“You are very kind, Sire,” Richenda murmured, dropping a deep curtsy and lowering her eyes once more.

“Ah—yes. Morgan, shall we go?”

“As you will, my prince.”

“A moment, Sire.”

Kelson turned to find the lady staring at him hopefully.

“Is there something else, my lady?”

Taking a deep breath, Richenda moved a few steps closer to him, her hands clasped nervously at her waist, then sank to her knees before him and bowed her head. Kelson glanced at Morgan in astonishment and question.

“Sire, grant me a boon, I beseech you.”

“A—a boon, my lady?”

Richenda raised her eyes to meet Kelson’s. “Yes, Sire. Permit me to go with you to Cardosa. Perhaps I can talk to Bran, persuade him to give up this folly—if not for me, then for our son.”

“Go with us to Cardosa?” Kelson echoed, casting Morgan a frantic plea for help. “My lady, that is not possible. An army is—no place for a woman of gentle birth. Nor would I expose you to the dangers of battle, even were suitable accommodations available. We are going to war, my lady!”

Richenda lowered her eyes but made no attempt to get to her feet. “I am aware of the problems, Sire, and I am willing to endure a few hardships. It is the only way that I can attempt to atone for my husband’s treason. Please, do not deny me, Sire.”

Kelson glanced at Morgan again for guidance, but the general would not look at him, was staring absorbedly at the parquet floor beneath his boots. For just an instant, Kelson had the fleeting, inexplicable impression that Morgan wanted him to acquiesce, though Morgan certainly had said nothing to indicate it. Kelson looked at Richenda again, kneeling quietly before him, then reached out his hands to take hers and raise her up. He would make one final attempt to dissuade her.

“My lady, you cannot know what you ask. It would not be seemly. For you to travel unchaperoned with an army…”

“I could travel under the protection of Bishop Cardiel,” she said earnestly. “Perhaps you were not aware of it, Sire, but Cardiel is my mother’s uncle. Under the circumstances, I think he would not object.”

“He is a fool, then,” Kelson murmured. He glanced aside, briefly considering, then up at the lady’s face with a resigned expression.

“Morgan, have you any major objections?”

“Only the usual ones, my prince,” Morgan said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “And the lady seems to have dispensed with those.”

Kelson sighed and then nodded. “Very well, my lady, I give you my leave to go, on the condition that Bishop Cardiel will consent. We leave at first light, but a few hours from now. Can you be ready?”

“Yes, Sire. Thank you.”

Kelson nodded. “Morgan will see to your accommodations.”

“As you wish, Sire.”

“Good night, then.”

With that, Kelson made her an awkward bow and swept out of the room, his now-forgotten dispatch crumpled in his fist. Morgan moved as though to follow him, but before he closed the door behind him, he turned to gaze once more at the white-clad lady standing in the moonlight. Richenda’s face was pale and drawn, but there was a look of determination on her face as she stood framed in the window. She lowered her eyes and made a slight bow as Morgan paused, but she would not look up to meet his eyes again.