Only the Worthy. Morgan Rice

that, no matter, he would not allow it to be.

      Royce’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sound at the edge of the field, an unusual sound for this time of day, a sound he did not want to hear on a perfect day like this. Horses. Galloping with urgency.

      Royce turned and looked, instantly alarmed, and his brothers did, too. His alarm only deepened as he spotted Genevieve’s sisters and cousins riding for him. Even from here Royce could see their faces etched with panic, with urgency.

      Royce struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Where was Genevieve? Why were they all riding for him?

      And then his heart sank as he realized that clearly something terrible had happened.

      He dropped his sickle, as did his brothers and the dozen other peasant farmers of their village, and ran out to meet them. The first to meet him was Sheila, Genevieve’s sister, and she dismounted before her horse had come to a stop, clutching Royce’s shoulders.

      “What is it?” Royce called out. He grabbed her shoulders, and he could feel her shaking.

      She could barely get the words out between her tears.

      “Genevieve!” she cried out, terror in her voice. “They’ve taken her!”

      Royce felt his stomach plummet at her words, as worst-case scenarios rushed into his mind.

      “Who?” he demanded, as brothers ran up beside him.

      “Manfor!” she cried. “Of the House of Nors!”

      Royce felt his heart slamming in his chest, as waves of indignation coursed through him. His bride. Snatched away by the nobles, as if she were their property. His face burned red.

      “When!?” he demanded, squeezing Sheila’s arm harder than he meant to.

      “Just now!” she replied. “We got these horses to come tell you as soon as we could!”

      The others dismounted behind her, and as they did they all handed the reins to Royce and his brothers. Royce did not hesitate. In one quick motion he mounted her horse, kicked, and was tearing through the fields.

      Behind him, he could hear his brothers riding, too, none missing a beat, all heading through the stalks and for the distant fort.

      His eldest brother, Raymond, rode up beside him.

      “You know the law is on his side,” he called out. “He is a noble, and she is unwed – at least for now.”

      Royce nodded back.

      “If we storm the fort and ask for her back, they will refuse,” Raymond added. “We have no legal grounds to demand her back.”

      Royce gritted his teeth.

      “I’m not going to ask for her back,” he replied. “I’m going to take her back.”

      Lofen shook his head as he rode up beside them.

      “You’ll never make it through those doors,” he called out. “A professional army awaits you. Knights. Armor. Weaponry. Gates.” He shook his head again. “And even if you somehow manage to get past them, even if you manage to rescue her, they will not let her go. They will hunt you down and kill you.”

      “I know,” Royce called back.

      “My brother,” Garet called out. “I love you. And I love Genevieve. But this will mean the death of you. The death of us all. Let her go. There is nothing you can do.”

      Royce could hear how much his brothers cared for him, and he appreciated it – but he could not allow himself to listen. That was his bride, and whatever the stakes, he had no choice. He could not abandon her, even if it meant his death. It was who he was.

      Royce kicked his horse harder, not wanting to hear anymore, and galloped faster through the fields, toward the horizon, toward the sprawling town where Manfor’s fort stood. Toward what would surely be his death.

      Genevieve, Royce thought. I’m coming for you.

*

      Royce rode with all he had across the fields, his three brothers at his side, cresting the final hill and then charging down for the sprawling town that lay below. In its center sat a massive fort, the home of the House of Nors, the nobles who ruled his land with an iron fist, who had bled his family dry, demanding tithe after tithe of everything they farmed. They had managed to keep the peasants poor for generations. They had dozens of knights at their disposal, in full armor, with real weapons and real horses; they had thick stone walls, a moat, a bridge, and they kept watch over the town like a jealous hen, under the pretense of keeping law and order – but really just to milk it dry.

      They made the law. They enforced the cruel laws that were passed down by all the nobles throughout the land, laws that only benefited them. They operated in the guise of offering protection, yet all the peasants knew that the only protection they needed was from the nobles themselves. The kingdom of Sevania, after all, was a safe kingdom, isolated from other lands by water on three sides, at the northern tip of the Alufen continent. A strong ocean, rivers, and mountains offered thick walls of security. The land had not been invaded in centuries.

      The only danger and tyranny lay from within, from the noble aristocracy and what they milked from the poor. People like Royce. Now even riches were not enough – they had to have their wives, too.

      The thought brought color to Royce’s cheeks. He lowered his head and braced himself as he tightened his grip on his sword.

      “The bridge is down!” Raymond called out. “The portcullis is open!”

      Royce noticed it himself and took it as an encouraging sign.

      “Of course it is!” Lofen called back. “Do you really think they are expecting an attack? Least of all from us?”

      Royce rode faster, grateful for his brothers’ companionship, knowing all his brothers felt as strongly for Genevieve as he did. She was like a sister to them, and an affront to Royce was an affront to them all. He looked out ahead and on the drawbridge spotted a few of the castle’s knights, halfheartedly looking at the pastures and fields surrounding the town. They were unprepared. They had not been attacked in centuries and had no reason to expect to be now.

      Royce drew his sword with a distinctive ring, lowered his head and held the sword high. The sound of swords rang through the air as his brothers drew, too. Royce kicked out front to take the lead, wanting to be the first into battle. His heart pounded with excitement and fear – not fear for himself, but for Genevieve.

      “I will get in and find her and get out!” Royce called out to his brothers, formulating a plan. “You all stay outside the perimeter. This is my fight.”

      “We shall not let you go inside alone!” Garet called back.

      Royce shook his head, adamant.

      “If something goes wrong, I don’t want you paying the price,” he called back. “Stay out here and distract those guards. That is what I need the most.”

      He pointed with his sword at a dozen knights standing at the gatehouse beside the moat. Royce knew that as soon as he rode over the bridge they would break into action; but if his brothers distracted them, it could perhaps keep them at bay just long enough for Royce to get inside and find her. All he needed, he figured, was a few minutes. If he could find her quickly, he could snatch her and ride away and be free of this place. He did not want to kill anyone if he could help it; he did not even want to harm them. He just wanted his bride back.

      Royce lowered his head and galloped as fast as he possibly could, so fast he could hardly breathe, the wind whipping his hair and face. He closed in on the bridge, thirty yards away, twenty, ten, the sound of his horse and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. His heart slammed in his chest as he rode, realizing how insane this was. He was about to do what the peasant class would never dream of doing: attack the gentry. It was a war he could not possibly win, and a sure way to get killed. And yet his bride lay behind those gates, and that was enough for him.

      Royce was so close now, but a few yards away from reaching the bridge, and he looked up and saw the knights’