“There is a process for such things, My Lord,” the steward began, but before he could continue, Prince Lachlan came hurrying into view, his expression strained.
“Lord Percival, Lord Heath,” he said, drawing up in surprise at the sight of the two brothers, one visibly battered. “Is all well? I was told there was a dragon in the courtyard.”
“That was just Rekavidur,” said Heath quickly. “He’s gone now, and he meant no harm, Your Highness.”
“Which is more than I can say of your father,” muttered Percival.
Heath drew in an involuntary hiss of air through his teeth, and Prince Lachlan turned with terrible calm toward Percival.
“What did you say, Lord Percival?”
The look on his face sent a chill down Heath’s spine, but Percival seemed to have lost what little control he had.
“I was attacked,” Percival said, his voice far too loud in the public entryway. “Attacked on my ride here by royal guards poorly disguised as bandits. I saw their uniforms! And I was only coming because I received a summons from the king’s Chief Counselor!”
Prince Lachlan stood frozen, shock breaking through his usual impenetrable mask. Slowly, inevitably, the shock gave way to growing anger.
“What exactly are you implying?”
“It’s not enough to muzzle us, is it?” Percival raged. “You have to actually remove us before you can feel secure!”
“Percival,” pleaded Heath. “Please stop. This isn’t the way to go about it.”
“How dare you?” growled Prince Lachlan, disregarding Heath. He took a step toward Percival, but then froze as a firm voice rang across the space.
“Is there a problem, My Lords?”
Everyone whipped around. King Matlock was standing on the other side of the entrance hall, framed by a giant tapestry in Valorian purple and silver. Heath swallowed. The king’s expression was outwardly calm, but he knew inexplicably that fury was bubbling below the surface.
No one answered the king, even Percival apparently sobered by the sovereign’s commanding presence, at least temporarily.
“Let us discuss the matter more privately,” said King Matlock, and it was not a request. Miserably, Heath followed the king into a small audience chamber, Percival at his side. Prince Lachlan came as well, along with four of the king’s personal guards.
“What is the meaning of this ruckus, My Lords?” the king asked coldly, as soon as the door was closed behind them.
With an icy fury to match the king’s, Percival told his tale again.
King Matlock raised an eyebrow, not even pretending to show solicitude for the attack on a member of his court.
“No member of my royal guard would participate in such conduct, Lord Percival. And I have not sent any guards on an errand along the eastern highway. You should take great care before making such wild accusations. I will not tolerate rabble-rousing.”
“I know what I saw,” said Percival stubbornly.
“And what of you, Lord Heath?” the king asked, submerged danger in his tone. “Did you see any indication that the men were royal guards?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Heath said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Heath!” Percival roared.
“Well, I didn’t,” Heath reminded him. He turned back to the king. “I was with Rekavidur, Your Majesty, so the men fled as soon as we arrived. I didn’t get a good look at any of them.”
“So you have nothing to add to your brother’s report?”
Under the king’s raised eyebrow, Heath hesitated. He could feel Percival’s eyes on him, and sense his brother’s rising tension. But Percival should have more faith in him. He would never make a half-hearted accusation against unnamed magic users without proof. Especially when tensions were so high.
“No, Your Majesty,” he said quietly.
Something flashed in the king’s eyes, and Heath took an involuntary step back.