PROLOGUE England, 1126 “I cannot wed him!” Allegra, Lady of Cleonis and Firmain, grasped at her lover’s hands, clutching them with her cold fingers. “’Tis you I love! Only you!” He smoothed a hand down the side of her face even as pain thrummed in his temples. “My love, you must do as the king wills. And you know that I cannot wed with you, for I am promised to another.” Tears glistened in her eyes and he thumbed one away, then reached to hold her hands with both of his own. He blinked furiously, squeezing his eyes closed, trying to force the pain away from his head, but it would not abate. He must not think on the image that came always with the pain, the image of his parents lying, broken, on the ground beneath the tower. It had happened long ago, and there was naught he could do to save them—then or now. “What shall happen when I couple with him? There will be no maidenhead to breach, and Lord Merle is like to kill me for leading him falsely!” Allegra’s tears fell freely now, and her voice held a clear strain of panic. He strove to clear his mind, and to find a way to stem her weeping. For if he did not have relief, he would go mad. Mayhap