At the head of the table, Jehana sat very quietly, trying to appear more composed than she felt. From time to time, she glanced down at the pale hands folded in her lap and fingered a wide, ornate gold band on her left hand.

Mostly, though, she was trying to ignore the entreaties of Bishop Arilan, to her right. She knew, from long experience, that the young prelate could be extremely persuasive, especially when he had a favorite cause to espouse. And he had made it pointedly clear where his loyalties lay during the voting earlier. Indeed, there had been few Morgan supporters more enthusiastic or vehement.

As Kelson entered the room, followed by Loris and his guards, all discussion came to an abrupt halt. Those who were not already on their feet rose respectfully and bowed as Kelson passed, and all others hurriedly found their places. Kelson took his place at the foot of the table beside his uncle Nigel, while Loris crossed slowly toward Jehana.

But neither Kelson nor Loris was to receive the major share of the attention today. For as Morgan entered, flanked by four of Loris’s guardsmen, all eyes shifted immediately to follow his progress across the chamber. There were whispers and low-voiced discussions as they realized he was bound, and they exchanged suspicious glances as Morgan was placed to the right of and slightly behind Kelson’s chair. The young king’s face was grim as he sat down.

As the assembly took their seats, Loris bowed before Jehana, then placed the queen’s writ on the table before her. Its pendant seals tapped hollowly against the tabletop—the only sound in the still room.

“Your Majesty, I have served the Council’s writ and procured the prisoner as you commanded,” Loris said. He turned to an aide and took Morgan’s sword. “I now present the prisoner’s sword, as proof of his surrender to the just summons of the—”

“Archbishop!” Kelson’s voice rang out in the hushed chamber.

Loris froze, then turned slowly toward Kelson, and all eyes followed. Kelson had risen to his feet.

“Your Highness?” Loris replied warily.

“You will bring the sword to me, Archbishop,” Kelson said steadily. “General Morgan is my prisoner.”

Kelson’s voice had taken on that crack of command that had been so much his father’s trademark, and just for an instant, Loris started to obey. Then he recovered and cleared his throat nervously.

“Your Majesty?” he questioned, turning to Jehana for support.

Jehana looked sharply at her son. “Kelson, if you think—”

“His Excellency will bring the sword to me, Mother,” Kelson interrupted. “By law and custom, it is my right. I am still head of this Council, if only in name.”

“Very well,” Jehana said, her eyes flashing angrily, “but that won’t save him, you know.”

“We shall see,” Kelson said neutrally, taking his seat.