"Good. Then stand."
O'Sullivan stood.
"Hands behind yer back."
Again, the man obeyed.
Edric nodded. "Good. Ansel?"
His son looked up, his deep green eyes narrowed in concentration. The boy had grown to look a lot like Edric, with his short brown wavy hair and his tall, muscular frame. To Edric’s satisfaction, very little of him showed his mother, the late queen. The woman had been too soft, and when she had passed upon Ansel's birth, it had only been to his son's benefit. Only his green eyes, betrayed anything of that woman.
"Aye, Father?" the young man asked, getting to his feet. He rubbed his hand across his jawline, tracing the heavy scar there. "How may I serve ye?"
Pleased by how well his son had been taught, Edric said conversationally, "Would ye not say, lad, that a failure so great as O'Sullivan's is as bad as any betrayal?"
Ansel's impassive gaze traveled to the laird, surveying him for a moment, then back to his father. "Aye, sire. As ye say."
"Wait—" O'Sullivan started.
"Silence." Edric snapped. "Ansel? Dispatch this nuisance."
"Yer Majesty!" O'Sullivan protested. "Ye cannae simply?—"
"Father, if I may?" Ansel said quietly.
Ignoring O'Sullivan's protests, Edric cocked his head in curiosity and considered his son. The boy didn't often speak up—for the past twenty-seven years, he'd been a perfect, silent, obedient soldier. "Ye're questionin' me orders, son?"
Ansel bowed his head. "Nay. I would never question yer wisdom. I ask, simply, that I may give him a weapon." He flicked his eyes to O'Sullivan, who had fallen to both knees and was pathetically begging for his life. "Allow him tae stand against me. If he should defeat me, then perhaps he can be of use to ye yet."
Edric nodded. It was a sensible suggestion, and the boy had always loved his sport. "So be it, then."
Ansel bowed his head, then paced slowly over to O'Sullivan. "Stand up, man," he said quietly. "Take this." He held out a sword.
O'Sullivan did stand, but his hands shook as he reached toward the sword. "Ansel… lad…"
"Ye will speak tae yer prince with deference!" Edric boomed.
The laird ignored him. "Ansel… me daughter… what will she do without me?"
Ansel did not flinch. "Take the sword," he said again in the same quiet tone. "And defend yerself."
Edric smiled slightly and sat down on his throne. He sat back with his arms resting lightly on the armrests, watching the scene unfold.
Ansel withdrew his own sword and stood there, stock still, before a shaking O'Sullivan. He did not move, did not speak, just waited.
With a desperate cry, O'Sullivan surged forward, swinging the borrowed sword wildly. Ansel stayed still until the last second, then with a single, purposeful step, and a precise swing of his sword, he disarmed O'Sullivan. Before the laird's sword had even hit the floor, Ansel had made one more efficient movement, slicing cleanly across the laird's throat.
James O'Sullivan fell to the ground, his lifeblood pulsing from his body. Ansel stepped forward and looked down at him.
"The new Lady O'Sullivan will be provided for as a ward of the king until he finds her a husband," he said without emotion. "Presumin' she shows her loyalty runs deeper than yers."
Nobody else spoke. A few seconds later, Edric saw the light fade in O'Sullivan's eyes. His struggles stopped, and it was over.
Edric clapped his hands together, pleased. "What a show!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with something akin to pride. "Well done, lad. Ye continue tae perform yer duty well."
Ansel bowed once more. "I'm yers tae command, Father, as always," he said. "Shall I send a messenger tae inform the daughter?"
"Do it, and ensure she kens she will be safe so long as she remains faithful and obeys," Edric agreed. It was always useful to have the landowners loyal. Since the O'Sullivan lands would pass temporarily to a weak female for now instead of a man, Edric knew he could manipulate the situation even more to his advantage. "Ye must have a reward for yer service, son."
