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Beg.

Negotiate.

That seemed the best chance, I needed to negotiate my ass off.

We climbed spiraling steps. And then went down another corridor, passing men who eyed me like I was a feast. Then there was a door with guards on both sides. They stood straighter as Niall grunted at them, and opened the heavy door, stepping aside.

I walked in on unsteady legs, with a hollow ache of hunger, and my mouth dry. It was hard to think and I was very frightened — in no condition to be a star negotiator.

The king’s solar was larger than Niall’s chamber, lit by a double high window and because the day was growing long, two standing candles. The air smelled of smoke, damp stone, and a bit of body odor with the faint metallic tang of weapons.

Robert the Bruce sat behind a long table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. Douglas stood to his right, arms folded, watching me with that same hard, measuring stare.

Between them, spread across the table top, were all of our things.

The hard case. Still closed. Torin’s weapons and his uniform coat. The bags from the horse. The first aid kit. And then the messenger bag we had found near the Extraction Point. A small pile of modern pens, how had we gained so many? And a few other small objects that should have been private. Everything laid out neatly, like evidence.

My stomach tightened.

The king looked up.

“Lady Alexandria,” he said, “glad ye could join us.”

He watched me intently as my eyes swept over our things, and one thing was becoming very apparent — there was no explanation for it: plastic, electronics, metal worked in ways that would be unheard of, the spiral on a notebook, a zipper. The Velcro on the first aid kit. It was exceedingly modern. I couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t.

I was at a loss for words.

The king said, “I want ye tae tell us who ye are.”

My mind raced. Who was I?

Until a short time ago I had been Lexi of North Carolina, an American, I had lost my parents in a tragic accident. I had a nice house called Laurel Ridge, built by my grandfather.

But now I was Alexandria, Princess of Riaghalbane. The long lost princess, now found, my kingdom regained, my brother ascending to the throne.

Had he already?

Man, I hoped he was okay.

I had a flash of a memory of his face, pale with blood loss, Charlie, injured too, gravely.

I gulped.

Thinking of blood and wounds and Torin’s shoulder, my eyes rested on the first aid kit. Of all the things on this table, this was the most important. If I was negotiating with the King of Scots for my husband, I had to make sure that the first aid kit remained mine.

The king said, “I’m waiting.”

“What did you um… what did you say you wanted to know?”

“The truth about who ye are.”

“I am not aligned in any way with the English, I promise you that, and⁠—

The door behind me opened again with a heavy scrape.

I heard Torin bellowing from the corridor outside. I turned to see two guards drag him in. His wrists were bound in front of him. One eye was darkening into a bruise, there was a split at the corner of his mouth, and a thin line of dried blood ran from his hairline down past his temple. He looked pale and rough, the wound in his shoulder clearly aggravated. When the guards forced him forward he staggered once before catching himself.

I gasped, “Torin⁠—!”