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Her dress was still askew, her bodice falling off one shoulder as she walked slowly towards me.
I recognized her. She was the youngest daughter of the noblewoman I had overheard the other day. The one who had complained to her companion that the part-fae boy should have been sentenced to hard labor rather than execution.
The bright smile the young woman had been wearing fell as she passed me, her face flickering into dull numbness. I felt a wave of revulsion as I looked beyond her to where Arthur sat. Had she been compelled to come here or done so willingly? Had she known she would be forced to participate in such a vile public performance?
As she brushed past me, I belatedly realized there was one other person already in the room.
Kairos Draven stood quietly off to one side looking out of a window. His hands were folded behind his back, his chin lifted.
As I approached Arthur’s seat, Draven turned to glance at me and I saw the look of disgust written plainly on his face. He must have seen the same thing reflected on mine, for he quickly cleared his expression–as I did my own.
In the morning light, I could see how well the guard's uniform he wore suited him. The surcoat was of white linen with a black leather chestplate overtop in the center of which was carved the symbol of the Rose Court, a dragon's head surrounded by a swirling rose, a simpler version of the Pendragon coat of arms. He wore tight-fitting black breeches that showed off his muscular legs. His helmet had been removed and tucked under one arm, revealing his black hair and handsome features.
I remembered the three men he had delivered death to the night before, as if they were nothing, and forced my gaze away.
Arthur was watching me, I realized. His brown eyes regarded me with complete composure from where he sat on the dais, sipping from a goblet.
He was already half-drunk. But even if he had been sober, I had seen him indulge in this kind of revolting spectacle before. He did such things to rile his courtiers. To rile me. It pleased him to know there was nothing we could do but observe–observe anything the king wished us to observe, no matter what it might be.
He was dressed in a rich red tunic. A heavy gold medallion carved in the shape of a rose hung on a chain from his neck. There was a jewel-encrusted short sword at his side. I wondered if he had ever finished learning how to use it.
“Good morning, Brother.” I tried to keep my voice calm and steady.
“Good morning, Sister.” He smiled at me as if he had not just forced me to witness anything untoward. His voice was strong and powerful. Truly, right now he seemed the picture of the perfect young king.
Perhaps if Draven had not just seen what he had, he might even have believed it. I glanced at the guard, wondering if he had already forgotten the brutality in the Great Hall.
Had I mistaken the look on his face that day? Perhaps to Draven, a man capable of equal violence, it had not seemed like brutality at all but justice.
As a new guard, it would be understandable if Draven revered his new king. After all, why else would he have traveled to the capital and applied as a recruit?
The Royal Guard were the most elite group of soldiers in the land. To have been accepted so quickly was a rare thing. Draven had moved from recruit to guard more quickly than anyone else that I could recall.
I suddenly felt a cold chill go over me. Perhaps it was not I who had been the unintentional spy amongst the group of hunters at all.
Reaching the edge of the crimson square carpet that bordered the dais, I stopped, clasping my hands respectfully in front of me, my head lowered.
“You summoned me, my king?”
“I did, Sister. Word reached me this morning that last night you were attacked.”
For a split second my heart froze and I thought Arthur was referring to Florian. Was my brother going to help to free me from my tormentor? Could it be possible? Would he save me?
Then Arthur’s lips thinned into a cold, hard line and I knew I needn’t have bothered hoping. Even for a second.
“You’ve made a humiliating misstep, Sister. You’ve embarrassed not only yourself but the throne.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, glancing at Draven.
But the guard stared straight in front of him, refusing to look at me.
“You have been going out into the city alone.” It was not a question.
“I always have,” I said truthfully. “I have always felt safe doing so. You know that Merlin often requests my presence at the temple.”
Arthur studied me in silence. I did my best not to flinch. I had had quite enough of men looking at me for some time. I looked past him, at the stone wall, willing myself to stay calm.
“Last night you went out for an evening stroll–” Arthur’s voice was scornful. “Accompanied only by this guard. And by the night’s end, three men had been slaughtered.”
