Hooves pounded over gravel. Suleiman and Bryn rode at a gallop with their men, but his thoughts remained with Lady Lorna: her gentle voice, her eyes free of calculation, filled only with warmth.
He had stayed in Valleydeep Town for several days. During that time, he had set aside the burdens of lordship and spent his days like an ordinary young man, walking the garden paths with her and listening to her talk about the stars and her garden.
But that tranquility had been shattered time and again by messengers from Evelyn. At first, the letters had been restrained, merely urging him to return soon and attend to his affairs.
But their wording had grown increasingly urgent: an emergency had arisen in the fief, and they desperately needed his decision.
Evelyn didn't waste words. He knew his brief vacation was over.
Suleiman reflected on what he had gained from his Trial by Combat. In Westeros, martial strength was simply too important.
Against noble lords who valued honor, tradition, and dignity more than their lives, it was an invincible weapon.
House Horne had sent an elderly family knight. His swordsmanship was superb, but Suleiman's nimble attacks wore him down until he ran out of strength. Suleiman then slashed a fatal wound across his neck, and the man fell into the dust.
House Wayn had learned its lesson and found a young proxy knight. The young knight was agile and certainly skilled, but after a long battle, he made a mistake and lost his sword. He knelt and refused to yield, so Suleiman killed him.
That was the power of rules—of using the rules to his advantage. He had reclaimed all the disputed lands without shedding a drop of his own blood, leaving only the lords of the Vale with grim faces.