Ander was sure of it when he awakened to sunlight streaming through his window and realized no one had come to get him out of bed at the usual time. He stretched, hands banging against the wall at the head of his bed, and felt his muscles welcome the motion. Sitting up, he saw a plain brown tunic and breeches lying across a chair; his manservant had been in to leave the clothing and a tray of bread, cold meat, hard-cooked eggs and tea.He grinned to himself. He was fifteen today, a man at last. Even Zelan would join in tonight’s celebration. In a sennight Ander would travel back to Sugetre, where King Martan would formally recognize him as heir to Righar. His mother had hinted that a betrothal was also forthcoming, something strategically planned to help him when he eventually ruled Righar—perhaps the daughter of a Collared Lord, perhaps a King’s daughter from a neighboring nation. He only hoped she was about his own age, and reasonably attractive. His mother had told him he need only beget an heir or two on her, and afterward please himself; still, he hoped the girl would be someone he could be friends with as well.
