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for?” I echoed peevishly. “By whom?”
    “The queen, my lord.”
    The silken tones of Bishop Orleton’s voice emanated from beyond the iron-studded doors as he delivered a long speech—or perhaps he was reading from a document. The document? My shoulders drew up tight toward my ears, my fingers curling and uncurling into loose fists. I lurched forward. A hand clamped onto the lean flesh of my arm and yanked me back.
    “No,” Will said. “Not yet. You must wait.”
    “Forever?” I jerked my arm from his hold. Once glimpse at the sharp blades barring my way told me my mother’s orders had been firm. Whatever it was they were debating in there, I was not to be a part of it. And that both angered and deflated me.
    I spun around so fast, my vision went gray. I threw my hands out to steady myself, groping nothing but air. Will’s broad palm, so familiar, alighted between my shoulder blades, but I shook it off and strode forward as patches of color took shape around me. Bodies shuffled backward, clearing a path for me. It was then that I noticed how many people were filling the room: lesser barons and black-robed clerics, officials from various cities, and the masters of London’s many guilds. As I surveyed the gathering, waiting for my world to stop spinning and my head to clear, they all bowed to me.
    Beyond the outer doors, the rumble of a crowd grew louder. John’s grotesque stories of a murderous rabble rushed back to me. Panicked, I hastened through the far door, bumping my shoulder hard. I raced up the stairs, three per stride. By the time I stumbled out through the tower door into the ashen light of a dying day, I had to fight the urge to run, because there was nowhere to run to.
    Wind stung at my eyes. A glittering of snow frosted the stones. I perched myself in a crenel of the outer wall ringing Westminster Palace, my arms tucked around my ankles, my chin on my knees. A languishing golden sun flashed unexpectedly, stabbing its light between racing clouds far to the west. I blinked against the brief glare, then looked down below. Today it seemed half of London had invaded Thorney Island to crowd at the gates of Westminster Palace. From here, I could not make out what it was they were shouting. My name? Or were they crying for my father’s freedom, for justice?
    No boats coursed along the Thames. Its banks were thick with ice. Instead, they were all moored at river’s edge, waiting for the weather to break.
    Occasionally, Will peered at me from the shadows of the tower door. Each time, I chased him away with a scowl. We had an understanding, Will and I. I may have been his to guard, but that duty did not grant him rights to my every thought and the company of my every moment.
    For the first time in a long while, I felt a pang deep in my gut—a twinge of sympathy for my father. One day he had been king of all England. The next, he was running in fright. Now, he sat alone, shut up at Kenilworth, his future in doubt. They said he was a bad king. Accused him not only of crimes, but unspeakable sins. If they ... No, I could not question the events—or the people—that had brought me to this day. It was my fate.
    The sun retreated to the earth’s underside, yielding its heavenly throne to the pale glimmer of countless stars. Bitter wind drove winter’s bite deep into my bones. I shivered so hard my teeth were rattling my skull. But I would not go inside. Not until they came to get me.
    A roar erupted from the crowd below, but I neither looked nor moved from my eyrie.
    My stomach growled. My eyelids drifted lower. My fingers were stiff with cold, my toes so frozen I could no longer feel them. I closed my fur-lined cloak tight around me and rested my forehead on my knees.
    The clack of boots startled me from my uneasy slumber. Will approached at a brisk clip along the wall-walk, defiant in the face of my most threatening glare.
    I pulled my fingers into fists. “Sending me to bed now, are you?”
    “Too