In the end, he supposed, it really was quite mundane as that. And so he held Edward’s gaze and lowered himself, touching his right knee to the cold stone floor. At the slight lift of Edward’s brow, Ranulf hesitated only a moment, looking straight ahead and considering the richness of the ermine trim on Edward’s surcoat for the length of a breath, until he could feel the royal impatience prickling along his skin. Then he lowered his head, stared at the floor, and waited. He could hear the echoing whispers of others, no doubt standing just out of sight and wondering, just as he was, what Edward would do to him. He was visited by the sudden memory of sitting across from Edward on a hot and dusty day in Sicily, when Edward was still weak from a wound. They had just learned the old king had died, and Ranulf had been urging him to return to England with all haste, lest Robert Burnell could not be trusted. Burnell will act in my interest, Edward had said with an ease born of absolute confidence. Then he had clasped his hand on Ranulf’s shoulder. I know which men I can trust.

How flattered he had felt then, how fortunate. But also – how like a prized pet. Like a gyrfalcon, he must prove an obedient hunter or else risk the displeasure of the king. Now he waited on bended knee for judgment. Just as he began to wonder if he should say something, and to curse himself for not having prepared some pretty speech, he finally heard Edward’s footsteps coming toward him swiftly, decisively closing the little distance between them. The king held his hands out, and without thinking Ranulf reached up and grasped them in his own.

He tried to think of proper words, humble words, but they would not come to his mind. Instead, he heard himself saying, “My liege, it troubles me not to lose the favor of my king, if you tell me I have not lost the love of my friend.” He dared to raise his eyes to Edward now, looking up from their clasped hands.

“Alas, Sir Ranulf,” he answered quietly, “your king and your friend share the same heart. You cannot leave one without losing the other.” His look had a calculated distance in it that, while alarming, put Ranulf on surer ground. He was not forgiven, but he was equally not condemned. This was King Edward playing the wise judge, not Edward his friend who wanted to boast of battles won and women wooed. Indeed, he had seen little of the friend since the crown had been set on Edward’s head.

“Have I lost my friend, then?”

“Have you abandoned your king?”