Emily barely spoke to her father. She didn’t dare. In his present state she knew not what he might do and worse as her first month home passed and she had no flow, she began to suspect something that was guaranteed to cause war between her father and Draven.
That night, Emily sent her own messenger to the king, and she prayed that this time Henry might actually bother to show himself.
“Draven?”
Draven didn’t move as Simon entered the room behind him.
“There’s a messenger come from the king.”
Draven sighed. He had been expecting as much. In truth, he was amazed it had taken so long. “Send him in.”
The herald entered wearing the red and gold lion of the crown.
“Draven, earl of Ravenswood, the king bids thee come to his counsel. He will be in Warwick in a fortnight from Saturday. Your attendance is mandatory.”
“Tell his majesty I will be there.”
The herald nodded, then left.
Draven still hadn’t moved. He merely stared out the window as he had done much of late. It was as if all his energy had left him and he had no strength to move.
No will, no desire.
Nothing.
For days following her departure, Simon had tried to engage him in conversation. But as the weeks passed and Draven spoke no words to him whatsoever, Simon had finally learned to just leave him be.
Draven wanted no one near him.
In fact, he wanted nothing at all except for the king’s executioner to come and finish off what was left of him.
Eighteen
“Milady, the king requests an audience with you.”
Emily trembled in fear as Alys held the door open for her. The king had arrived just that morning and she had known it would only be a matter of time before he made the request.
Still, she was terrified of facing him.
“Courage, milady,” Alys whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Emily thanked her and patted Alys’ strong grip.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she forced herself to leave her solar and descend the stairs that would take her to her father’s hall where Henry waited.
The king’s guards and courtiers milled about at the foot of the stairs. Her servants struggled to bring them food and drink while the hounds milled between legs.
To her horror, all eyes turned to her as she descended the steps, and a hush fell over them.
As she drew nearer, their heads came together and she could hear them whispering dreadful things.
“Hardly pretty enough to warrant the death of a champion,” one of the crueler ladies-in-waiting said as she passed.
“And all this time I thought Ravenswood preferred he company of his squire,” one of the men said.
“Better than me, I thought he preferred his brother!” Laughter erupted.
Her face flooded with heat as she cast a bold, angry stare at the ones mocking her and her lord.
