Gwen was roused from her bed by guards bursting through the door; once they had ascertained that there was nobody imminently threatening to harm her, she was marched into her father’s private solar and told to wait. The longer she sat there, running her fingers over the notches and whorls of the table over and over again, the more convinced she was that something terrible must have happened to some member of her family to warrant all the panic.
After what felt like an age, Gabriel walked into the room – closely followed, for reasons unfathomable, by both Arthur and Bridget.
‘What’s happened?’ Gwen said, immediately getting to her feet. ‘Where’s Father? Is that blood?’
‘He’s fine,’ Gabriel said, sounding very weary. ‘So’s Mother. They told me – he’s talking to Sir Hurst right now.’ Sir Hurst was her father’s Captain of the Guard, which surely indicated that either all was lost or everything was in hand. Arthur pulled up a chair opposite Gwen and sat down in it, rubbing circles into his temples and looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Gabriel and Bridget didn’t move.
‘Sit down,’ Arthur and Gwen said at exactly the same time; under different circumstances Gwen might have laughed, but she was still thrumming from head to toe with spiky, nervous energy.
‘What happened?’ Gwen said again, as Gabriel took a seat.
To her surprise, it was Bridget who spoke.
‘I was coming to your chambers to bring you something,’ Bridget said from where she was still standing by the door. Arthur, whose eyes had been closed, immediately snorted with laughter. Gwen gave him a long, incredulous look, and he bit his lip – and then snorted again.
‘I think it’s the shock,’ Gabriel said, looking at Arthur with no small amount of horror.
Arthur pressed a hand to his mouth and made a muffled squeaking noise, but appeared to be attempting to compose himself.
‘I noticed something further down the hall,’ Bridget said, ignoring Arthur. ‘It turned out to be a man, with a knife. He attacked me, so I – intervened.’
‘You killed him?’ Gwen said, her eyes travelling from Bridget’s face, which did not seem to have any new scratches, to the sword in her hand and the surreally lurid streaks of blood on her breeches. It’s not her blood, Gwen thought distantly. That’s where she wiped the sword clean.
‘Yes,’ Bridget said heavily. ‘I killed him.’
They sat in uneasy silence as these words sank in.
‘Wait,’ Gwen said slowly, once the initial shock had worn off somewhat. ‘Arthur – where were you?’
She was sure she wasn’t imagining it; Arthur’s eyes flickered briefly over to Gabriel before he looked at her. ‘Walking.’
‘Walking? Walking in the royal wing?’ Gwen said. ‘Why did you all come in together? I thought you were going to bed.’
‘I didn’t say I was going to bed,’ Arthur said petulantly. ‘I said I was leaving. If you assumed I was going to bed, that just demonstrates your utter lack of imagination.’
‘All right,’ Gwen said, narrowing her eyes. ‘So just say I were to use my imagination—’
The door opened, and the king and queen walked in, followed by a handful of panicked-looking attendants. Gwen’s mother crossed to her immediately and pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking around the table to do the same to Gabriel, who closed his eyes tightly shut as her lips met his head. Their father walked the length of the room to take his customary seat at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair and sighing heavily as they all waited for him to speak.
‘It seems it was only one attacker,’ he said, as a page fetched and poured him some wine. ‘Although God knows how he was able to get as far as the royal wing.’
‘What happened to the guards?’ Gabriel asked.
The king, who had been staring into his cup, looked up – and suddenly seemed to realise that the room was far more populated than he’d expected.
‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’ he asked, nodding at Arthur and then looking pointedly at Gwen.
‘Um,’ said Gwen. She tried to meet Gabriel’s eye, but he was staring at the table. His hands were tensed against it, as if he might need to push up and flee at any moment. ‘Arthur and I were just – talking.’
‘Oh, Gwendoline,’ her mother sighed. ‘Again?’
‘Again?’ the king said in a dangerous tone.
Arthur looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Well, it’s been lovely,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘but I think I’d better be going. Very glad you’re all alive, of course – good job, and keep it up for the foreseeable. Good evening, your majesty, your highnesses …’
As Arthur practically sprinted from the room, the king turned his gaze to Bridget. ‘And you?’
‘I was on my way to speak to the princess, your majesty,’ Bridget said without a moment’s hesitation. ‘She rendered me a service and I wanted to bring her a token of thanks.’
‘And what token was this?’
Bridget did hesitate this time, just for a moment, before lifting the sword she had used to apprehend the man in the hallway and dropping it on to the table with a clatter that made Gwen wince. ‘This.’
‘You were bringing my daughter a sword?’ the queen said, sounding utterly horrified.
‘The guards let you through to the royal chambers, late at night, with a weapon?’ said the king, equally unimpressed.
‘I told them she had my permission to enter earlier this week,’ Gwen said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘They were only following my orders.’
‘Gwendoline, this is highly inappropriate,’ her mother said, frowning down at the sword as if it too had disappointed her as a daughter.
‘I agree,’ said the king wearily. ‘Although I can’t ignore the fact that if she hadn’t been in exactly the right place at precisely the right time … I owe you my thanks, Lady Leclair.’
Bridget inclined her head, and the king waved her away, her eyes meeting Gwen’s briefly as she backed out of the room. Lord Stafford was coming in the other direction; he was wearing a garish magenta jacket over his nightshirt, which he had stuffed into navy breeches, and an expression of deep anguish. He looked, Gwen thought, a little bit like a depressed jester.
‘No dead,’ he said. ‘Except the assassin himself, your majesty.’
‘So, what – somebody let him in?’ Gwen said. Gabriel did finally look at her then, but she reciprocated too late; he had already turned away.
‘My guess is that he was a recent hire to the guard,’ Lord Stafford said, very pale. ‘A lone actor, with some imagined score to settle. We vet everybody fastidiously, of course, but sometimes you just can’t tell. I expect Sir Hurst will confirm as much when he comes to brief you, your majesty.’
‘A lone actor?’ said Gabriel. ‘So you don’t think this was something to do with what’s been happening in the north?’
Stafford grimaced sweatily. ‘Not on this occasion, no. Unfortunately people do things like this for all kinds of reasons.’
‘But I thought you were obsessed with the north,’ Gwen said, forgetting that this sort of thing was best said in private and earning herself a furious look from the steward.
‘Obsessed? Not at all. Not at all. I simply wish us to react appropriately to the situations at hand. In fact, just the other day I was telling his majesty – we need not panic every time somebody wanders north of Nottingham.’
‘You mean like Lord Willard?’
‘Yes,’ said Stafford. ‘Yes! Exactly. Visiting family, up in Skipton. His majesty is well aware of the concerns I have about cultist uprisings, but that does not mean that everything is part of some grand conspiracy.’
‘Well, we’ll soon know for certain. Sir Hurst is exploring all the options,’ said Gwen’s father. ‘He’s even asked the damn Wizard to come for questioning, not that it’ll help. I know Master Buchanan, and this isn’t of his doing, cultist or not. Just – don’t do anything foolish, either of you. Stay vigilant. Gabriel – get some rest, we’ll be convening the council early in the morning.’
‘Of course,’ said Gabriel. Gwen was itching to go after Bridget, but she could think of no excuse to rush from the room that wouldn’t seem very odd and downright dangerous if there was any chance that more assassins were roaming the halls.
The door opened yet again, and the grizzled, moustachioed Captain of the Guard entered. He was olive-skinned and very handsome for his age; he had the kind of face that people liked to ascribe to great knights and princes in their portraits, although right now it looked deeply troubled. ‘Your majesty. I can brief you now, if you’re ready.’
If it had in fact been a guard recently hired by Sir Hurst who had attempted a little late-night regicide, Gwen could only imagine how tense that briefing was going to be.
‘Stay together tonight,’ said the queen, reaching over to touch Gwen’s shoulder. ‘We’ll post extra guards right outside the door.’
‘Guards we trust,’ said the king. ‘We won’t make the same mistake twice.’ He got to his feet, nodding to Sir Hurst. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘Be safe,’ their mother said to Gabriel, before both of their parents hurried from the room.
Gwen considered Gabriel from across the table. He looked genuinely wretched – as grey-faced and hollowed-out as if the assassin had, in fact, succeeded.
‘Come on,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’ll sleep in your room.’