“I wasn’t going to,” he said softly.
Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? It seemed as if you might.”
She flashed him a radiant smile as she bent down to kiss him. His heart hammered like an earthquake. It felt . . . wrong. Disloyal. Her eyes closed as her face lowered to him.
Ransom was tortured by conflicted feelings. Suddenly, instead of savoring his triumph, he wished he were anywhere else. In fact, he wished he were in the queen’s tower at the palace, a place he was forbidden to go. A place no one wanted to go but him.
A place where he could see Claire.
At the last moment, he turned his head slightly so that her lips brushed the edge of his mouth. He felt their softness, and it was a dangerous sensation that stirred emotions he didn’t want to feel.
Because of her veil, perhaps no one saw what he did.
But when she opened her eyes, pulling back, he saw that his action had greatly offended her. He’d refused her kiss. From the look she gave him, he wondered if she would make a scene and force a kiss from him in front of everyone. He felt a trickle of defense go up his spine, his instincts warning him of her intentions.
He gave her a look that told her not to.
Her flawless knuckle came up and wiped her bottom lip as she stared at him in wonderment, in fury, yet she clearly knew there was still a crowd to please.
It was a look that promised revenge.
I must admit that it felt good to start writing again. Emiloh asked me about the book, and I shared portions of it with her yesterday. It led to a very deep conversation, one in which she spoke of her past, her youth in the duchy of Vexin. Her father died when she was fifteen. For some reason, I hadn’t remembered that. She cherished him, so she could understand how I felt about losing my father. It’s been difficult picturing her as anything other than the Queen of Ceredigion. But she knows fear, loss, and the uncertainty of the future. I asked if she had ever been in love before marrying the Elder King. Her look showed that her mind went far away. She nodded but said nothing more.
Ransom has returned to Kingfountain with Emiloh’s eldest son. Apparently, the fool eejit won the tournament of Chessy, and if the rumors are true, he nearly killed the Black Prince. We saw them ride into the courtyard, but the tower is too high to see very well. I should like to see him again, but if fancies were horses, even beggars would ride. I don’t know where I’ve heard that saying before. Things are so different now. But I wish him well. I truly do. Even if it means we cannot be together.
—Claire de Murrow
Queen’s Tower
（a fair summer’s morning）
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The King’s Contempt
The queen’s throne had been removed from the royal hall of Kingfountain, which was a sorry sight that still made Ransom cringe inside. The king’s was empty, for the man could hardly bear to sit still and usually paced in front of the dais, as he did now, listening to the report of their victory.
“I wish you had been there, Father,” said Devon the Younger. “We won honor for Ceredigion.”
“It sounds like Sir Ransom did the brunt of the work,” quibbled the father, giving Ransom a sidelong look and a somewhat approving smile. “They gifted you a castle, did they? Which one?”
“Gison castle, my lord,” Ransom answered.
The king pursed his lips and nodded appreciatively. “That was probably intended for the Black Prince, whom they expected to win. That they gave it to you instead? Curious.”
Devon the Younger flushed with anger. “It would have been dishonorable to do anything less.”
“Don’t patronize me with talks of honor, lad. Maybe they seek to bend our famous knight to their will. Gifts are quite an inducement.”
“We all shared in the glory, Father. The celebratory feast was quite liberal. Even you would have thought so. The best wines, berries from Brythonica, and the meat . . . I’ve never tasted better.”
“Oh, Lewis knows how to throw a party,” said the king with disdain. “Was he there?”
“Of course not. We were allowed to compete on the condition neither of you would attend. He wouldn’t go back on his word.”
“I think he would, if it suited him. Well, there’s enough of that. I’m off to the North tomorrow to hear justice. Be a good lad and try not to ruin the peace whilst I’m gone?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Devon demanded.
The Elder King stopped pacing and gave his son an accusing look. “Your penchant for Occitanian wine might tempt you to carouse in the city again. I’ve permitted it in the past, even though I wish you wouldn’t. I don’t mind if you go hunting or hawking, something to divert your boredom, but I’d rather not have one of my sons stumbling around drunk in front of my people.”