Peasants and nobles alike were allowed to pay their last respects to the king. Jenny was busy running the household to ensure all who came had a meal before they went on their way. The knights automatically deferred to Lancelot in handling matters of state, though they had taken to glancing at Jenny askance when she stopped to talk to Lancelot, hand on his arm in what seemed like treasonous familiarity.

Lila hovered in the background, feeling useless. She was in a dress again, and she missed the comfort of a sword at her hip, but no one would talk to her and she had nothing better to do than sit in the chapel, mending armor and refreshing the candles and incense so the mourners could pretend the golden glow on the king’s skin was life and not firelight.

In the evening on the second day, Emrys came to sit beside her.

“I’ll need your help,” he said.

“For what?”

“To lay him to rest.”

“Why me?”

“Because no one can know, and after…” Emrys’s blue eyes were bleak. “Afterwards, I can send you home.”