Alaric and Jennet attended the festivities together, sampling sweet desserts from different stalls and chunks of pheasant cooked on open fires. When they heard the screams from the main square, they naturally ran to see what had happened. Royal Guardsmen were pushing through the throng toward them, and they squeezed into a doorway out of sight.

Jennet stopped a woman hurrying by with her child, asking what happened.

"The prince was shot with an arrow!"

"Oh, my! Is he--?"

"It was only in the arm, but they say it came from this direction." She yanked her child's arm and hurried off.

Alaric pulled Jennet after him. "We can't stay here, we'll be suspect."

"But we did nothing."

"Try telling them." He pointed at the small group of guards looking their way. "Quick, Jennet in here!"

Through a small ally and up some old steps to a balcony overlooking the street, he dragged the frightened Jennet, ignoring her complaints. A shout from the street below brought them to a halt, and Alaric pushed her into an alcove, telling her to stay silent until he drew the guards away. There was a moment of protest, but his firm command ended it - he kissed her briefly and ran.

Scrambling from balcony to rooftop, Alaric endured scraped knees and elbows while dodging spears that clanked off the stone walls around him. The guards cursed and yelled as they ran to cut off him off. One daring leap from a roof failed, and Alaric crashed through the awning of a vendor's stall, landing painfully on baskets of squash and turnip.

Across the street a young man watched from the shelter of a gallery, then stuffed his bow in a crevice in the wall, and made his escape.

******

The wagon moved at a slow, bone jarring pace over the rough cobbled street. He lay huddled on the filthy straw, hands and feet bound tight, trying to fathom why and how this misery came to be. And now, through a series of false assumptions and desperate actions, He knew he would suffer for a crime he had no part in - the attempted assassination of Prince Consiflore.

At the palace, Hunce marched back and forth in front of his prisoner, gloating.

"I warned you, Royce. Your head will be on a pike beside your disgraced father's remains. But first I'm going to--"

"Enough!" Consiflore entered the room, glaring at Alaric. He stepped forward, delivering a vicious slap, then cringed, holding his wounded arm in the silk sling. "You and both those Penwright wenches will pay for this." He cradled it like a baby.

"We did nothing, Sire! We were but walking among the festivities."

"Liar!" Hunce threatened a fist. "You both ran."

"Yes! To avoid this very, false circumstance. Did I have a bow? Did you find one? You were right behind us."

"The girl took it."

Alaric knew right away, his cause was lost.

******

"Fortune was not our friend, brothers." The speaker patted the back of the distraught young man whose arrow missed its mark. "We have now placed an innocent family in dire straits."

"Hunce will be merciless," Hetta looked pointedly at the others. "He has young Royce in his dungeon now. And he seeks the Penwright family."

"We will do what we can to aid them."

"What can we do?"

"There is little against the Royal Guard we can do." Another spoke up.

"I can do something," the young man asserted, his face fused with rage. "I can go straight into the palace and finish my task."

A confusion of protests rang out in the small room until the speaker demanded quiet.

"There will be no chance of escape, my son."

"A worry I shall entertain when and if."

"You're sure?"

"As the next Sheffield in line for the throne - I'm sure. I have never agreed to the uniting of Goulrich and Sheffield through this wedding. Nor have I ever considered wedding Consiflore's sister."

"God be with you, Margoth." The group mumbled as he left.

******

Consiflore frowned. "Why is he here? It is not proper for him to call unannounced, particularly as they are soon to be wed."

"You don't want to insult Sheffield by refusing, Sire. Perhaps to see his reason first would be wise?"

"Bring him in."

Flanked by two guards, Margoth approached the prince and bowed.

"You surprise me, young Sheffield."

"I come with concern over the Prince's misfortune, and to ask for the opportunity to personally deal with the coward. As I am soon to be a member of this family, it would please me no end to dispatch the villain and prove my intentions."

"Well, this is a surprise. What say you, Hunce?"

"I had plans of my own, Sire . . . but if this pleases . . ."

"It does, and it would only be fitting - as well as entertaining. Arrange a court of attendees, and we shall watch our brave ally here, send Royce to meet his father."

Alaric was wrestled from the dungeon up to the grand hall. He gaped about at the people in all their finery, gawking at him with eagerness. Consiflore stood from his throne, his arm in a new, colourful sling, and called for silence, explaining exactly what was to take place.

"We have a young man who knows the value of service to his community. A young man wo has come forth to avenge the atrocity committed on a future family and ally member. You shall witness justice as he sends the assassin Royce to his doom."

Margoth swaggered toward Alaric, offering him a sword and leaning close to whisper his intention. The fierce look silenced any objection, and Alaric knew nothing could alter what would happen.

"Let the Prince's attack be avenged," Hunce bellowed to the hall. "Begin!"

Margoth circled around so that he was near the Prince, taunting Alaric to fight. Following the whispered plan, he challenged Margoth, and their swords clanged together in the great hall. The crowd cheered and groaned as the battle progressed, eventually seeing Margoth drive Alaric back toward the hall entrance, then suddenly he turned around and hurled his dagger.

Nobody realized what had happened until Consiflore crashed down onto the floor, the dagger pinning the fancy sling to his chest. Screams and shouts erupted as Alaric made for the door, shoving past the surprised guards. Behind him, Margoth battled back a few pursuers, then was carried out of the hall on a wave of noisy, panicking guests.