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“Who is it?”
“Galahad. May I come in?”
I eyed the chair, then sighed and began to push it away from the door and back over to its usual place near the hearth, hoping the noise wouldn’t be noticeable.
Unlocking the door, I stepped back as Galahad entered. His tightly curled brown hair was shorter than the last time I saw him.
“Haircut?” I asked, smiling a little. He looked more boyish with his hair trimmed short.
He touched his head ruefully. “Yes. One of the priests did it. A little shorter than I usually like it.”
“It looks nice.” And it did. If Galahad was not an acolyte who had devoted himself to the Three, he would have had no trouble acquiring a very nice boyfriend. He had sweet yet mischievous features, gorgeous skin, and a smile that I’d swear had a magic of its own. Seeing him there, looking so warmly at me made me feel a little better already.
“What on earth are you doing?” he inquired. “It sounded like you were moving furniture.”
“I’ve been doing a little of that, yes,” I said lamely. “Just... you know, rearranging the space.”
“Hmm.” He eyed me skeptically. “You had to unlock the door to let me in.”
“Yes, well, it’s a good habit, I think,” I hedged. “You can never be too careful these days. And you know I value my privacy.”
I felt like an idiot. Galahad still looked skeptical, but I was relieved when he began to fish around in the leather bag he had across his chest.
“I’ve brought back the painting. Lorne was able to remove the worst of the ink.” He lifted out a familiar shaped bundle, wrapped in a linen cloth.
I wanted to grab it from his hands but managed to contain myself.
“But it’s not the same, Morgan,” Galahad warned.
“I know, I know,” I assured him.
He passed over the picture and I quickly unwrapped it, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as the linen was removed.
“It’s much better. Much, much better.” I stared down at the portrait. Galahad was right, it would never be the same. The red ink had left the entire image with a permanent tinge.
But my mother’s face was now visible again. I could see her dancing eyes and sweet smile.
Reverently, I hung the painting back in its place over my desk and stepped back.
“Please, thank your friend for me,” I said, turning to Galahad. I put my hand in my pocket and felt for coins.
“No, no, there’s no need,” Galahad said hurriedly. “He said it was an honor to be asked.”
My eyebrows went up. “He knew who the woman in the portrait was?” Ordinarily, Pendrathian kings and queens retained an honored place in history. But not my father’s wives. Their images were conspicuously absent. There was only one portrait of one of his consorts hanging in the Great Hall of the castle, and that was of Ettarde, Arthur’s mother.
“Of course, but more than that, he knew who you were. I speak of you all the time.” Galahad smiled. “The other acolytes are excited for the time when you join us at the temple. It’s not so far off. I think some of the girls are quite eager to have a princess among them.”
“I highly doubt that,” I murmured uncomfortably. I had never been the sort of princess to inspire much adoration in the people. My odd appearance probably didn’t help with that.
“You weren’t really moving furniture,” Galahad complained, glancing around my room. “Except for that armchair over there, everything is the same. It looks to me like you’ve been lying in bed all day. Your coverlet is crumpled. Your fire’s gone out. It’s chilly in here.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re brooding. Why are you brooding? What’s going on, Morgan?”
“What are you, an inspector for the Royal Guard?” I muttered. “There is no mystery to be solved. I’ve been spending the day in my room. It is no crime to desire solitude.”
“It is if that’s all you seek or if you seek it to the exclusion of all else.” Galahad’s eyes lit up. “Why not come down with me to see my father? He’ll be in the practice yard. I’m sure he’d love to see you. When was the last time you went down to train?”
I opened my mouth to say it was just yesterday, then realized it had been more than a week.
Since Florian’s attack, I had hardly left my room.
