They Are Not My Guests, You See

"But that will place me below Sir Georgestons." The same lord who had spoken before pointed out.

"Lord of Waichester, here there are no ranks, only men of like mind gathered for a meal," the King declared, his tone taking on a more relaxing edge. "While I might have chosen another seat, I am particularly partial to this one." His demeanour softened as he added, "Now, please, take your seat, and let us enjoy our dinner together. The food is growing cold."

As everyone found and settled into their seats, wearing expressions of forced solemnity, Gwen slowly approached the table, searching like the others for her name card. When she finally found it, she was dismayed. Her name card was at the far end of the table, greatly removed from her sister and cousin, and positioned directly across from the king.

Why had she been placed so far from her relatives? How would she survive the evening without their support and reassurance? Slowly, she walked to her assigned seat and carefully planted herself in it. She bowed her head to the men to her sides. They had been introduced as ministers. Courteous enough, they returned her bow.

Again, the doors opened, and a number of liveried servants walked out, composed and uniformed. Quietly, they went about their tasks of serving food to all present.

"I must confess, Your Majesty, that I fail to comprehend the reasoning behind this seating arrangement," remarked the lord seated beside the prince. "It is a complete departure from our usual dining protocol. Such a novel arrangement."

With a subtle gesture, the king signalled to his man. "And I think you should try not to fathom it. Or do you intend to?" He inquired, his tone carrying a hint of… of something.

The lord grew flustered. "I would never dare, even if I were inclined to do so."

"I cannot decide, Lord Dashwood, if to commend you, or reprimand you?" The king mused aloud, his smile reappearing once again casting a veil of confusion over the receiving party. The lord, Lord Dashwood, took a quick sip from his cup. Then, the King's gaze shifted to the prince seated at his right. His smile dropped. "I distinctly recall asking you to have that attended to."

"If your concern for me were genuine, you wouldn't have inflicted such a grievous wound in the first place," the prince retorted, massaging the injury on his arm. "Leave my wounds be."

Gwen observed and saw the genuine sense of concern in the king's eyes as he glanced at his brother. She couldn't be certain if he truly regretted inflicting the injury during their tournament earlier, his worry for the prince appeared sincere. Anyone could see it.

As the servants completed their tasks and withdrew, the room descended into the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation as everyone began to eat with gusto. So far from the only people in the room Gwen knew and trusted, the food tasted different. It was bland to her tongue, but despite it, she dutifully consumed it. Fear stole the element of taste from her.

When she chanced a glance at Lord Cossington, she noticed his gaze fixed upon Beth, and an uncomfortable smile on his cheeks. The sight filled her with a deep sense of loathing towards the man. How greatly she hated him.

The clatter and dashing of cutlery against plates, cups against the table, continued, filling the hall with enough noise, one loud enough that the silence was not so deafening. Gwen kept her head bowed, determined to finish her meal swiftly so she could make her escape as soon as dinner was through. In hindsight, perhaps she should have declined the invitation, regardless of who it might have offended. The thought of sitting and sharing a meal with Lord Cossington, even with several people separating them, was too great a punishment for her.

"Why has no one inquired about the identities of the ladies present?" The king interjected abruptly, causing Gwen to nearly choke on her soup as she was startled. "Am I to believe that you are all acquainted with them?"

"No one would dare question you or your guests, my Lord," The minister to her left replied.

"But they are not my guests, you see. They are Carlisle's guests." The King clarified.

The minister's shock was palpable. "All of them?"

"Why, yes," affirmed the king as he speared a piece of meat with his fork. "All of them." With that, he began to eat.

"Why do you appear so astonished, Mr. Gerald? Are there too many guests for one man to host?" The prince quipped, his hand absentmindedly tracing the scar across his eye.

With each passing word uttered around the table, Gwen's unease deepened. Were the men assuming the worst? Did they think of them as more than just guests of the Duke? Were they being perceived as mere entertainment?

"No," Mr. Gerald's words were not convincing. Gwen looked and caught the amused smile of the king. "No," he repeated, his tone more resolute this time. "I simply wonder how Lord Carlisle could have amassed so many friends, considering he is seldom seen at social gatherings."

Someone at the table chuckled. "They are wondering, Carlisle."

Setting his cutlery down with a decisive clink, the Duke turned to the minister, his hand resting firmly on the table. "I am under no obligation to divulge their identities to you, but I will." He declared. "The ladies are sisters and a cousin. We met perchance and the topic of the castle arose in conversation. Since I was headed here, I invited them along to have a look for themselves, and His Majesty was gracious enough to permit them a tour of his home."

A hush fell over the hall causing an overwhelming silence as the men gaped incredulously at the Duke. Gwen couldn't comprehend their reaction. Did they doubt his words? Did they perceive his explanation as deceitful?

"That was quite a sentence, Lord Carlisle," remarked Mr. Gerald. "The longest I've heard from you since my arrival at the castle." His comment elicited subdued laughter and murmurs of agreement. "In fact, it might just be one of the longest sentences I've ever heard you utter outside of a council meeting."

The King's hearty laughter reverberated through the room, prompting others to join in. Then, addressing Beth directly, he asked, "Lady Fitzgerald, have you enjoyed your visit thus far?"

Beth set down her cutlery and nodded graciously. "Indeed, I have. We have. It is a privilege for us commoners to have witnessed a royal tournament. We are grateful for your kindness and hospitality." With a respectful bow of her head, she conveyed her gratitude.

"A smooth talker, indeed," remarked the King with a chuckle. Then, his tone turning more serious, he turned his attention to Lord Cossington. "Cossington, I've heard rumours that you are an old acquaintance of theirs."

Gwen felt as though her limbs had turned to heavy steel. She almost lost the ability to move and her heart was pounding erratically in her chest. Her eyes darted again across the table to Beth who was already looking at her. Her sister was as affected as her, but she gave a small smile, trying to encourage her. It did not help. What would happen if Lord Cossington revealed their former engagement?

He was the one who had refused her hand in marriage and put an end to their rather long and meaningless betrothal, but she would be the one disgraced. Her family would be humiliated at the table where she sat with strangers to a meal, and the ever-teasing King might seize the opportunity to mock her for failing to secure a husband.

Raising her eyes to Lord Cossington, Gwen sought to glean any hint of his intentions, hoping to gain something before they were spoken, but he was not looking at her. His attention was fixed elsewhere—on the Duke of Carlisle.