“Who goes there?” The boy’s mouth hinted at a smile. “Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais,” Chauncey warned. “I asked for your name. Give it.” “Duc?” The boy leaned against a twisted willow tree. “Or bastard?” Chauncey unsheathed his sword. “Take it back! My father was the Duc de Langeais. I’m the Duc de Langeais now,” he added clumsily, and cursed himself for it. The boy gave a lazy shake of his head. “Your father wasn’t the old duc.” Chauncey seethed at the outrageous insult. “And your father?” he demanded, extending the sword. He didn’t yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory. “I’ll ask once more,” he said in a low voice, wiping a hand down his face to clear away the rain. “Who are you?” The boy walked up and pushed the blade aside. He suddenly looked older than Chauncey had presumed, maybe even a year or two older than Chauncey. “One of the Devil’s brood,” he answered. Chauncey felt a clench of fear in his stomach. “You’re a raving lunatic,” he said through his teeth. “Get out of my way.” The ground beneath Chauncey tilted. Bursts of gold and red popped behind his eyes. Hunched with his fingernails grinding into his thighs, he looked up at the boy, blinking and gasping, trying to make sense of what was happening. His mind reeled like it was no longer his to command. The boy crouched to level their eyes. “Listen carefully. I need something from you. I won’t leave until I have it. Do you understand?” Gritting his teeth, Chauncey shook his head to express his disbelief—his defiance. He tried to spit at the boy, but it trickled down his chin, his tongue refusing to obey him. The boy clasped his hands around Chauncey’s; their heat scorched him and he cried out. “I need your oath of fealty,” the boy said. “Bend on one knee and swear it.” Chauncey commanded his throat to laugh harshly, but his throat constricted and he choked on the sound. His right knee buckled as if kicked from behind, though no one was there, and he stumbled forward into the mud.