The message had to get through.

It was all that mattered. The only thing that was important, that was worthy of his attention, was this message. It was paramount, his life was insignificant in comparison – there was only the message, the message that must get through.

Eogad bit his heels deep into the horse’s side, spurring it on. The frantic beast was at the limit of exhaustion; it would not be long before it collapsed, its heart was ready to burst, a wild look in its eyes hinted only at the insanity of speed in its blood. This horse would have galloped on as hard as it could, towards the end of the world and beyond, until the end of time, if it had been given the chance.

The animal’s breath, shallow, quick, sucked ineffectually at the air, trying to pull in sufficient oxygen, but failing desperately, its spittle frothing so thickly it splattered back onto Eogad’s face in great, thick plumes that reminded him of the white horses of a wave breaking on some beach, hundreds of miles and dozens of years from here.

That beach where he had first seen her, elegant and beautiful. She had been attended by a great retinue of guards, hand-maidens and servants. Servants who had knelt down in that surf so their lady may step on their backs and avoid standing in the cold, salty water. He had felt it immediately – unquestioningly, instantly, he had wanted her, wanted to run his hand through that soft, long auburn hair; to kiss the delicate sweeping curve of her neck, to run his hands down the goose-pimpled flesh of her exposed back.

Princess Charlotte of Denmark. His first love. His only love. His master’s wife. She had not even glanced in his direction as she had disembarked that day and he had known this was as it should be. Eogad was the newest, and by far the greenest member of the Knights Commentar, sworn to protect their King with their very lives, but for him this mission, this calling, had taken on a new meaning on that day.

For he had found a deeper quest. A private obsession that had driven him so hard, pushed him like his spurs now pushed on the near mad animal beneath him, that had driven him up quickly through the ranks, until finally he had been able to choose his own position. His honours were great, his bravery well tested, his loyalty beyond question, his deeds so legendary, his name so well known, that he could have asked for command of the entire army, and his King would gladly have given it to him and more; yet he had asked for nothing so grand, nothing so demanding. He had asked only to become Charlotte’s personal bodyguard.

King Thanatus had readily agreed – to have this man at the side of his beloved Queen was to ensure utterly that her life would never be cut short by an assassin’s blade; that any man attempting to take it would have to fight his way through the toughest, hardest, strongest man the kingdom had surely ever seen. He was glad, and proud at even the suggestion.

And so Eogad had remained at her side for the last 5 years, always there, re-assuring, never flinching from what must be done, never tiring of the duty he was given. He was the perfect gentlemen when required, the perfect killer when called, an ever-faithful, ever-present servant.

Charlotte had come to regard him as one of her most close and personal confidents. She may even have gone so far as to say he was a friend, but the relationship had never moved beyond this, for she loved her husband and the four children she had born him utterly and unquestioningly. Her love for them was as strong as Eogad’s love for her; the love that he never revealed, that he kept locked away in the depths of his heart. The love that fuelled him, that sustained him and carried him onwards now.

He had not slept in three days, his senses were dulled to the point of uselessness, his body weakened by combat and the privations of the long siege they had endured. It was therefore perhaps unsurprising when the thick, heavy branch knocked him from his mount, swiping him from the frantic horse he was only just clinging to.

His last thoughts before unconsciousness were of her, of the message that called for reinforcement, the message it looked like he was doomed not to deliver. It was as little as twenty miles to his intended destination – the barracks that housed a battalion of the King’s finest. The message was tantalisingly close, within walking distance, and it was this bitter taste of failure that saddenned his heart as he dropped into the dark abyss.