“Ooohhh,” the boy uttered reverently, seeing the sights, feeling a prick of pain from his freezing nose.

“It’s a tranquil place,” the duke said with a chuckle. “Except when my granddaughter is around.”

Owen turned around and saw the soldiers accompanying them. Some bore the banners of the arrow-pierced lion. Some bore the blue shields and golden bucks of Kiskaddon. They were Owen’s men, his captains and ancients and councillors who would bear his orders back to the duchy and bring word to him in the mountains when his orders were fulfilled.

The mountain air was absolutely delicious. As the horses reached the outer walls of the town, the trumpets from the castle sounded and the townsfolk began to crowd around them, cheering the two dukes they had heard were coming. Owen wore the glittering collar of his rank, the symbol of his power. He wore the badge now. He was the youngest duke in the realm. And it was all Ankarette’s doing. In the weeks that had passed since her body had been entrusted to the waters, he had thought of her often. He would always remember her. And with those memories, he had feelings and secrets he could share with no one else.

No one except the girl waiting for them at the castle ahead. Owen reached into his pocket and felt her crumpled braid and squeezed it.

As they reached the drawbridge of the castle, she could contain herself no longer. Owen saw Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer running down the wooden planks, squealing with happiness as she saw her grandfather and Owen riding up to meet her.

“Go lad,” the grizzled duke said to Owen, giving him a wink.

And by the time he had dropped down from the saddle, Evie had reached him and hugged him so hard he thought he might start crying for the first time in weeks.

“Owen! Owen Kiskaddon! My Owen!”