“She was not. She was sitting in the hall with our man, holding a kerchief to his head. The bloody blade at her side,” the man answered.

“Where is she now?”

“She is above. In…in…” the guard stammered.

“Spit it out, man,” Reginald said between his teeth.

“In the visitor’s lounge.”

Of course she was.

He made a move to leave and kept doing it even when another guard called, “Should we send a messenger to the Regent?”

“I will report this to him myself,” Reginald answered, not looking forward to that and turning to the steps, alighting them, and not wasting time on his way to the visitor’s lounge.

There were two guards outside it, both of whom stood straighter and dipped their chins when Reginald came to the door.

He opened it and entered.

Inside the room, a table sat, bolted to the floor, iron loops in it as well as in the stone of the floor on which to lock chains. There were also four chairs, one on one side, three far more comfortable ones on the other.

And in the one on the one side sat Horatia, a Lady Royal, one of the wives of a now-dead king.

She was facing the door.

She was not chained.

Behind her stood a single guard.

On the table in front of her was a pot of bloody tea and a cup with saucer.

She was still wearing her cloak, regardless that a fire had been lit in the small fireplace and the room was cozy warm.

And across the chest of her gown and cloak was a spray of blood.

Crikey.

Reginald came to stand opposite her.

“Lady Royal,” he greeted.

“Warden,” she returned.

“It seems you made some friends during your brief stay here,” he noted.

Her head only slightly tipped to the side.

But at first, she said nothing.

Then she asked, “Is the guard I struck going to be all right?”

She, personally, struck no guard.

Not delivering the power behind the clout he’d seen.

“He’s being taken to the infirmary,” he told her.

“I lamented that part of the proceedings. Please extend my apologies.”

There were, he knew, many things that made a lady.

Now, he knew one of them was a lady remaining a lady even after she committed murder.

He moved to the three chairs opposite her, pulled out the middle, and sat in it.

“It’s my understanding Prince Cassius provided you with a lovely manor to the south,” he remarked.

“I had occasion to return,” she murmured.

“Mm,” he hummed.

“I suppose I’ll occupy a different cell now,” she said.

“This is for the Regent, uh, that is to say…the king to decide.”

She inclined her head, but he did not fail to note a flash of gladness in her eyes when he had called Cassius their king.

Reginald sighed before he queried gently, “Do I need to ask why?”