Torden did not hesitate. “You look ready for battle.”
Creagan glanced toward the closed door across the passage. “Perhaps I am.”
“Keep your shield up,” Torden warned.
Creagan smiled. “I always do.”
He crossed the passage and knocked on the door.
Eudora's voice rang out. “Enter.”
Creagan opened the door and stepped inside.
The queen stood beside the table waiting for him.
The room felt warmer than the small chamber across the hall, though the hearth fire had burned lower.
Creagan closed the door behind him, his smile charming as ever. “Once again you summon me and I appear.”
“As is your obligation,” she said and walked away from the table.
There was a stiffness to her movements he hadn't noticed earlier. He had watched Eudora in the Great Hall. Seen her settle petty disputes, silence a room, embarrass foolish men, dismiss Wilford when he objected to being excluded, and then face three men she had summoned from legend without flinching.
Yet something troubled her now.
Creagan leaned one shoulder against the door and since she remained silent, he spoke. “Legion looked ready to tear your castle apart when he left.”
“He did not.”
“Torden looked as though he might help.”
“He did not,” she repeated.
He rubbed his chin. “Perhaps they're saving it for later.”
“Do you ever take anything seriously?”
The question came quickly and more sharply than he expected.
Creagan's smile remained, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “When necessary.”
“And who decides when something is necessary?”
“Well, of course, I do,” he said, as if it was obvious.
“Except, of course, now that you stand before me,” she corrected.
“Ahh, I see you wish to remind me of my place,” he said, his smile turning mischievous.
“When necessary.” She sighed lightly. “Which I believe will be often with you.”
He caught it then, barely but he saw it… unease.
“Something worries you,” he said, his smile faltering.
“I am queen. Worry is my steadfast companion.”
He shook his head. “That isn't what I meant.”