CHAPTER FIVE
WILLIAM
Today was the day.
By nightfall, I would be a knight of Elarion. It meant I would be moving into the castle, living among the king’s men, training and resting in the barracks. The thought filled me with a strange mix of pride and unease.
I was twenty years old, and I had lived alone in this house since I was nine. The silence had long become its own kind of comfort.
I packed my things carefully, folding my cloak and setting my sword beside the saddlebag.
The morning light slanted through the small window, turning the dust in the air to gold.
Every sound seemed sharper: the creak of the floorboards, the soft rustle of cloth, the faint whisper of wind through the shutters.
It felt strange to think I might not see this place again for a long
time.
Before I left, my eyes landed on the book lying on the table. The Song of the Willow Bride. The cover was still slightly damp from the night before. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. Her fingers had touched it too.
For a moment, I hesitated, then slipped it into my pocket.
Being knighted was everything my father had ever wanted for me. He had taught me to fight before I could read, taught me to hunt in the forests until I could move through them without a sound. By the time I turned eleven, I could wrestle men twice my age and win.
He used to tell me that strength was not in muscle, but in
restraint. That a man’s worth was measured by what he chose not to do. I had carried those words with me ever since.
Outside, the air was crisp and bright. Corven waited by the fence, his breath clouding in the morning light. His black coat shone like polished stone, and the white streak down his nose caught the sun.
I ran a hand along his neck and felt the steady warmth beneath his skin.
“Time to go, big guy,” I said quietly.
He snorted, as if he understood.
I saddled him, tightening the straps, and looked back at the house one last time. The roof needed fixing, and the door leaned slightly off its hinges, but it was home. My father’s mark was in every beam and every nail. Leaving it behind felt heavier than I expected.
Still, it was the path I had been raised for.
I mounted Corven, adjusted the reins, and turned toward the road that led to the castle. The sun had just begun to rise, washing the fields in pale gold. The same fields where I had learned to fight, to ride, to live.
The road curved toward the village. Smoke drifted from chimneys, and the faint hum of morning life filled the air. It was the same place where I had first seen her, standing in the crowd with her cloak drawn close.
As Corven’s hooves struck the cobblestones, I found myself searching for her without meaning to. My eyes moved from face to face, across market stalls and narrow lanes, looking for a glint of pale hair, the fall of a dark cloak, any trace that she had been real at all.
But she was not there.
The streets were busy, filled with merchants opening stalls, children carrying buckets from the well, and townsfolk calling greetings across the square. The theatre stood quiet now, its doors closed, its banners heavy with rain.
I slowed Corven near the corner, watching the spot where she had stood.
The stones there looked the same as they had before, yet the air felt different, emptier somehow.
For a moment, I stayed like that, listening to the steady rhythm of Corven’s breathing, to the sound of me realising that maybe I in fact would not see her again.
Then I drew the reins and rode on.
The castle rose ahead, its towers cutting through the fog. The walls caught the light, turning from gray to gold as the sun climbed higher. The closer I came, the louder the world grew. I could hear the clang of metal, the call of guards, and the steady rhythm of hooves against stone.
When I reached the gates, two sentries stepped aside to let me pass.
The courtyard spread wide before me, filled with motion and noise.
I straightened in the saddle, feeling the weight of the day settle in my chest. Today, I would swear my vows.
Today, I would become what my father had wanted me to be.
A young page hurried toward me the moment I entered. His tunic was too large, his hair damp from the morning mist. He bowed quickly before speaking. “Sir, the captain awaits you in the main yard.”
I nodded and dismounted, handing him Corven’s reins. “Take care of him.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, his eyes wide with something close to awe.
The courtyard buzzed with activity. Knights stood in small
groups, their armor polished to a mirror’s shine. Squires moved between them, carrying shields, spears, and banners that rippled in the soft wind. The smell of oiled metal and fresh hay filled the air.
The captain stood near the steps that led into the great hall. His armor was darker than the others, burnished with age, and his presence carried the weight of command. He turned as I approached, his expression unreadable.
“William Alaricson,” he said. “You are to be knighted today.”
“Yes, Captain,” I replied. My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
He studied me for a moment before nodding. “You’ve trained under the best swordsmen we have. You’ve proven your strength in every test. Now, you prove your loyalty. Remember, a knight serves more than himself. He serves the crown, the people, and the code.”
“I understand,” I said quietly.
“Good.” He glanced toward the hall. “The king will arrive shortly. When the bell rings, you will enter with the others. Kneel before him, speak your vows clearly, and do not look away.”
I nodded once more. The captain gave me a final approving look before turning to address another knight.
For a moment, I stood alone in the center of the yard. The rising sun gleamed on every blade and shield, throwing streaks of gold across the stone. My heart pounded steadily, the rhythm of it echoing through my chest.
This was the moment my father had trained me for. Every bruise, every scar, every dawn spent in the fields with a wooden sword led here.
The bell tolled across the courtyard.
Knights began to line up in pairs, the sound of their armor ringing with each step. I joined them, feeling the weight of the sword at my side and the faint pulse of pride in my chest.
The great doors of the hall opened, and light poured through.
We stepped inside.
The air smelled of incense and stone. The walls were draped with banners bearing the white rose of Elarion. At the far end of the hall, the king waited on his throne, the morning light burning against his crown.
My legs felt heavy, but I walked forward with the others. When my name was called, I stepped out of line and knelt before him. The stone was cool beneath my knees. I spoke the vows I had learned by heart, each word steady and clear.
The king drew his sword. The blade shone bright as he placed it against my shoulder.
“With this blade,” he said, his voice echoing through the hall, “I name you Sir William Alaricson, knight of Elarion. Serve with honor, with courage, and with faith.”
The sword lifted away. The hall went silent for a heartbeat before applause filled the air.
I rose slowly, my pulse still quick, the king’s voice still ringing in my ears.
It was done.
I was a knight.