Page 35 of The Court of Venus

“We need to think of another way to wean the king off him. To show the king he is fallible, that a new magician must replace him. Better yet if he’s killed. There’s the next round of the tourney, but our own magician has been knocked out. In a resounding, humiliating defeat.” A glare at Miranda, who shrank into her cloak. “You joust him the day after next, don’t you, Tom? He’s listed.”

“I won’t be able to strike him,” Tom argued. “He’s better than I am.”

“Yes, jousting is too unpredictable.” Charles waved it off. “We need proof of a betrayal. His lovers paraded before the king so he sees how little his favorite truly cares for him. He’s discarded so many, the wounded will be eager to talk.” He nodded toward his son. “Ask Kitty Seton what she’s heard. I want names.”

Kitty Seton. A shiver swept up my spine. I hadn’t thought of Kitty Seton in years.

“Kitty is as besotted with him as Cecily is,” snorted Tom.

“What if he killed the prince?” I asked softly.

The Guildfords all looked to me. “Speak up, Ed.”

“What if he killed Prince Hal? Wouldn’t the king execute him for it? Wouldn’t that solve our problem?”

I held my breath. They were a proud family. A boastful one. I was sure they would not let another—especially Roland—take credit for their efforts.

They all exchanged glances, then Charles laughed. “What a fool you are, Edward. The two boys were like brothers. And suppose we could frame him; he wasn’t even in the country. Still gallivanting around Lionesse, I think. If only he had stayed there.” He sighed. “And the inquiry proved the prince had no food or drink that wasn’t tested that morning. He opened no strange letters. No blood ciphers.”

“An inquiry?” So there was an investigation of some sort. Roland hadn’t said.

“Prospero invited that old Sunborn of Estellan to court. None could lie under his questioning. Remember him, Tom? That fool with the long, golden beard he stumbled over as he walked?”

I highly doubted the Sunborn was a fool. “It was only a thought.”

“Yes.” And some thoughts shouldn’t be spoken aloud, Charles’s irritated tone said. “We’ll speak with Kitty. She must have something we can wield against Roland.” Pointing to me: “You watch him closely. Tell us who visits his rooms and when. And you.” He spun to clench his daughter’s chin, hoisting her gaze up to his. “You stay out of his bed.”

I couldn’t stop thinking of Queen Cecily. The hand around her throat.

Edward still slept peacefully. I wove all the memories he needed of the night, let them settle gently in his head. But my guilt weighed heavy. It was a terrible truth: I had spent my life planting seeds in the minds of men and watching them grow.

Seeking out Cecily felt instinctive, as if my body led me to her on its own, urged on by the white morning light pressing against the curtains.

Soft wind caressed my cheek from an open window, pushing and pulling on the flames in braziers. Guards appraised me at the doors of Cecily’s apartments.

“I’m here to soothe her to sleep,” I lied. “She has the—” I touched my collarbone.

“One moment.” As the left guard disappeared through the doors, the other watched me warily, grinding his teeth.

To my surprise, the other guard returned and beckoned me inside. The queen was surrounded by her women on the floor, the fire beaten down to coals. Joan Rockford, her face grave, was the only one to glance up at me. Agnes Bryer combed the queen’s hair. Kitty Seton, the oldest lady-in-waiting in the room, was in the corner, petting the queen’s dog as he squirmed. I hadn’t noticed her before—I had forgotten her entirely. Kitty, with her darting eyes. Kitty, Alice Seton’s elder sister, the only member of her family left at court.

“Leave us,” Cecily murmured to them all.

I lowered myself to the ground, kneeling beside her. “I felt your exhaustion from my rooms, Your Majesty.”

A tear trailed down her cheek, but she caught it with her hand. This was a girl who had been taught to close every door of herself. I understood her well, because I had been taught to do the same. “Would you like wine?” she offered.

We moved to the long table, both casting wary glances at each other. She filled her cup to the brim, spilling onto the white cloth each time she raised it to her mouth. “This helps me sleep well enough,” she explained. “It helps with many things. With my courage.”

At her windows, birds flitted across the sills. She had a similar, excitable way about her even after the night’s events, making satisfied noises as she sipped her wine. It was tempting to call her silly, or vain, but I didn’t think she was either of those things.

“You’re already brave without it,” I said eventually.

“Am I? How so?”

I gestured to her neck.

She blinked, fidgeting in the bodice that was too snug on her. I waited, hoping she’d speak if I didn’t respond right away, and she did. “They say Roland is using me for his own aims. What do you think?”