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Orcades and I looked at one another.
“Arthur,” she said. “He’s angry. Get behind the tapestry.”
She pointed to a large hanging embroidery that was wafting gently in the breeze from the open window.
I sprinted. Pulling the heavy fabric back, I stood behind it.
Through small holes in the material, I could still make some things out, though my view of parts of the room was obstructed.
Orcades moved over to me, discreetly tugging a large armchair in front to hide my feet.
The double doors slammed open. My brother had arrived.
He was breathing hard. He held a piece of parchment in his hand.
“‘In the heart of spring, a child shall rise. From royal blood, a king’s demise,’” he quoted. “Do you recognize these words, Belisent?”
“What a strange poem,” Orcades mused. She melted into the armchair she had placed in front of the tapestry and leaned her head on her hand. “Is this what’s gotten you all upset, my lord? A piece of verse? I had not taken you for a poetry lover.”
My brother shook the piece of parchment. “Not just a piece of verse. A prophecy.”
Orcades yawned, delicately putting her hand to her mouth. “Many prophecies exist, my lord. Most are absolute rubbish.”
“‘In the heart of spring, a child shall rise,’” my brother repeated, his jaw clenched. “‘From royal blood, a king’s demise. Born of sister, born that day. Kings shall fall, in disarray.’”
“Yes, I believe you’ve read that part already.”
Arthur took a step towards his queen. Behind the tapestry, I felt afraid for my sister. But she sat quite calmly.
“Is it our child the prophecy speaks of? Did you arrange this somehow?”
“Goodness me, there are many babes born in the spring, are there not?”
“Not of royal blood,” my brother said, gritting his teeth.
“Born of a sister, though? I amnotyour sister, Arthur, or need I remind you?” She gave a tinkling laugh.
He stared at her then as if he had never seen her before in his life. “No. You are not. But are you Morgan’s?”
Behind the curtain, I paled.
“Morgan’s? Yoursister’ssister? What a very odd question. Of course not.”
“What’s odd, Belisent,” Arthur said coldly, “is how you came into my life in the first place.”
I swallowed hard. Was Orcades glamor somehow waning? Something in Arthur seemed to be... slipping. What did he know? What had Fenyx fed into his mind?
Orcades rose to her feet. “I came to you with the greatest tribute any woman has ever given a man. I might have brought that sword to anyone in the world. I brought it to you.”
“Yes. To me. A sword you found that just happened to be lying beside my sister. Who then, you claim, disappeared. And from her side, you came straight to mine.”
“The greatest king in Aercanum,” Orcades said smoothly. “It shouldn’t be very hard to understand why a woman would be filled with a desire to see the great Arthur Pendragon, monarch of a mighty empire, conqueror of realms.”
She stepped towards him fearlessly. “I brought you that sword so you could win your wars. Isn’t that what you desired?” She trailed a finger over his velvet cloak. “I did notaskto be your queen. Need I remind you that you begged?”
He slapped her hand away. “Begged as if I had been bewitched.”
Orcades stepped back, her expression becoming annoyed. “Men always say that about women after the fact. Very convenient when the women have given them all, borne their children, made their meals, sacrificed their bodies.” Now anger inflected her voice. “You have come here today to do what, exactly? I am carrying your child, Arthur. Your heir.”
