Page 156 of The Sun King's Noon

Kaelen nodded and went down on a knee, bowing his head and placing his fist to his chest. Past him, Richard glimpsed the circus standing frozen. Jeya’s mouth was open in an ‘O’ while Talia was breathing in short, rapid heaves. The triplets were in Svetra’s grip, but one escaped and pointed at the dais?—

“But that’s only Richard?—”

Svetra lunged, clamping a hand over his mouth. At the procession’s head, Master Clemens’s eyes seemed ready to pop out, and Boris rushed to steady him as he swayed.

Daisy, however, was the picture of calm, waving quietly at Richard.

Richard gave her a smile that cooled as he returned his attention to Marius.

“Your Majesty,” he called up. “Perhaps my knight and I might be permitted to join my envoy upstairs. We have, I think, a great deal to discuss.”

Marius barked a derisive laugh. “But of course, Sun King.” His lip curled. “Come right through.”

CHAPTER 56

The Stag Hall’s corridor ran the length of the eastern wing, its arched ceiling decorated with chandeliers. Every few paces, an Estaran soldier stood guard, glaring at the Ardenian procession.

Richard strode at its head. He’d already bathed, rubbing off the soot, and now wore one of Alaric’s spare tunics. It was a rich red, but the stag heads embroidered at the cuffs made his skin itch. With a sigh, Richard folded the cuffs and glanced towards the group’s back.

Kaelen had changed into one of Sir Joffrey’s spares, the blue doublet too tight across his shoulders. He tugged at his collar and rolled his eyes as Joffrey lectured at him.

“Forty minutes, he says, it took him to escape the brig. All while his king was being oiled and tied to a pyre post.” Joffrey pinched Kaelen’s ear. “I trained you with these ruddy hands of mine. I had you breaking through pillars thicker than your thigh. And you tell me it took you forty minutes to take down a brig door?”

“It was reinforced.” Kaelen twisted away from Joffrey’s hand. “And I’d been drugged?—”

“And what did I teach you about being drugged?”

“To vomit it up.” Kaelen scowled. Around him, the handful of Ardenian guards were fighting grins. “But it came upon me far too quickly?—”

“Then, you ought not have drunk it in the first place!” Joffrey aimed a cuff that Kaelen ducked under. “Did you even smell the cup before you drained it?”

“No,” Kaelen muttered.

“No? So my squire, the boy I bloody well birthed?—”

“It was my good mother who birthed me, Sir.”

“Aye, but I well accepted you as a page, didn’t I? Means I birthed you all the same?—”

Kaelen caught Richard’s eye and sent a pleading look. With a snort, Richard faced forward again. From his right came Malgrin’s nasal remonstration.

“—naked, Your Majesty. Naked. Before the entire square of Vexmara. Before five hundred Estarans! The indignity upon your family line. Why, your grandfather would have collapsed from the shame!” When Richard ignored him, Malgrin turned to Lady Agnes, who hobbled by him. “Lady Agnes. You must speak to the king and emphasise the gross misconduct of it all.”

“Oh yes, my lord. I shall.” Lady Agnes’s walking stick struck the flagstones in a slow rhythm, forcing the group to go at a snail’s pace. “I shall tell His Majesty, when next I have the breath, which shall not be soon, for these corridors are very long—I shall tell His Majesty that next time he is to be burned alive, he is to first dispatch a note to his envoy with the time and address of the pyre and a request that suitable garments be brought.”

Richard smiled as Malgrin spluttered, his beard quivering. Two Estaran guards opened the doors at the gallery’s far end, and Richard entered the dining room.

It was a vast, vaulted room, with the eastern wall a colonnade of arches that gave way to a large stone balcony. Beyond it, thesea glittered. The table in the hall’s centre was long, dressed with white linen, and had servants standing along the walls, their hands folded and eyes lowered.

At the head of the table, two chairs had been set together—Marius and Octavia, with their hands interlaced between them. Penelope—pale, clad in a pink gown—sat at Octavia’s left hand. And Alaric—slouched against his chair’s back—sat at Marius’s right.

And at the far end of the table, a single chair had been set out.

Richard gritted his teeth.

One single chair for a whole delegation of Ardenians. The insult was so neatly orchestrated that Richard felt a flicker of admiration.

Penelope made as if to stand and was halfway out of her chair when Marius barked at her.