They reached the royal pavilion at the center of camp and dismounted. Ransom saw Archer stiffen with pain and favor his left leg. It was subtle, but it aligned with what he’d noticed earlier. This ability to detect others’ weaknesses had developed over the last years and grew stronger every day. He didn’t fully understand it, but it had started during his time in the tournament circles and had served him well on the battlefield.
Lord Archer grimaced as he walked toward the tent, disguising the pain remarkably well.
Benedict and Devon both dismounted, and as they walked toward their judgment, side by side, Devon put his arm around his brother’s neck. “We do this together, Brother.”
“What do you think he will do to us?” Benedict asked worriedly.
“Forgive us,” said Devon with a grin. “What else can he do?”
“He can name Goff his heir,” said Benedict angrily. “Or worse, Jon-Landon.”
“I don’t think he will,” Devon said, clapping him on the back. Ransom followed them into the tent, where he found the Elder King pacing. He wore a fur robe over his hauberk and the hollow crown atop his head. Lord Kinghorn stood near him, sipping from a jeweled goblet. The constable nodded when he caught Ransom’s look of recognition.
“Well, well, well, the lost lambs have been found,” said the king, putting down his own goblet. His eyes were twinkling with his surprise victory, but there was a dark look on his face. A look of revenge that instantly put Ransom on his guard. Lord Archer found a camp stool and eased himself down on it. Kinghorn fetched him a goblet of wine.
Being called a lamb made Benedict bristle with anger, but Devon took it with a tired smile. “I underestimated you, Father,” he said by way of apology. He looked around the tent. “Where is Noemie?”
“On her way to Kingfountain, of course,” said the Elder King with a smug look. “Along with the other traitors we captured.”
“You call it treason? How can it be when I am an anointed king?”
“Because of who gave you the crown!” the Elder King raged, his eyes flashing with wrath. He knocked over his goblet, splashing the wine, and walked up to Devon and smacked him hard across the face.
Ransom felt a knot of pain inside his chest. He saw the mark of the palm against the Younger King’s cheek, who could have blocked the blow. Maybe he’d been tempted to. But he’d let it happen in spite of his knightly prerogative not to. Because, despite everything, Devon Argentine was his father. And maybe he also knew he deserved it.
Benedict didn’t cower. He glared at his father, as if daring the man to strike him as well.
The Elder King gave his younger son a withering look of contempt. “Did I not give you both enough? You ungrateful wretches. A dukedom was not sufficient for you, Bennett? Hmmm? And was not Kingfountain a splendid gift? What a negligent father I am.”
“You know that’s not why we did it,” Devon said to his father, his look of humiliation raw and bleeding. “A kingdom isn’t a gift, Father. It must be earned. It’s what you would have done.”
The Elder King glared at him. “Keep telling yourself that, Son, if it makes you feel better. I didn’t rip Kingfountain out of Gervase’s hands like . . . like a scepter. I knew his health was failing. I could have driven him into his grave. But no. After he named me his heir, I agreed to remain the Duke of Westmarch until he died. I was patient, boy!” His lips quivered. He turned away, trying to control his raging emotions.
Ransom’s heart felt rent in two again, just like it had that night in Pree. He felt sorry for the king. He felt sorry for the brothers. The pain inside the family was immense.
“What are you going to do with us, Father?” Devon asked softly.
“I’m going to teach you . . . patience,” the Elder King growled. He turned around then, his eyes fierce once more. “You are hereby confined to the palace of Kingfountain. I revoke your authority to govern. Lord Kinghorn will rule in my absence as I continue to punish Lewis for his treachery. And you,” he said, glaring at Benedict, “will be confined to Dundrennan for a time. How long will depend on how quickly you learn your lesson. Your ally, Sir James, was discovered some time ago and confessed the scheme. I scarcely believed my wife was involved. I didn’t want to believe it.”
Benedict’s eyes widened with shock. “What will you do to her?” he demanded.
“I’ve prepared a nice, cozy tower—the tallest one—as her new quarters at the palace,” said the Elder King with a vengeful voice. “Yes, your mother will be imprisoned as well, and I swear on my soul that she will rot in that castle until her dying day. I believed both of my sons capable of such an act of perfidy.” His eyes were wet. “But not her. You turned her against me. I never want to see her face again.”