Joan wanted to dismiss her cousin’s concerns, but she knew she could not. Margaret was right. Alex was far too observant—and smart for that matter. And although she would like to say she was being careful, their growing closeness was causing her to relax her guard and make mistakes. She couldn’t believe she’d referred to the wyvern as a dragon. Good thing she remembered the sword inscription. And then there was his questioning about her bracelet, not to mention Alice’s sudden appearance to demand her magic sleeping powder. Joan feared she’d lost every bit of blood in her face when her cousin mentioned it.

Joan didn’t think he’d made the connection, but she never should have given Alice that powder. Of everything she’d done in the name of helping Bruce’s cause, drugging Alex—accidentally or not—shamed her the most. She dreaded his ever finding out about it.

But to Margaret’s point, she nodded. “I’ll try.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Tell him the truth.”

Whatever it was her cousin thought she was going to say, it was not that. Margaret stopped just outside the entrance to the Hall and pulled her aside, away from the steady stream of mostly soldiers entering the Hall.

Margaret looked around to make sure no one could overhear and said in a low voice, “Are you sure that is wise? You are giving him a very big sword to hang over your head. Can you trust him?”

“With my life.” She would need to.

“And what about what you are doing?” Margaret asked.

Joan knew to what she referred. “I will continue as long as I am needed, hopefully with help.”

It took Margaret a moment to understand that she meant Alex turning back to Bruce. Her eyes grew as round as two large coins. “Do you think that is possible?”

Joan answered truthfully. “I don’t know. But I hope so.” Her future happiness depended on it.

“What are you two whispering about again?” Alice said, breaking away from a few of the ladies she was walking with to come up to them with a sharp stomp of impatience. “I swear, everyone is being so secretive lately, I shall be glad when this war is finally over.”

On that they could agree, although Joan was dreading watching Alex ride away. What did they have, a few days? Four . . . five at the most? She felt a sharp pinch in her chest. Could she convince him by then or would she watch him leave, knowing that it was over?