"I-" Alberic paused, taking in a deep breath. With a gauntleted hand, he took hold of his helmet and tore it free, sending it barrelling through the air towards a startled page who plucked it from the air, followed by his arming cap. "Aye. He did. Sore loser, that one." Alberic knew he was a terrible liar - he'd had to lie throughout his entire life a number of times that could be accurately counted on all one's hands and toes. All the same, he hoped Hans wouldn't press the issue - at least for now. He needed time to think. He needed to speak with Regan Kellan.<br/><br/>He stood in place, arms outstretched, and allowed a pair of pages to begin yanking at straps and unfastening plate - soon, the constrictive yet oddly reassuring weight and tightness of his plate had fallen away, bit by bit, and been neatly packed away for his own retinue to collect. He received a chilled wineskin and sipped from it gingerly as he stood, facing his friend, face a terse, thoughtful mask - he scratched his chin. "What do you make of Beuchamp, Hans?"<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Verity's lips pressed together anxiously as she watched the two women who constituted her world exchange words - Regan, as-ever, a bastion of knightly conduct and womanly composure. Her mother - frayed, every bit as strung as Verity herself, but beautiful in her age and wrothful in her fierce love for Regan. She admired them both - loved them both, in their own way, despite their authority over her. In this case, however, she couldn't help herself but wonder what Regan was thinking. Perhaps, deep-down, everyone knew that Regan's little charade would end some day, much like this - but she was still a young woman, with fire in her heart and power in her veins. Her father's legacy needed to be protected from that... from that vulture. No measure was too great - the honour of one self-absorbed knight - many of whom were little more than mercenaries these days -  could not be relied upon.<br/><br/>She stepped forwards, head bowed, hands clasped together down by heir waist. A single, blonde lock of hair had descended over her forehead and tickled her nose, and her pale cheeks were flushed red. "If you'll pardon me, my most gracious ladies... I simply do not understand why you trust that man. As far as I am humbly aware, you have never met him before-"