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She waited until the door closed behind her cousin before turning back the way she had come. Descending the stairs quickly, she crossed the inner courtyard to the south tower. A maid exited, a large pitcher of water in her hands. Rhiannon hurried to catch her.

“I am looking for the king,” she said. “Do you know where I might find him?”

The maid bobbed a curtsy. “I believe he and Prince Hywel are with Prince Cadell, miss. In the solar.”

Rhiannon glanced upward. The solar was located on the top floor of the tower and comprised Deheubarth’s royal family’s living quarters. Since the solar was far enough removed from the rest of the castle to provide a modicum of privacy, it was not surprising that the men had chosen to meet there. “I thank you,” Rhiannon said.

The maid bobbed another curtsy and hastened away.

Rhiannon entered the tower and started up the stairs, her anxiety mounting with each step. Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls, announcing her arrival before she passed through the archway at the top. Two guards stood at attention on either side of a heavy wooden door. Her heart sank. She’d known it would take skillful negotiation to persuade the king to grant her an audience; she’d not considered that she may be prevented from getting word to him in the first place.

Running her sweating palms down the sides of her gown, she squared her shoulders and raised her head. The guards were watching her.

“Good day,” she said, approaching with more confidence than she felt.

Both guards bowed.

“I am here to speak with Owain Gwynedd.”

The older guard did not flinch. “The king is currently unavailable.”

“Then I will speak with Prince Hywel,” Rhiannon said.

“I fear he too is unavailable.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath and attempted to keep her voice even. “Mayhap you do not understand. I am not requesting admittance. I am telling you that I must be admitted immediately.”

The younger guard shifted nervously, but the older one appeared unperturbed.

“I beg your pardon, miss, but we were told to admit no one.”

“Your name?”

“Tudur, miss.”

“Very well, Tudur. I would have you know that I am not here to cause you to needlessly break rules. Indeed, if my conscience would allow it, I would not be here at all. As it is, no matter my discomfort or yours, I must relay certain vital information to the king directly.”

Somewhere below, a door creaked and footsteps sounded on the stairs. A man’s low voice echoed through the stairwell.

“The servants know nothing. I shall discover what the king is about myself.”

Rhiannon’s breath caught. Cadwgan. And he was not alone. She scoured the antechamber. Window slits allowed in light but were too narrow to hide her. The only door was the one behind the guards, leading to the solar. Two elaborately carved chairs leaned against one wall and were the only furnishings in the small room. In short, there was nowhere that offered any measure of concealment.

Cadwgan appeared, his retainer, Madoc, at his rear. Rhiannon suppressed a shudder. There was something about the short man that scared her. The lack of light in his eyes reminded her of the Viking who had killed her father.

“Well met, Rhiannon.” Cadwgan’s wariness was chilling.

She forced a smile. “Indeed. Had I known you intended to visit the south tower also, I would have crossed the courtyard with you.” In truth, she would have avoided the place altogether, but she hoped God would forgive her for the fabrication, given the circumstances.

“Why are you here?” Cadwgan asked.

“To speak with Hywel. I thought he may wish to know what we saw at the market.” That, at least, was partially true.

“Was there something in particular that you thought might interest him?” Suspicion lingered in his eyes.

“The honey.” The moment the words tumbled out of her mouth, she regretted them. She’d used the children’s purchase of honey the last time she’d been scrambling for an excuse. Warmth crept up her neck, and she silently prayed it would not flood her face. “Honey has been a great favorite of Hywel’s ever since he was young. I remember once, when I was visiting the llys with my mother, that I came upon him in the corner of the stables, eating it by the spoonful out of a jar.”

Cadwgan eyed her strangely, and she shut her mouth. She was babbling. Barely resisting the urge to run her damp hands down the sides of her gown again, she attempted another smile.