At the main entrance to the inner sanctuary, candles blazed and illuminated the pinched face of the page huddled near the wall. The sapling’s eyes grew wide and Grey followed the man’s gaze.
The scene froze his blood. His breath caught, and then released on a rush of disbelief. Cursing his mistake, he checked the faces, but none appeared to have heard his noisy exhalation.
The king reclined on his bed against a mound of pillows. Grey hadn’t seen the king in two years, but he did not look like himself. And age wasn’t to blame. His hair was cropped short, his face pale and the bones there too sharp and protruding as if a great amount of flesh had recently been lost.
Grey glanced further down the king’s body and a wave of nausea washed over him. Notched bowls surrounded His Majesty’s naked upper torso to catch the lines of crimson that trickled down his thin arms. The king jerked when the white-haired man standing over him pressed something silver to His Majesty’s arm. One of the wooden bowls tipped and a crimson stain seeped across the ivory sheet.
The page sprang forward from the wall, but stopped as the king’s eyes opened and pinned him. “Leave it. You can clean me up like a shiny coin when Sir Walter is finished.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The king’s answer was a ragged breath that filled Grey’s ears. The man beside the king had paused, his hand suspended in the air, and with his wild white hair and menacing tool he looked like a mad man. Yet the king must trust him. “Proceed, Sir Walter,” His Majesty commanded.
The man bent over the king for some time and when he rose, beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Bile filled Grey’s mouth. Puckered skin littered His Majesty’s arms and pulsed blood from the dozens of small punctures wounds. Grey had seen enough. He moved away from the door, along the wall and back to the audience chamber where he sat to wait for the king to admit him.
This time, Grey would wait without complaint. Any man who endured a bloodletting such as the king just had without so much as a whimper deserved more than the respect demanded by his title. The king had just won Grey’s respect as a man.
Not more than an hour later, the oak door to the bedchamber flung wide open and Sir Walter shuffled out followed by the page, Peter, and the two stony-faced guards Grey had met the day before. The tallest of the two guards stopped in front of Grey as everyone else quietly left the room. “His Majesty says you may enter now.”
Grey narrowed his eyes at the unexpected words. He hadn’t been announced. Had the king finally remembered him or had someone seen him lurking at the door? He didn’t think it was the latter, but he’d soon find out. He rose and followed the guard into the king’s bedchambers, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the fetid stench of oozing wounds. He forced deep breaths to accustom himself to the acrid smell of blood lingering all around him.
By the time he stood in front of the king, Grey had himself under control. He dropped to his knee by the king’s feet and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“Rise, Lord Grey.”
Grey stood and had to look down to meet the king’s gaze. His Majesty sat in a high-backed wooden chair clothed in robes of dark green, which enhanced the thinness and paleness of his face. His faded, yellowed eyes locked on Grey. “On second thought, sit here.” He waved a hand toward another high-backed chair that faced him. “I don’t like to look up to anyone.” A slight smile spread across the king’s gaunt face, and Grey could almost recall the vibrant man who he had last seen two years ago when the king had stopped to lodge at their house on the way back to Windsor.
Grey settled into the uncomfortable chair. “You bid me to see you before I started my duties as equerry, Your Majesty.”
“I did. And I’m pleased to know you do not disappoint. You arrived precisely when I told you to, sat all day yesterday and waited patiently today while I was preoccupied. And you did not even blink to see me in such a state.”
“You saw me at the door?”
“Only because I was watching for you. If you are to work for me you must thrive on danger. You proved you do by approaching my door uninvited.”
Grey stared at the king, trying to work through his maze of words. Work for His Majesty? He supposed even though he would be directly reporting to Lord Pearson every British subject technically worked for the king. Yet still… “As your subject, of course.”
“No, Grey.”
Grey narrowed his eyes at the king’s unexpected familiarity. What was going on? He felt as he often did when stumbling upon Edward and Father in conversation—lost as to the true nature of the talk. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Yes. I know. Forgive me. Let us start from the beginning. Pearson does not need an equerry.”
There it was again—the king had slipped into familiarity. Unpardonable to question or comment though. “He doesn’t?” Grey asked, settling on the matter which he could address.
“No. He doesn’t. Pearson, your father, your brother and the others need another man to join their ranks. As do I. Pearson was a ruse I required as the offer can come from no one but me.” The king leaned over and picked up a small, rectangular, gilded box off the table. On the lid a silver circle had been engraved. “Do you know what’s in this box, Grey?”
Was this a trick question? Was he supposed to know? Hell, all of a sudden he wished he’d spent more time listening to all the boring tutors his father had hired to teach him and less time dreaming of his next scheme to win his father’s attention. It hadn’t worked, anyway. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I don’t.”
“Your future, if you so choose, is in this box. Never let it be said you had no choice. You do. This moment is your choice. Your father and your brother recommend you to me, and they both say you are more than ready. I’m told you’re already trained in many of the things you’ll need to know.”
Grey didn’t know what the hell the king was talking about. He hadn’t put any stock in the whispers that the king had certain spells, but maybe the whispers were correct. But remaining silent was the wisest option.
With bony fingers, the king released the latch that secured the lid of the box. The lid opened with a creak. He withdrew a silver ring and handed it to Grey. Grey rubbed his finger over the smooth surface of the silver. Six small, red stones, only noticeable when the ring was held up close, were set evenly around the ring. “My father has a ring that has six stones in it,” Grey said. He’d always wondered what the six stones had stood for, and his father’s flimsy explanation had never seemed believable to him. His pulse picked up in pace once again.
“Yes. He would.”
“And my brother.” Grey gripped the ring in his now sweating palm. “The rings are only similar in the number of stones. Yet still, I can’t help but think there’s more to the similarity.”
