There, against the gray of the far wall, just past the courtyard gate, he caught the flash of Kelson’s royal crimson, its gold-embroidered crest glittering in the sunlight. And at his side stalked a dark shadow topped by sleek golden hair, its long legs eating up the distance between them.

As the two mounted the steps to the west porch, Duncan felt the reassuring aura that almost always accompanied his illustrious cousin. He gave a sigh of relief as he stepped out to greet them.

“By Saint George and Saint Camber, it’s about time you got here,” Duncan stated, pulling Morgan and the prince back into the shadow of the doorway. “What took you so long? I was worried.”

“I’ll explain later,” Morgan said, peering anxiously down the clerestory aisle and into the nave. “Are you being watched?”

Duncan nodded. “I’m afraid so. There’ve been queen’s guardsmen in the basilica every day since Brion’s burial. I don’t think they suspect me, though. I am Kelson’s confessor, and they may just have guessed you’d come here first.”

Morgan turned back to Duncan and Kelson, and sighed. “Well, I hope you’re right. Because if they do have any inkling you’re functioning in any other than your official capacity, we’re all dead.”

“Then let’s keep up the façade,” Duncan said, scooping up his empty bottle and motioning them to follow him down the side aisle. “If anyone stops us, you’ve come to make confession and receive the Sacrament before your trial. I don’t think they’d interfere with that.”

“I hope you’re right.”

As they walked slowly down the aisle, Morgan tried to scan the worshippers without appearing too obtrusive. Duncan had definitely been right about the queen’s guardsmen. He saw at least three or four among the faithful. And judging from the way they looked at him, it was not an excess of piety or devotion that had brought them to Saint Hilary’s so regularly for the past week.

The three paused at the end of the aisle to bow respectfully before the high altar, and Morgan tried hard to keep the proper look of contrition on his face for the benefit of his observers. Evidently he was sufficiently convincing, for no one made an effort to stop them as they slipped out through a side door.

When they reached the privacy of Duncan’s study, Morgan slid the bolt home with a reassuring clink of metal against metal. As Duncan crossed the room to get rid of his bottle, Morgan allowed himself to once again take in the familiar surroundings.