Rafael shook his head. “Can’t do that, Master Isaac. If you should die, th’ Prince will have no choice but to send her back where she belongs, just like the Argent wants.”
“No! You can’t! Please, Rafael — have I ever treated you wrongly? All I ask is that you make sure that she’s taken care of, that she stays out of his clutches…” Isaac’s sword clattered to the floor and he made no effort to retrieve it, gazing at the servant before him with horror.
The manservant looked at him mutinously, face set in prim lines. “Master Isaac, the law is clear. The man who wins the trial by combat is in the right — if it should be Lord Argent’s champion,” he shrugged. “If you’d just put her in her rightful place instead of this messing about you wouldn’t be havin’ to fight this challenge, if you’ll forgive my speakin’ out of place.”