Thaw was sudden. A scapegoat had been found.

The relief from William’s death had been underwhelming and careened the remaining courtiers down a steep hill of distrust of one another and of Katherine, because even if the assassin himself was killed, the fact that a courtier had been ordered to death by another, as nobody believed Katherine to be the brain behind this operation, meant that all of their lives were in one another’s hands. This was a reality that especially prominent vassals and advisers were not willing to accept.

Nobody admitted to ordering it. Nobody admitted to the partisan belief that Lord William had deserved his fate.

It was now far simpler: Walter was associated with William, and therefore held some suspicious history, and he was a favourite, which was a group of courtiers that was universally despised by the others. Condemning him was not challenging.

Yet, this time, Katherine did not give the word, and in house arrest, Walter remained for weeks, though each council increased the pressure on the queen to relent one of her lovers.

She was more concerned with Henry’s health, and often came by his quarters. One of these instances, when Katherine had found a moment to check on her injured knight, she found herself standing behind his squire, who was observing the physician as he put a fragrant ointment on Henry’s upper back, where a wound was slowly withering into the shape of a stitched scar.

There was no herald to announce her, and so an awkward shuffle and the scraping of her throat would suffice.

The squire turned and ducked out of Katherine’s sight. ‘My apologies, Your Majesty.’

Katherine looked over at the squire, who had a youthful face and was of short stature, but did not appear to be an adolescent boy. ‘Say, have we met?’ she asked. ‘I don’t recall Henry having a woman as a squire.’

‘No, Your Majesty,’ she said.

Katherine chuckled. ‘You needn’t call me Your Majesty twice, please. Very distracting, lady…’

‘Lady Jamesina, my lady,’ she said, and curtsied awkwardly in the men’s clothing she was wearing, ‘Or just Jaime anywhere but at court.’

‘I see…’ said Katherine, and then disregarded her completely in favour of Henry, who was lying on his stomach and hissing with the pain of the ointment. ‘Your back is looking better.’

‘It doesn’t feel better,’ Henry mumbled, scrunching the feathers of his pillow in his closed fist.

The physician’s gaze was blank, and Katherine tried to peer into his blue eyes, trying to gage how badly he was still doing. ‘Surely you are on the way back to health,’ she said. ‘You’ll be good as new when that gash closes properly.’

‘If they stop feeding me just broth and bread, it may go faster,’ he complained.

Softly, Katherine landed her hand on his shoulder, tracing his shoulder blade as far away from the wound as he could. ‘I would be very concerned if you ceased to complain about whatever food given to you. I’m sure the physician has your best interests in mind.’

‘Would a bit of meat hurt?’ he asked.

Katherine looked at the physician, who was shocked to be addressed at all, even soundlessly by her. He nodded uncomfortably and Katherine sighed: ‘Yes, it would.’

‘God damn it,’ said Henry. ‘That boy really does deserve to burn.’

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To hear such a thing from Henry of all people rattled Katherine greatly. That night, when a servant girl was brushing out her hair, she gazed out of the window into the moonlit night, while Norbury Lake proper shimmered below. On a night like this, she often anticipated the departure of her maids in favour of the arrival of one of her lovers, but there was nobody left for her.

She withdrew her legs to her body and covered them with her arms. She felt like there was nothing to look forward to, nothing to appreciate in the life that she had. It was foolish, even she knew, but at that moment, she considered Eleanor’s words about the nature of love.

The maid left her after her hair was brushed out and pulled into a single braid to keep it from tangling in her sleep, and Katherine let herself fall down onto her bed. She gazed up at the deep red of her velvet canopy and sighed.

Nobody would be seeing to her. She would be left to her own devices until the morning.

She considered getting up to write her lover back in Massouron, but ultimately decided against it. The letter would likely go through many hands before it reached his, and she was unsure whether she could ever face Richard after knowing that he had read what she was meaning to write.

Instead, Katherine thought of Walter, who was likely feeling just as lonesome as she was, except far more terrified than she ever could be. All because of an accident.

She truly believed that he had not done it on purpose, and was feeling rather upset about the prospect of punishing him for an unintentional act, but the pressure had been applied to her, and it was hard for her to imagine letting him go without some act of punishment. It was likely to reek of the worst rumours of her: that she was sensuous and had no direction as a ruler but that of her private person.

She crept under her silk sheets and took one last look at the glimmering lights of Norbury Lake and the sea, after which she undid the knots in the ties that bundled the canopy’s curtains. After that, it was darkness, and surrounded by velvet, she finally felt as though she could sleep.

Stolen novel; please report.

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The next day, she checked on Henry again, and crossed Jaime on the way back to morning council.

‘Oh, Jamesina,’ Katherine said, and halted her by laying a hand on her shoulder. ‘Considering you are out of a job and spend your court-salaried days looking at my knight’s back… may I borrow you for a moment? I’ve a very important assignment from you.’

Jaime, with her hair hidden in a cap, and wearing a boy’s uniform, looked rather terrified. ‘Yes, Your Majesty, of course…’

‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Do come with me.’

Katherine had not thought it over much, and she found herself opening the first door to her left, which opened to a linen cabinet. She sighed and yet entered, gesturing Jaime to come along. It was cramped with the pair of them in it, and Katherine stood against the door still, leaning so she could feel when it was being opened.

Out of a small embroidered bag at her waist, she took a set of keys and waited for Jaime to raise her hand. When she did, Katherine dropped them.

‘Tonight, I will make sure that the gate is open,’ she said. ‘And the stables are readied. This key opens the door to Sir Walter’s chamber. Leave it open and tell him to seek the stables.’

Jaime pursed her lips. ‘Lady Katherine…’ she began. ‘Are you testing me? I can assure you that I have been nothing but loyal to the crown in my short career…’

‘No,’ said Katherine plainly. ‘In fact, had I believed your loyalties to lie elsewhere, I wouldn’t have asked. Don’t get any illusions. I just imagine you have taken up the lowly occupation as squire despite your advanced age for such an occupation simply to shag my champion. Thus, making you somewhat non-partisan. You likely do not care either way.’

Jaime chuckled awkwardly. ‘My lady, I wouldn’t dream of seeing Sir Henry in any way except as a patient and wise mentor,’ she said. ‘I am the daughter of a priest. I have nowhere to go but the streets, my lady; I have a modest talent in archery and was noticed by one of your knights.’

‘Have it your way,’ said Katherine. ‘I prefer honesty, but I can work with pity and a flattering lie. My point is that I wish for you to do my bidding. And if we are to do any more dealings together, Jamesina, understand that I don’t care for sob stories.’

Jaime clenched the keys in her small hand. ‘I will see to it,’ she said.

Katherine’s face cleared up into an agreeable smile. ‘Well, isn’t that nice?’ she asked. ‘Have him ready by matins.’

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Jaime spent her evening hours wondering what she should do about the strange request, and worried whether the true course of action should have actually been to toward all of this to the spymaster. Rumours of Katherine’s madness were making the rounds already, and considering that this was the first she had ever spoken to the queen, she did not find them challenging to believe. The keys jingled in her hands as she passed them between her left and right. She had agreed to it, and was waiting for matins.

She pondered Walter’s complicity of all the plots she had ever heard, whether through Henry or through the grape vine. Henry had always treated Walter as a younger brother, taking him on hunting expeditions, to taverns and speaking of him well despite his skittish disposition which he did not tolerate from anyone else. And now, Henry lay wincing three times a day when the physician smeared ointment on him, and had screamed bloody murder when his stitches were put in, all because of that same boy. Why did Katherine feel the need to save him? Was Henry not as dear to her as Jaime thought he was?

Henry’s connection to the queen was much-publicised. He made no secret of the fact that they were old friends, and hinted at the rest of it, which always concerned Jaime as it put a target on his back.

She did not realise that the target would be literal.

Against her will, once it was midnight, she left her chamber and walked, shrouded in her navy cloak and carrying a faintly lit torch, to the wing where she knew Walter to be kept in house arrest. The keys were burning in her hand.

She was happy to see that the respective wing of the castle was not, in fact, where Katherine and her nearest courtiers slept, for it was nowhere near Henry’s room either, and it seemed that this part of the castle was hardly guarded. That was until she looked down.

By the bottom of the door lay two unconscious guards that startled Jaime. Her first instinct was to check their pulse, but what good was it really whether they were dead or alive? Besides, if they were alive, perhaps the touch of her ice-cold hand would wake them. Instead, she fumbled with the keys until she held it forward, jittery from nerves, and stuck it into the lock with some hesitation.

She inhaled, then exhaled sharply, and turned the key. She stepped over the guards, be they corpses or simply unconscious men, and pushed the door open at the same time. A waft of hot air came towards her that melted the night’s frost off of her hands and feet.

‘Sir Walter,’ she said, her voice but a whisper, before she had even located the man. ‘You may go.’

Walter was sitting in the windowsill in his undershirt and a pair of breeches, with stocked feet but no shoes to be found. He looked at her breathlessly.

‘Go,’ Jaime repeated when Walter did not move.

‘Why?’ Walter asked.

Jaime did not know. ‘You don’t want to escape?’ she asked.

‘Who are you?’ he asked in return.

‘I’m not sure how to answer that,’ said Jaime. ‘Lady Katherine gave me the keys, if that helps. You should really go, I think they’re putting you to death.’

That at least got him to stand up and seek his shoes. ‘Death, you say?’ he asked. ‘Where must I go?’

She did not have the heart to tell him that nobody would be awaiting him with an embrace and a warm bath, but rather that he would have to fend for himself from now on. ‘The stables,’ she said, not missing a beat, ‘Be careful out there.’

He shuffled into his shoes and passed her in the door frame. For a moment, he observed her face and gave her a pat on the back. ‘Thank you, kind stranger,’ he said. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll repay you.’

As he ran off, Jaime stood dumbfounded at what had just happened. Worse, Walter had not even brought a cloak or a warm doublet with him, and she doubted that he had any money.

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Walter ran as fast as he could, skipping down the staircases and picking up the pace in the final hallway. He knocked the door open with his whole body, then made a sprint for the stables, where one of the horses had been tied to a post, with a saddle on his back and a note clipped to it. In the darkness he tried to make out the lettering, and the more he squinted and racked his brain, the further he got. It is only a line or two, he thought.

Perhaps one day I will seek you again.

Good luck and much love. Katherine R

He scrunched the note in his hand and took the reins, the words of his mistress still with him, holding his hand in some way. He realised he was to leave — really, to leave. He had not imagined ever fending for himself again since he had learned the warmth and the pleasant air of Katherine’s favour. Yet, here he was, cold and shivering, about to leave Norbury Castle and descend the Rock. Likely he would spend the night in Norbury Lake for the gates were closed, but he had no gold on him…

Walter took in the majesty of the castle one last time, and on his horse, made his way to the edge of the estate, where one of the gates had been left open.

As he left the castle for good, he heard a whistle that made him look over his shoulder. On the parapet walk stood Jaime, holding a large sack filled to the brim, waving madly with her arms.

‘For you!’ she hollered, holding the sack over the edge, ‘Catch!’

Shocked by the kindness, Walter held out his arms and the sack fell into them, closed securely and full of clothes, gold and supplies he could identify just by the feel of them.

‘Thank you!’ he hollered back. ‘Who are you?’

But by the time he looked up at the parapets, she was already gone. Even with all of this with him, it would be a long night to come.