“Look what the king gave me!” Owen said loudly. He rushed up to Dunsdworth and shoved the piece beneath his nose.

“Who cares about your toy!” Dunsdworth thundered, trying to shove Owen out of his way.

Owen thrust the piece into his face again. “It’s not a toy. It’s the king’s gift! You probably don’t even know how to play Wizr.”

The rebuke was enough to wrest Dunsdworth’s attention away from Ankarette. “Why would I care to play that silly game? Life is not like Wizr. Two pieces of stone aren’t two men, one trained more than the other.” He yanked the piece out of Owen’s hand and gave him a rough shove.

“That’s mine!” Owen shouted with pretended rage. “You’re jealous because the king gave me a gift and he only teases you. Give it back!” Owen grabbed Dunsdworth’s belt and yanked it hard to try and propel himself upward. As he yanked, his fingers began to deftly loosen the belt buckle. “It’s mine!”

“Give it back!” Evie shouted angrily. She had rushed up to them and was standing nearby, her fists clenched and her cheeks pale with anger. “It’s Owen’s!”

“Get off!” Dunsdworth barked. He waved the piece over his head with one hand and gave Owen a hard shove with the other, sending him crashing to the ground.

With Dunsdworth’s belt.

Without the belt, Dunsdworth’s pants dropped down to his ankles, revealing his linen braies, which were hitched up high. There was a spattering of laughter throughout the kitchen, but it was the tittering of the ladies that made the lad’s face turn purple. Owen’s arm hurt from landing on the hard tiles, but his plan had worked. Ankarette had used the commotion to slip away.

Suddenly Dunsdworth’s purple face twisted with wrath and revenge. He threw down the piece and leaped on top of Owen. Snatching his belt, he started to thrash the smaller boy with vigor.

The explosion of pain made Owen gasp in shock and roll into a ball like a ticklebug.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Evie shrieked, launching herself at Dunsdworth like a cat. She yanked his hair and clawed at him in a frenzy. Freed from the onslaught for a moment, Owen could only look on in awe, surprised at how the girl had turned into a fury.

To protect himself, Dunsdworth shoved her away too, sending her sprawling, which caused the witnesses to gasp.

Owen, curled up on the floor, saw his opening. Without even rising, he kicked out his foot and caught Dunsdworth in his most sensitive area. The purple angry face went milk-white as the young man tottered over, clutching himself and whimpering.

And it was in that precise moment, as Elysabeth Victoria Mortimer was about to hurl herself at the older boy again in rage and eat his heart, that her grandfather, Duke Horwath, stormed into the kitchen. He saw his little girl on the floor, her face wet with tears of fury. He saw Dunsdworth with no pants. And he saw Owen curled up like a beaten pup.

The duke was not gentle as he hauled the young man to his feet and nearly threw him out of the kitchen ahead of him. Owen almost pitied the condemned, but then his body began to tremble with all the pent-up fear, pain, and shame of the last moments. He didn’t feel the cut on his cheekbone from the belt buckle until Evie was kneeling in front of him worriedly. She was so angry she was sobbing.

“Are you all right?” she pleaded, using the hem of her dress to mop the blood from his cheek.

He glanced at the doorway from which the duke had left with Dunsdworth. And he saw Mancini slip back into the kitchen, a satisfied smile playing on his flabby mouth. The Espion gazed down at Owen on the floor and gave him a little nod of respect. Owen returned the gesture.

“I’ll be all right,” he groaned, clutching his stomach, making his injuries look worse than they really were.

Together, he and Mancini had helped save Ankarette. Something had shifted between them. It was as if they now shared an alliance of self-preservation.

Owen let Evie nurse him. And in a moment, the Princess Elyse was kneeling by him as well.

“Well done,” she whispered in his ear.

Her praise was worth the pain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Secrets of Wine

Ankarette came to Owen’s room that night, much to his surprise. After dark, he tracked the passing hours by how low his candle burned. It was still high and bright when the hidden door opened and she emerged, soundless as a shadow. He would not have left to seek her for some time.

“Ankarette!” he whispered, rising from the floor where he had spread his Wizr board. He had been playing with the pieces while he waited.

“There’s a little cut on your cheek,” she said, with a wrinkle in her brow.