“Your Majesty,” said Calhoun, “it’s obvious this woman knows far more about the conspiracy than she’s letting on. It would be a mistake to let her leave so easily.”

“What I know is that there is no conspiracy,” said Margaret. “By all means, arrest me, if you’re prepared to bear the outcry that would follow.”

“If we hang one slave in three, no one will be asking around about you.” said Calhoun. “Now arrest her!”

This last order was flung at the soldiers standing at the door. At once they strode in and took Margaret by the arms.

“She’ll confess soon enough,” said Calhoun. “In treason cases, they always do.”

“I don’t like knowing about things like that,” said the King.

“Neither do I,” said another man’s voice. It took a moment for them to realize that it wasn’t one of the King’s advisers who spoke.

Instead, it was a tall man dressed like a workingman on holiday—clothes that were meant to be somewhat dressy, but succeeded only in looking vaguely pathetic and ill-fitting. And beside him, a half-Black boy two-thirds grown.

“How did you get in here!” cried several men at once. But the stranger answered not a word. He walked up to Margaret and kissed her gently on the lips. Then he looked steadily into the gaze of one of the soldiers holding her by the arm. Shuddering, he let go of her and backed away. So did the other soldier.

“Well, Margaret,” said the man, “it looks like I can’t leave you alone for a few minutes.”

“Who are you?” asked the King. “Her foreign-policy adviser?”

“I’m her husband, Alvin Smith.”

“It was thoughtful of you to show up just as we’ve arrested your wife. No doubt you’re part of the conspiracy as well. As for this Black boy—it’s not proper to bring your slave into the presence of the King, especially one too young to have been reliably trained.”

“I came here to try to keep you from making the mistake that will eventually take you off your throne,” said Margaret. “If you don’t heed the warning, then I at least am blameless.”

“Let’s get her out of here,” said Calhoun. “We’ve got hours of work ahead of us, and it’s obvious she needs to be interrogated as a member of the conspiracy. Her husband, too, and this child.”

Margaret and Alvin looked at each other and laughed. Arthur, on the other hand, was too busy gazing at the magnificence of the council room to care much about what was going on. He didn’t really notice the King until now, when Alvin pointed him out. “There you are, Arthur Stuart. That’s the man you were named for. The King of England, in exile in the Crown Colonies. Behold the majesty of the crownèd head.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” said Arthur Stuart to the King.

Calhoun’s outrage reached a new level. “You dare to mock the King in this fashion? Not to mention naming a Black child after him in the first place.”