“That I can’t tell you, sir, but those who are always there. That came with her from Caer Eidyn and will go with her to Castell Aur when the time comes.”

“I will go with her to Castell Aur,” said Alexander, who, until the exasperation of the moment, had never even considered it. Had never in fact considered the future at all, nothing beyond the delights of the present. If questioned, he would no doubt have admitted knowing that the affair with the lovely queen could not last for ever, that some day he must take horse and ride away – certainly not to the alleged confinements of Castell Aur – but he might ride, as she had hinted, in her service, before ordinary life resumed and he went on with his interrupted journey to Camelot …

He said sharply: “She said only this morning that I could be of service to her. If that is not being in her councils –”

“I am sorry.” The boy was beginning to look frightened. He was backed right up against the door, with the tall young prince looming over him, but he still kept his voice almost to a whisper, and this fact helped to bring it home to Alexander that Morgan’s servants could not easily be pushed into disobeying her. “I am sorry.” The boy repeated it breathlessly. “I cannot, lord, indeed I cannot! She said nothing about you to me and the others, and she – my lord, I dare not disobey! Perhaps – perhaps when you see her tomorrow you will ask her yourself?”

Alexander stood back. “I will do that. Calm yourself, I’m not angry. You’re only doing your duty. The queen must have forgotten to give you instructions. I’ll talk with her tomorrow. Good night.”

And, saving what dignity he could, he smiled at the boy, and made his way back to his lonely room, not much the wiser for the expedition, but soothed in one respect: the tale of urgent talks was true enough, not just a pretext to banish him from their bed. And she was certainly not alone with Ferlas.

Just as certainly, he would see her on the morrow, and find out what she had meant when she hinted at some service he could render her, and at the same time he would ask – insist on – what was apparently more important to her even than her lover: to be admitted to her court and councils.

He threw his clothes off, drank down the cordial Peter had left for him and then did what Morgan had intended him to do some hours ago, sank into a dreamless sleep.

The King’s guard, back at the royal bedchamber door, was whispering to his fellow.

“No. Not one of them. Young Gregory wouldn’t let him in. It’s my guess he has no idea.”

“As we thought. A damned shame, really.”

“He’ll get over it, and be the wiser for it.” A sly grin, that would have annoyed Alexander and amused Morgan. “And you can’t deny she’s a tasty dish.”