Page 57 of To Protect

“Ahh, yes. The beast.” Darien smiled.

Rumors of his slaying a mythical beast were only rivaled by those who said Darien made a deal with the devil to obtain his superior bow skills.

“Why do they say as much?” Amalia asked.

“The Isle of Ely,” Roland answered for him, “is inaccessible, and therefore, has always retained an air of mystery. I myself once heard whispers back home which spoke of moonlit meetings with mysterious figures and arcane rituals, some saying the earl of Ely possesses an ancient grimoire, a book of forbidden knowledge, hidden within the walls of Ely Castle.”

He was so unused to seeing Amalia veiled that he did not even glance at Darien to see his reaction to Roland’s tale. Instead he watched as Amalia took a long sip of wine. He would dearly love to be drinking wine with her, alone.

“Ahh, the grimoire,” Darien said.

Roland looked from Amalia to his friend. Darien’s knowing smile told Roland all he needed to know of the legends. They were that, legends, and nothing more.

Though Darien’s bow skills were unearthly.

“Tell us more of this grimoire,” Alden said.

Whatever tales Darien might have regaled them with were cut short by the sight of Matilda’s captain climbing the dais stairs. Roland liked not the expression on the man’s face, a fact that was heightened by the empress’s own expression.

“What is it?” Amalia asked.

It seemed they were not the only ones in the hall to notice the discussion. When the captain moved away, the empress remained seated. Whatever was wrong, it could not be urgent.

“I am uncertain,” Roland said.

“Where is Eamon?” Darien asked.

Roland had noticed earlier the swordmaster seemed to be missing. “I do not know.”

“Do you think,” Amalia asked, setting her wine goblet back on the table, “it has aught to do with Empress Matilda’s reception?”

She asked it so quietly, only Roland and the two across from them could hear. The others that sat with them spoke to each other.

“Her reception?” Alden asked.

“It is just . . . the maids that helped me dress . . . ” She frowned, likely at Roland’s expression.

“Apologies. But when you speak of dressing—”

“Roland,” she chastised.

Darien snickered.

“Tell me,” he said. “About the maids.”

“They seemed hesitant. When I asked about how the future queen was received here.”

“I was similarly surprised it was not warmer on our way through the city,” Darien said.

Their table fell silent.

And while the rest of the meal progressed, Roland made a decision. “I will come to you this eve,” he whispered to Amalia.

“Do you think it is wise?” she whispered back. “I am attended by two maids, and they might speak of it. There are guards at the top of my stairwell as well. I wish for nothing more than you to do so—”

“I will come to you,” he repeated. “But not only for the reasons you are thinking.”

Her brows rose. “Then why?”

Not wanting to speak the words aloud, to bring something to fruition that was unlikely to occur, he also needed Amalia to know it was important she work with him to see his path to her cleared.

“For your protection.”