The council room was colder than the rest of the palace--not physically, but in feeling.

The stone walls were high, and hung with banners heavy with history and power. Long, dark wooden table ran through the middle, and men sat there not easily to be frightened--not even by kings.

King Augustine was at the end of the table.

Silent.

Observing.

Waiting.

Even before his entrance murmurs filled the room, and they did not abate when he entered.

"She conceals her face."

Such a thing has never been done by any queen of this kingdom.

"It is... unnatural."

Augustine replied not at all.

His eyes swept slowly over the council, and caught each face, each expression, each hidden purpose. Others were just curious.

Others were not.

Then a voice, higher than all the others--calm, commanding, and certainly dangerous.

"Your Majesty."

It was Lord Ferguson.

One of the most ancient of the council--and one of the most difficult to quiet.

Augustine turned and looked at him.

Ferguson bowed his head a little, a i of deference which was rather a sign of duty than of affection.

We know what is going on with your marriage, he started, his voice placid, but the court is growing impatient.

He paused deliberately.

A queen who does not show her face begs to be questioned.

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Augustine sat up a little in his chair, and his face was indescribable.

And when, he said to himself, does pain prescribe power?

His words fell lightly--yet with impact.

No one spoke.

Still, Ferguson continued.

Perception makes loyalty, Your Majesty, with respect. Should the people start to distrust their queen--"

"They will not."

The break was instantaneous.

Final.

The room stilled.

All eyes were on the king.

Augustine again touched his fingers on the armrest.

I have seen my queen, said he.

The statement was simple.

Deliberate.

"There is nothing to question."

There was a wave of the council. Some nodded.

Others exchanged glances.

All were not convinced.

Ferguson looked a little keenerly.

"As you say, Your Majesty."

But skepticism was under his word.

Augustine noticed.

Of course he did.

Silence stretched.

Then-

My word ought to be clear enough.

No one argued.

But the strain was there.

Alive.

Unsettled.

You have seen her face, another council-member said cautiously. Surely, Your Majesty, there was nothing wrong in bringing her to the court.

Augustine turned his eyes to him.

My queen is no spectacle.

The words were serene.

Firm.

Ferguson bent forward a little.

Naturally not, he replied. "But transparency builds trust."

Pressure.

Subtle.

Relentless.

Augustine stood on his feet.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The room was quieted only by the movement.

My queen hath no explanations to make to this council, he said.

His gaze hardened.

"Nor do I."

No one spoke.

No one challenged him.

Since at that time, it was not debate that filled the room--

It was control.

Without another word, Augustine turned and walked out.

The doors shut behind him with a last silence.

The passageway was quiet.

Too silent.

Augustine strolled slowly on, without haste, his face unaltered.

But his mind was not.

He had not to listen to the remainder of the council.

He had already caught sight of them.

Doubt.

Suspicion.

Calculation.

It was only a matter of time.

"My King."

The voice was behind him.

Augustine stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

A servant was a few steps away, her head was bent down, her hands clasped together in front of her. She was indecisive, as though she was not quite sure that she ought to have spoken at all.

"What is it?" Augustine asked.

His voice was calm.

But it had substance.My King. there is talk.

The servant swallowed.

"My King... there is talk."

Of course there was.

Everybody talks, he said.

But she shook her head.

"This is different."

That stilled him.

"Speak."

The servant raised her eyes only a little--not so much as to show the fear in her eyes.

They are saying, she said, and then, with difficulty, uttered the words, That Your Majesty has not really seen the queen.

Silence followed.

Still.

Sharp.

Augustine made no motion.

"They believe." she continued, her voice lowering, ".that what was said in the council was not. the truth."

The words hung in the air amid them.

Dangerous.

Unavoidable.

Nothing happened a moment.

Then Augustine made a gradual step.

The servant bowed her head once more.

Who is talking? he said.

His voice did not change.

But something under it did.

The servant hesitated.

It is spreading, my King, it is spreading, said she. Among the servants. and more.

Not one voice.

Not one source.

That made it worse.

Gossip might be suppressed.

Doubt could not.

Augustine made no reply.

Then-

"Let them talk."

The words were silent.

Controlled.

But final.

The servant looked a little surprised.

Augustine turned his eyes away, and now was far, and reckoning.

Because this-

This was no longer what was true.

It was concerning what would be thought.

Go back to work, he said.

"Yes, my King."

She curtsied and went.

Augustine stayed where he was.

Still.

Thinking.

He had been questioned by the council.

The palace was now starting to question him.

And soon-

The kingdom would be the successor.

There was a slight, hardly noticeable change in his face.

Not anger.

Not concern.

Something sharper.

Something more dangerous.

Since they thought he had told a lie--

Then he would choose what truth substituted it.

The palace was silent.

Not that quiet of peace.

This one bore something more--something alert, something that lingered in the intervals between footsteps and behind lowered tones.

King Augustine passed the corridor with a calm pace, his face unchanged, his pose as calm as ever. He did not seem to have been affected by what had happened in the council chamber to anyone who was watching.

But his thoughts were anything but still.

They know you lied.

The words were already in place.

Not all of them.

Not yet.

But enough.

Danger enough to start assuming form.

He stood in front of the high windows that looked out on the inner court. The light of morning fell upon the stone floor, pale and thin, and could not warm the extremities of the palace.

One hand behind his back, he stood in silence.

He had been questioned by the council.

The palace was starting to talk.

And now the lie was on the move.

Doubt in itself did not bother Augustine. Doubt was expected. Powerful men were never left unnoticed, gauged, weighed against rumor and anticipation.

It was a question of control.

And power was starting to change.

"Your Majesty."

A guard was standing a little way behind him.

Augustine made no turn. "Speak."

The guard said, We have started watching the council as you said. Lord Ferguson has already seen two of them this morning privately.

Of course he had.

"And?"

They are questioning about the queen.

Silence.

Predictable.

Keep on watching, said Augustine. Not the loudest voices--the quiet ones. The ones that other people listen to.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

And Ferguson, Augustine added, his voice becoming a little sharper. I would like to know all he does before he does it.

The guard bowed. "At once."

The footsteps faded.

Augustine stood still with his head stretched out.

Ferguson was not wanton.

This would not stop, said he.

It would grow.

He finally turned around and walked towards the chambers of the queen.

Ella saw it even before she realized it.

Not in words.

Not in anything addressed to her.

But in silence.

The corridors changed as she had entered them.

Servants bowed, as they always bowed--but now their eyes lingered a moment too long before they dropped.

Two maids standing together hushed as she passed.

One of the guards by the archway straightened, as though he had been caught at some mischief.

Nothing obvious.

Nothing that she could face.

But enough.

Sufficient to her knowledge.

Something had changed.

When she had gone back to her chamber the feeling had become certain.

The council.

The king.

The lie.

She walked up to the window, her hands mere brushes of the material of her sleeve as she gazed out over the palace grounds.

He lied on her behalf.

The idea came back.

Unwelcome.

Unsettling.

Such a man as Augustine did not do in vain.

Each word he uttered was weighty.

Each silence was intentional.

So why protect her?

The door was opened behind her.

Ella twitched a little, but did not turn immediately.

She had guessed who it was.

You have observed, Augustine, said.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

She turned slowly. I had no need to be told.

His eyes were fixed on her, and were unreadable.

Now they are looking at you, he said.

They were ever on the lookout, she answered.

"Not like this."

There was a moment of silence between them.

Ella crossed her arms. "You lied to them."

It wasn't a question.

Augustine shut the door. "Yes."

She was surprised by the simplicity of the answer.

"Why?" she asked.

He did not answer immediately.

Rather, he moved deeper into the room and his presence occupied the room without any effort.

Since the truth would have provided them with a reason, he said.

"For what?"

"To act."

Ella held his gaze.

"And now?"

Now, he said, they have nothing but doubt.

The words sank.

She turned away, her thoughts tightening

Worse still, doubt is worse, she said to herself.

To them, he said.

"For me."

That made him pause.

Just briefly.

But she noticed.

She glanced back at him. You left me the centre of their suspicion.

I made you more difficult to get at, he corrected.

The contrast bothered her.

She took a step closer.

You are talking like you are defending me.

"I am."

The response was too easy.

Too directly.

Ella looked at him attentively. "From what?"

Augustine never turned his head.

And what becomes of strong men when they suspect that you have something to conceal.

A shiver ran along her.

Since she was aware that he was correct.

He stepped closer.

To touch not enough.

Sufficient to move the air between them.

The council will not cease, he added. And Ferguson will not tarry.

Ella's pulse quickened. "You sound certain."

"I am."

Silence fell again.

Heavy.

Then gradually his hand rose.

Ella stilled.

His fingers were close to the edge of her mask.

Not touching.

Not yet.

What changes, I said to myself, should I take this away?

Her breath caught.

Everything.

You have no right to ask that, she said.

A pause.

Then-

"No," he agreed.

His hand lowered.

Control. Always control.

Ella gave a breath that she had never known she was holding.

"You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Acting as if you know something I don't."

His gaze held hers.

"I do."

She was frustrated.

"Then say it."

His response was swift.

"No."

The rejection was like a wall between them.

At last he withdrew.

Tomorrow night, there will be a gathering, he said.

Ella frowned. "The council?"

"The court," he corrected. "Which makes it worse."

Understanding settled slowly.

They desire to visit me.

They desire to criticize you.

Her hands clenched a little.

"And you're going to let them?"

Augustine's expression did not change.

I will leave it to them to believe that they have an opportunity.

The words were colder than she thought.

You are making this a game.

"No," he said. "I'm ending one."

Silence followed.

He walked to the door.

When anyone asks you point-blank, then tell him nothing.

"And if they don't stop?"

His hand was on the door.

"They will."

She frowned. But how are you certain?

He looked over his shoulder at her.

I want to know who dares.

And then he left.

The door closed.

Ella stood in her place.

Still.

Thinking.

The deception had not saved her.

It had exposed her.

The palace was now on the lookout.

The court was in waiting.

and somewhere out of it--

Somebody was about to find out the truth.