Alden brought a brief ache to her heart. "He thought the world of you."

Sir Rifkin's expression softened. "He was a good boy."

"He was."

For a while neither spoke.

The memory lingered between them.

Finally the knight drew a deep breath.

"If this is truly your wish, My Lady, then I shall not refuse you."

Relief flooded through Amelia so suddenly she nearly staggered. She had not realised until that moment how fearful she had been of hearing otherwise. Stepping forward, she placed a hand upon his arm.

"Thank you."

Sir Rifkin looked down at her hand before gently covering it with his own. The knight's fingers were rough and calloused from decades of swordsmanship. Amelia found the touch oddly comforting. Neither felt any need to speak further.

Outside the chamber Jacinta sat patiently upon a wooden stool beside the door. A length of cloth rested upon her lap and a needle moved steadily through the fabric. Any passing servant would have assumed she was occupied with mending garments before tomorrow's wedding. In truth she was standing guard.

The corridor remained quiet throughout the night.

The castle slept around her. The wounded rested. The watchmen maintained their vigil upon the battlements. Beyond the walls the campfires of Lord Maugh's army still burned across the valley floor.

Tomorrow Lady Amelia would marry. The siege would continue coming towards its fourth year, where new dangers would undoubtedly come.

But tonight, for the first time since the siege had begun, Amelia had chosen something for herself.