Chapter Five #2
Aha. That one didn’t need explaining. Gwen was coming because Gabriel wouldn’t be able to do this without her.
His first and best friend, the only one who understood what it had been like since their father died, even if they bore it differently.
Gabriel should perhaps have been embarrassed that Lady Oakley had known he would crumble without his sister, but it was her job to know such things, even if Gabriel withered under her scrutiny.
“Wait,” he said, finding something far more questionable at the bottom of the page. “Who’s this? You can’t possibly mean—?”
“Ah,” said Gwen. “You got to the bit about Florian.”
There had been so many conversations about Florian early in Gabriel’s reign that he had grown sick of the name on principle.
Lord Willard, the cultist mind behind the uprising and Gabriel’s father’s second cousin by marriage, had only managed to sire one son before Bridget had put an end to his royal ambitions.
Lord Florian Arden had not been present on the battlefield, and as far as anyone could tell, had not been involved in the coup at all; rumor was that he’d been holed up for years with other members of his family, who seemed intent on keeping him safe from harm.
There had been some concerns that he might decide to rise up and avenge his father, taking aim for the throne himself, but if that were the case, this new rebellion had yet to materialize.
Lady Oakley steepled her fingers. “In the spirit of peace—”
“Ridiculous,” said Lord Best.
“I concur,” Sir Hurst concurred. “Bringing him to court would only invite trouble, let alone placing him in the king’s inner circle on the road—have you considered how easy it would be to assassinate His Majesty from such a position? He’d barely have to stumble from his bedroll.”
“He’s not his father,” Gwen shot back. “We have no idea of his motivations, and I think that befriending him is the safest option when the alternative is to keep him cast out and isolated, where bad ideas might brew.”
Lord Best frowned. “Your Highness, with all due respect…”
It was plainly obvious from his tone how much respect Lord Best thought Gabriel’s sister was due in this council room.
“I think … Yes,” said Gabriel, before it could come to verbal blows. “I mean, if we are to do this—and I haven’t agreed that we are—but if we do … Yes to Florian. Gwen’s right. Better to keep him close.”
The room was half triumph and half exasperation, something Gabriel was very used to by this point. He’d never cared overmuch about pleasing other people, but there was something quite wearing about constant disappointment too.
“Right,” said Gwen. “Good. So I thought we’d ask Sirs Leonard and Bowen, they’re popular with the people and excellent fighters, and perhaps we could knight Adah from the mews, as she’s a good hunter, knows her away around a sword and the countryside, and also—”
“You want to knight Sidney Fitzgilbert?” Gabriel said, following the names clockwise to their conclusion.
Lady Oakley’s nose wrinkled. “I’m not entirely sure this is wise, but Her Highness insisted. There are many other capable knights throughout the realm—noble born, ready to serve.”
“You know how solid he is in a fight,” Gwen said, as if she were arguing with Gabriel, not her beloved Oakley, who was usually above reproach. “And I think the fact that he and Adah are common born is good—it’ll be good for morale in the villages.”
It was probably a bad idea. Gabriel’s father would have said no, and populated his table with nobility—but then, Gabriel’s father wouldn’t have entertained a table at all.
Lady Oakley seized on Gabriel’s silence to roll out a map.
“The ten of you would travel with Master Buchanan, Cardinal Richards, and a small staff of guards and attendants to meet with those who’ve reported Arthurian miracles.
You’d be hosted at the manors of your lords and visit the villages, spreading the good word about education and bringing the naysayers onside, smoothing over some of the …
nastiness that’s been cropping up of late.
If you leave soon there’s time before winter sets in—I don’t think we can afford to wait until the spring thaw, another six months of rumor and potential for division.
You will no longer be a faceless king who sits on a throne somewhere these people have never been; you will come to them, and they will love you for it. ”
Gabriel tried to picture it.
Weeks—perhaps months—out on the road, away from his bed and his books, every day unfamiliar and bereft of routine.
Autumn weather rolling in and splattering everything with rain and mud.
Sitting at the high tables of lords who probably hated him, saying the wrong thing every time.
An endless parade of strangers entering his life and leaving it again, all of them wanting something from him, something he wasn’t sure he had to give.
Weeks with Arthur Delacey so close that Gabriel might be able to smell the orange blossoms in his hair.
“Yes,” he said. “Fine. Let’s do it. The round table … thing.”
Gwen and Oakley exchanged a sidelong look of triumph.
“When we write down that you agreed,” Oakley said, “we’ll put that you said something a little more regal than that.”
“Probably for the best,” said Gabriel, who was in desperate need of a cup of tea.