“And when my usefulness runs out?”
Geoffrey didn’t answer immediately. “Then we hope circumstances change before the balance shifts too far,” he said finally. “Or we prevent it from shifting at all.”
Not reassuring exactly, but honest.
His gaze moved briefly over my new clothing.
“You look less conspicuous,” he said carefully. “The color suits you.”
The words emerged matter-of-factly, almost absentmindedly, as though he’d commented on weather or military positioning rather than my appearance. A second later he seemed to realize what he’d actually said and redirected his attention firmly toward the tray in his hands.
Interesting.
“The Magna Carta succeeds,” I said, mostly to redirect both of us. “King John signs it at Runnymede on June fifteenth. The charter survives long enough to establish the principle that a monarch is bound by law, even if later political instability complicates things.”
“That knowledge terrifies my father,” Geoffrey said quietly. “Do you understand why? He’s spent his entire life believing power comes from force.”
“But not you?”
“I’ve spent years studying strategy,” he replied. “Strategy eventually teaches you that force alone rarely sustains anything. If power depended only on violence, the most brutal man would always win. Usually he doesn’t. Something else stabilizes power eventually. Law. Agreement. Systems people accept.”
I stared at him.
“Medieval political philosophy,” I said. “I genuinely wasn’t expecting that from a man who locked me in a tower.”
“And I wasn’t expecting philosophical debates from a woman who fell through time and threatened to destabilize reality,” Geoffrey replied dryly. “Yet here we are.”
He left shortly afterward, abandoning me with a considerably better meal than the one I’d received as a prisoner.
I sat on the feather mattress afterward and allowed myself a small private moment of gratitude. It wasn’t freedom but it was survival. At the moment, that seemed close enough.
Aldwin arrived the following morning carrying hostility like another weapon. “You’ve convinced my father to keep you alive,” he said without greeting. “That makes you either extremely clever or extremely useful. I’m here to determine which.”
“I’m both,” I replied before I could reconsider. “And genuinely from the future, which opens several exciting strategic possibilities for your family.”
“Or you’re a gifted liar with a convincing story.” Aldwin leaned casually against the window frame in a posture so deliberately relaxed it practically announced violence underneath. “Tell me something only a woman from the future could know.”
I considered carefully. Too specific sounded prophetic. Too vague sounded fraudulent.
“In about forty years,” I said slowly, “there will be a king named Henry. He’ll have several children, and there will be conflicts surrounding succession. Eventually one of his sons becomes remembered as one of the greatest kings in English history.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll be competent,” I said simply. “Intelligent. Effective. He’ll strengthen systems of law and governance instead of relying entirely on warfare.”
Aldwin absorbed that silently.
“If you’re lying,” he said at last, “I’ll kill you myself. I don’t care what my father believes or what Geoffrey wants. I’ll cut your throat while you sleep and tell everyone you attempted escape.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He pushed away from the window. “You’re treating this like some grand adventure. But this is real. Death is real. And if you’ve manipulated my father into sparing you through deception, I will end it personally.”
He left without another word.
I sat very still afterward thinking about the fact that the man most likely to murder me had also been the most honest person in the castle.
I still had absolutely no idea what to do with that realization.
