Chapter 305: Lady Morgana Is The Ward Of This Crown

A murmur of excitement.

"It will be held properly, in the old way, with the old rites. It will be held in the presence of the council, and the priests, and the kings. And it will be held," said Draeven, "when the lady is ready, and not before."

Vane opened his mouth.

"I am not finished."

Vane closed it.

"Lady Morgana is the ward of this crown." Draeven’s grip tightened on her hand. "She stands under the Law of Crown Protection. She stands under the protection of my brothers, and of me. She is not a prize. She is not an instrument. She is not a problem to be examined." His eyes swept the benches, one by one, steady and merciless. "She is a guest in my house and a soul in my care."

Silence passed across the hall.

"And I will say this once, so that no man in this hall may claim he did not hear it." His voice was quiet. "Whoever raises his hand against her, in word or in deed, in the open or in the dark, raises it against the throne."

A long, cold, ringing quiet.

"And the throne," said Draeven, "has long memory, and very sharp teeth."

Nobody moved.

Somewhere above them, in the great vaulted ceiling, a bird fluttered in the rafters and fell still.

"Elder Cedric," said Draeven.

"Your Majesty."

"Lord Carrick will remain a guest of the crown until the third day, as agreed. He will be accommodated with every courtesy." A faint pause. "And every escort."

"It shall be seen to."

"The council is adjourned."

The hall emptied slowly.

It poured out through the great doors in a long glittering stream, a rustle of silks and a rumble of low talk. She stood where she was, with Draeven’s hand still in hers, and watched them go. Lord Vane, flushed and furious, hauling at his collar. Lady Merrow, sleek and thoughtful, murmuring in a friend’s ear. Old Hollis, leaning on his stick, who paused at the threshold and looked back at her, once, with a pale cold eye, before he vanished.

Astraea had gone.

She had slipped out at some point in the uproar, soundless, unnoticed. The usher who had fetched her was gone, too. Morgana looked for the grey robe by the wall, and found only an empty stretch of white stone.

"Thorne." She called out.

"I saw," he murmured, at her ear. "He’s gone. Corin has men at the east door."

"Do you think...." Morgana begin to ask.

"Later."

She nodded.

Her knees were beginning, belatedly, to shake. She felt it creeping up her legs, the dizzy cold weakness that comes after a fright. Kaelen’s arm slipped under her elbow, quick and light, and he steadied her without comment.

"You were magnificent," he muttered.

"I was terrified."

"You were both." He grinned, a little wildly. "I thought I was going to have to tackle Hollis. You did it better. ’I would be obliged to ask the kings a question.’ Gods. I’m going to have that embroidered on a pillow."

"Kaelen." Draeven called out.

"I mean it."

"You were going to freeze his hand."

"I did freeze his hand."

"You were going to freeze more than his hand."

"I restrained myself," said Kaelen, with enormous dignity. "I’d like that noted."

She laughed, shakily, and the laugh loosened something in her chest.

"It is noted," said Draeven.

She turned her head.

He was looking at her.

He had not let go of her hand. His golden eyes were warm, and very bright, and very intent, and there was something in them that she had no word for. It wasn’t pride, though that was part of it. It wasn’t relief, though that, too. It was deeper than either, a kind of fierce, quiet wonder, the look of a man who has watched something extraordinary happen in front of him and cannot yet believe it.

"You were remarkable," he said.

"I only said what was true."

"I know."

"I didn’t plan it."

"I know that, too." His thumb moved across her knuckles. "That is why it was remarkable."

Her throat tightened.

"Thank you," she said, very quietly. "For not stepping in."

"It was the hardest thing I have ever done."

"I know."

"And I would do it again."

She smiled.

It was a small, unsteady, genuine smile, and she saw it land in his face like a hand laid gently on a wound. Beside him, Thorne said nothing. But when she looked at him, his dark eyes were soft, and his hand had come to rest, lightly, at the small of her back.

"We should go," Thorne said. "Rest. Food. Quiet."

"Yes," said Draeven.

"I don’t think I can eat."

"You will eat," said all three kings, at once.

She laughed.

They turned, the four of them, toward the door. The hall was almost empty now. The last few stragglers were drifting out through the arch, murmuring, and the light had begun to shift, long gold bars sliding across the white floor. She took one step. Two.

"Lady Morgana." A voice called out.

She stopped.

The voice came from her left, soft and pleasant, close by her shoulder. She had not heard him approach. He had been standing, she realized, in the shadow of a pillar at the foot of the dais, perfectly still, waiting. He stepped forward now, with his hands folded and his silver coat gleaming in the dimming light.

Carrick Greythorne.

The kings moved at once.

She felt them, a wall of heat and frost and shadow, closing in around her. Draeven’s body shifted between her and the man. Kaelen’s hand dropped to his belt. Thorne’s shadows curled, black and eager, about the legs of her skirt.

"Lord Carrick," said Draeven, very softly. "You were told you were to be escorted."

"I am on my way." Carrick’s smile was gentle. "I only wished to take my leave of the lady. As a courtesy."

"You will take it from where you stand."

"Of course." He bowed his head. "I would never presume otherwise."