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Weekly Contest #282
I knelt before the Queen, not daring to meet her gaze. My sword, its comforting weight rarely far from my reach, had been surrendered with my horse a league from the palace. I had shed my armor and finery, donned on sackcloth, and walked in the presence of a company of her loyal knights, barefoot. “Your Grace, I was wrong. I took up arms against you and your realm. I burned, I fought, I slew.” My voice, barely stronger than a whisper, still reverberated throughout the hall. I slid my ducal ring off my finger, offering it up. “I offer this ba...
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