The council chamber door stands ajar. Light spills into the corridor. Voices—low, strained.
I pause only briefly before stepping inside.
Charles stands near the table, one hand braced against its edge. Maps lie scattered beneath his palm, stones and markers littering the table. His hair has come loose from its binding, his face drawn tight with fury or fatigue, I cannot tell.
Aynhard stands near the doorway, silent, watchful.
Charles looks up sharply. Relief flickers across his face—but falters when he sees me.
“Fastrada,” he says. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”
I swallow hard. My mouth feels dry, useless.
“I need to speak with you,” I say. “Now.”
Charles glances at Aynhard.
“Stay,” he orders. Then, to me, softer: “What is it?”
I step closer, forcing myself not to flinch when his attention sharpens fully upon me.
“Why,” I ask, voice breaking despite my effort, “would you wish to hurt me?”
The question is loud, and there is a sharp intake of air from Aynhard as if he wishes to speak. Charles raises a hand toward his companion, silencing him.
He stares at me as if I’ve spoken in a foreign tongue.
“Hurt you?” He laughs, sharp and incredulous. “What are you talking about?”
I curl my hands into the folds of my cloak.
“You tell me.”
Confusion creases his brow. Offense follows quickly behind it, dark and quick.
“I havenevermeant to harm you,” he says. “Never. Not once.”
Liar.
“Why was Tassilo’s attacker rewarded with newly minted coins, Charles?” I whisper.
His breath quickens. He begins to pace, boots striking the stone with increasing force.
“After everything I have done,” he says, voice rising, “everything I have given you! I brought you into my house. I made you queen. I shielded you from men who would have torn you apart for less than your name!”
He gestures sharply toward the maps. “I am surrounded by enemies—Saxons who spit on God, nobles who smile and sharpen knives behind my back, a pope who watches me as though I am already fallen!”
He turns back to me, eyes burning. “And now this—this poison in your thoughts!”
“I am afraid,” I say, the truth spilling out before I can stop it.
That is the moment his fear answers mine.
His voice drops, dangerously low. “Of what?”
I made a mistake by coming here.
I cannot answer.
