Later he would speak to Rhys and ask the bard to compose verses about how Rhodri need not have met such an end had he accepted Norman rule. Gryff felt no sympathy for his bastard brother, but he could not deny it was tragic that Rhodri had spent his life in resentment because he clung to a dead tradition. It was Gryff’s duty to make sure his people understood that they must adapt if they were to survive.

Lady Margaret expressed horror when she was told of it that evening, and wondered if they should not be wed until the new year.

“What if others who wish you harm are among the guests?” she asked, and Gryff struggled to hide his amusement at this obviously manufactured concern. There was too much hope in her at the idea of postponement, just as there had been far too much difficulty in choosing a date.

He looked at her, so demure and colorless, overwhelmed by the stone walls of this place that she was meant to call home. Never would she slay an enemy. She was a lady, with all the docile virtues praised in courtly songs.

It suddenly seemed a great sin to give his people a puppet for a prince, and this subdued woman for their lady. She was perfectly acceptable, but not more than that. She would have pity for the Welsh, but she would never understand them or the deprivation they suffered. What children she gave him would be like her: dutiful and timid, removed and restrained. She could not teach them how to be fierce in defense of what they loved, nor how to survive unspeakable hardship. Never would she dare to tell him he was wrong, or move closer to his side when danger threatened.

There had been another wound just under Rhodri’s ribcage, made by a long blade that would have reached his heart, as though she would not leave anything to chance. Now he looked at the blade he held, the one she had left behind. Short, sharp, wicked. Only a day ago – hours – it had been on her arm and felt the beat of her pulse.

She should be in France. But instead she was here. For him.

“I will not marry you,” he said, the words spoken before he had even realized his intention. He did not let himself think of the consequences. He did not care. “Forgive me. I will not.”

Lady Margaret blinked first in incomprehension, then stared at him in astonishment – and he realized it was the first time he had seen a frank reaction from her. She lowered her head slightly as though to hide it, and bid her ladies leave them. They hurried out of the room, leaving him alone with her.

“Have I so displeased you, my lord, that you will renounce the promise you have made to my father and our king?”