Dylan Nobleblood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Dylan Nobleblood stood at the pavilion steps and watched the man who could take everything from him. The royal he loved sat under the rose-covered frame, laughing at something the suitor said. Dylan was sworn to guard that laughter. He was also sworn, in his own heart, to earn the right to marry its owner. Tonight those two oaths pulled in different directions. His orders were simple and cruel: protect the visiting lord. Protect the rival. The suitor was a duke's son, tall and easy in silk. He moved like a man who had never been told no. He touched the royal's wrist. Dylan's hand found his sword grip, then let go. Guards did not strike suitors. Guards stood still and burned. A silver-winged fox slipped from the dark garden. Its wings caught the moonlight. The suitor laughed and reached for it, charmed. The royal leaned close to see. But the fox was not tame. It snapped at the lord's hand and bolted up the pavilion rail, knocking a lantern loose. The flame caught the dry vines. Fire climbed the roses fast. The suitor froze. The royal was trapped against the far rail, smoke curling up the steps. Dylan moved before he chose to. He vaulted the burning frame, armor scraping wood. He pulled the royal under one arm and carried them down through the heat. His sash caught fire. He crushed it against his chest and kept walking until they stood safe on the cool grass. The suitor stumbled out behind them, coughing, silk singed, hair wild. He had saved only himself. Everyone in the garden saw the difference. The royal gripped Dylan's burned arm and would not let go. "You carried me out," the royal said. "He ran." "My duty," Dylan said. But his voice shook, and they both heard it was more than duty. The suitor straightened his collar and tried to recover his dignity. "A guard did his job. Nothing more." He looked at the royal's hand on Dylan's arm and his face went cold. "A common soldier. You would not shame your court with that." The word common landed hard. Dylan had no answer the court would accept. A guard could love. A guard could not marry a royal. The royal did not pull away. "Then prove you are more than common, Dylan. Bring my court proof of your blood. Do that, and I will hear no other suit." The suitor's smile died. He bowed stiff and left for his carriage. Dylan stood in the smoke with a promise he could not yet keep. The rival was beaten tonight. But the royal's words had set a new test, harder than any blade. He knew only one thing that might answer it: his father's old sword, hidden away, carved with a noble house's mark. He would have to find it, and prove it was truly his.