I Swore to Kill the Prince I Guard novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Behind the Chair
In the Privy Council the Chancellor praises his boy, Piers jokes, and the prince sends his guard on a public errand that is a dare; Basil asks how Thursday went before anyone said it was Thursday.
By morning the dead man was gone and the stone floor was scrubbed.
Evander stood behind the prince's chair in the Privy Council chamber with his hands clasped at his back.
He hadn't slept.
His lip had scabbed, and every time he swallowed he tasted Florian.
Florian sat at the long table in dove-grey velvet, with a high collar that hid the cut on his throat.
His round spectacles were back on his nose.
He listened to the Master of Coin with polite, thinly veiled boredom.
When he lifted a hand to turn a page, his sleeve slid back and showed the ink on his fingers.
Those fingers had been in Evander's hair six hours ago.
Evander looked at the far wall.
"An intruder in the east wing," said the Chancellor, in his warm slow voice.
"Killed by Sir Evander before he reached His Highness."
Murmurs went down the table.
Lord Basil Thorngate sat at the prince's right hand, silver-bearded and soft-eyed, in black robes with the gold chain of his office.
He turned in his chair and smiled up at Evander.
"Our boy," he said.
"Eight years ago I carried him out of the ashes myself, and now he repays the Crown with his sword."
Evander bowed because he didn't know what else to do.
His throat burned.
It was true, as far as it went.
Basil had found him in a ditch outside Rask Hold on the third day, black to the elbows from digging.
The old man had sat down in the mud beside him and said nothing for an hour.
No one else had come.
"Sir Evander has the thanks of the Crown," Florian said mildly.
"Sir Evander, I need Halden's Annals of the Border Forts.
"Third shelf, west window, the green binding.
"Would you?"
It was a page's errand, and the whole council knew it.
Piers Fitzalan, standing at the end of the wall in guard blue, raised one brow at Evander.
Evander crossed the chamber, found the book, and carried it back.
He set it by Florian's elbow.
Florian didn't look up.
His fingers slid over the back of Evander's hand where it lay on the green leather, one small stroke, and moved on.
It was over before anyone could have seen.
Evander's whole arm lit.
"Thank you, Sir Evander," said the prince.
"That will be all."
Evander went back to his place behind the chair while the Master of Coin droned on about grain.
"Frostmere," the Chancellor said at last.
"The Thaw Hunt, Your Highness.
"The lodge has been aired, and we ride in nine days.
"Your father cannot sit a horse, and the court will want to see his heir in the saddle."
Florian turned a page.
"I hate the cold," he said.
"You will love the venison," said the Chancellor.
Piers coughed into his fist, and Evander knew it was a laugh.
"Sir Evander will attend you, naturally," said the Chancellor.
"He sleeps across your door as it is."
"Naturally," said Florian, very dry.
Evander stared at the back of the prince's head.
A curl lay against his collar, and Evander wanted to put his mouth to it.
It frightened him how simple the wanting was.
He had planned for eight years to use the blade.
He had never planned for this.
When the council rose, he held the door.
Lords filed past, bowing to the prince and nodding to him.
Piers fell in beside him for a step and murmured, "He sent you for a book, you great plank.
"There were three pages standing right there."
"He wanted the book."
"He wanted you to carry something," said Piers, and his grin was so knowing that Evander wished the floor would swallow him.
Then Piers went off down the corridor whistling.
A hand closed on Evander's arm.
"My boy."
The Chancellor drew him into a window niche and laid his soft hands on both his shoulders.
His eyes were wet.
"You must forgive an old man.
"I lay awake all night, thinking how near it was.
"How very near."
"It's done, my lord."
"Is it?"
Basil studied him.
His brown eyes were kind, and they had been kind to Evander every week for eight years.
Evander had never once doubted them.
"I worry for you," Basil said.
"I always do.
"Thursday passed quietly, then?"
The corridor was warm, and snow whispered at the window.
Evander had told Basil his whole oath once, at Maren's grave, with the ashes of his family still on his boots.
But he had never told anyone which night he would try.
He had told no one he would do it on a Thursday.
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