The Lady Knight

Chapter XVII - Distresses And Desolations

"Worry not, my Lady Knight, you need not accept the invite. We all know how difficult it already is for you to maintain your image as a competent Army officer."

I had been wondering when he was going to truly start spewing implied insults.

Or direct ones.

I merely raised an eyebrow. "If you say that one more time, I might give you a black eye, my dear Lord Andrew," I narrowed my eyes, "with or without issuing you an invitation to show me your face."

He burst out laughing loudly. "You have not changed in the slightest, my Lady Knight. Are you truly able to give me a black eye, however?" His tone rang with double meaning.

I bristled at his insolence, as Camille lay a cautious hand on my arm. "Truly, your attitude only becomes worse with every passing year, Andrew," she shook her head in disgust, "you may want to take that back while you still can."

He ignored her. "Leave that aside, my Lady Knight. I have more important issues that I am curious about," he smiled at me once more in a calculating manner, "I recently heard of your folly regarding the security arrangements in Bordeux Dungeons."

Aye, he has found my weakness.

The Prince's eyes snapped to his, as did mine at the mention of the incident.

"What about it, Lord Andrew?" I snapped.

He glanced maliciously at the Prince, who was suddenly listening very intently to this conversation, before answering me.

"Here, in Cavarriere, I had placed a bet with the other army officers," there was a spiteful glint in his eyes, "on how long it will take before your incompetency resulted in something dire. For instance, old Lucien being butchered like fowl meat in his own dungeons. Do tell me, my Lady Knight. Had the murderer cut up his body into pieces, or had he merely slashed at him once before fleeing?" He laughed cruelly.

How could anyone be so insensitive as to mock a dead man thus?

The Prince growled with boundless fury, despite his broken nose, as my blood boiled with rage, and my hot-tempered mind took complete control over my actions.

Before the Prince himself could get his hands on him, before Camille could stop me, I swung out and punched him hard on the eye like I had promised earlier.

He staggered back with the impact, not having expected the punch, and groaned loudly in pain.

I crossed my arms, satisfied. Good. That would leave a blue-black bruise in a few minutes.

Camille whistled. "Good one, Jules!"

"Not bad, Julie," the Prince managed a tiny smile, but his eyes still burned with the rage and hurt from Andrew's thoughtless words, as the latter jumped up and down in pain, whining like a little girl.

"I should have cut you up into pieces for what you said, Lord Andrew," I snarled, clenching my fists to stop myself from striking him again, "but I do not wish to have another murder on my conscience." My voice cracked.

The Prince shot me a strange, puzzled look, as Camille placed a brief hand on my shoulder for comfort.

"Do not listen to his words," she murmured, "they are nothing but poison. I will have Anna whip him again. He has clearly crossed all boundaries."

Ah, Anna's whip.

Everyone usually assumed that the Ladies of Cavarriere were always easy-going, but it was not true.

Ever since the Countess of Rortaine, Andrew's mother, passed away years ago, Anna and Sophie had become the pillars of strength, the mother hens of the broken family.