He’s alive… for now.

Amelia returned to the great hall as soon as the last enemy solider had been dispatched from the battlements. Running to her father’s side she discarded her visored helm and gauntlets to the floor with a clatter of metal. The Lord of Arrowthorn’s wounds had been tended to by the castles healers and apothecaries. His great chest was wrapped in sway after sway of white linen bandages, as well as the wound on his left leg. The red tinge of blood still seeping through to colour the wrappings at his thigh.

To her great surprise Amelia found her father conscious despite the wicked injuries he had suffered. Her cousin was by his side speaking to him as she approached.

“Father,” Amelia called gently.

Slowly Caiden Arrowthorn turned his head to look at his sole surviving offspring, even though Amelia could see it pained him greatly.

“Amelia my child,” her father croaked out in a voice barely above a whisper. “Your cousin tells me you risked yourself to save the castle.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Amelia admitted, bowing her head, expecting to be chided for her rashness and life-threatening behaviour.

“No, no, no,” he croaked, reaching a shaking hand out to lift her head back to him. “Do not bow before me my sweet brave child. You saved us all Amelia.”

“She could have been killed,” Welwyn interrupted her father just then.

“As could we all… if not…” Lord Arrowthorn voice started to drift off as his eyes began to close.

Gripping her fathers hand tighter in fear, the old man summoned his strength once again to keep himself from drifting off. He waved a hand at Welwyn, dismissing him. As he left them to each other, Amelia’s father pulled her close to hear him, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Arrowthorn mustn’t fall.”

“Yes father, the castle will stand,” Amelia promised.

“Not the castle. Arrowthorn…” and with that the Lord closed his eyes and fell back into unconsciousness.

Lady Amelia remained by her father’s side for the rest of the day. Jacinta returned from the battle, still clad in her protective gambeson, and keep her lady company as she maintained her vigil. A healer returned to check on her father later that day and Amelia begged him to know if he would survive. The man looking tired and exhausted from treating so many wounded men for so long told her honestly, “if he survives the night, then we will see then.”

It was almost night when Welwyn returned to Lady Amelia’s presence accompanied by one of her father’s most trusted knights, Sir Rifkin.

“My Lady,” the knight bowed deep and formally. “A rider from Lord Maugh and Duke Blackmuir’s army has come baring the white flag of parley. They are requesting to talk with us tomorrow. What would you have us say, My Lady?”

Amelia had seen her father ride out to parley with their enemies before in a great tent erected between the encircling forces and Castle Arrowthorn’s walls.

Thinking back to what her father had told her in confidence, Amelia prepared her reply.