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ChapterTwelve
“Stephen’s authority is beginning to collapse.”
At that statement by their strategies instructor, the room went silent. Alden, who sat next to Roland, looked at him. The two understood the implications of Lady Elara’s words.
“Our session will shift from strategies to something a bit different, starting today.”
“They’re going to move to crown her,” Roland whispered to Alden.
“Perhaps you would like to take over, de Vere?” Lady Elara did not appear pleased. Then again, she never appeared pleased during instruction. It was no secret Alden was enthralled with the instructor, but Roland did not see the appeal. Was she beautiful? Aye. But Roland felt no pull to her, as he did to Amalia. His friend, by the way he looked at Lady Elara, obviously did not share such an opinion.
“As I’m not privy to the same information as you, my lady, it seems you are better served than I for the role.”
“You must know,” she said, her tone clipped, “some of what is happening to make such a statement.”
Roland couldn’t hide his surprise. As the other recruits’ heads volleyed back and forth from him to Lady Elara, he said, “You heard me?”
“Nay, de Vere. I read the words on your lips.”
Roland did not believe her. Not from this distance.
“You do not believe me?” she challenged.
He was not stupid enough to answer that question.
“They’re going to move to crown her.” At first it seemed she was tossing back his own words, which she was. But she didn’t look at him when she said it. Instead, Lady Elara explained to the recruits the logistics of how Empress Matilda would be crowned. How the Guardians of the Sacred Oak would serve as her personal guard. How strategies would become, over the next sennight, a session on what roles they would take, how they would work with Matilda’s other supporters to protect her en route to London.
This was actually happening.
Years of civil war and Stephen would finally be deposed.
“As such,” Lady Elara was saying, “you are not to miss a single session until you’ve orders to ride out to London. I will be working closely with Sir Stirling, who will serve as the knight commander for this most important mission.”
A hum of excitement filled the air at her words. Roland mostly listened, as happy as anyone at the recent turn of events. But he also thought of her.
Amalia.
Their kiss. Or kisses, to be precise.
“I would speak with you, de Vere.”
As the command came from the front of the small hall, Alden murmured next to him, “Good luck.”
Lady Elara waited until the room was empty. But for the trestle tables and benches that had been filled moments before with recruits—the knights who would now help install the next queen of England—the chamber was empty.
Save Roland and his instructor.
“I am impressed with your ability to decipher words from a person’s lips from such a distance.”
“This is about Mistress Amalia, and not your conversation with Alden.”
As always, her words were direct. Putting himself back into the role of earl’s son, he spoke just as directly.
“I do not believe my relationship with Amalia falls under the scope of our instruction.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not speaking to you as your strategies instructor but as a friend to the lady in question.”
His brows raised. “Friend?” He was not aware the two had even met.
