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orders in his pursuit of wealth.
    The villain must be stopped. Yesterday, the king had finally given Darian the order to bring the villain to his knees, then send him to hell.
    Unfortunately, one of the complaints often heard about King Stephen was his inability to withstand a convincing argument, and Henry, bishop of Winchester, the king’s brother, who hadn’t approved of King Stephen’s decision on de Salis, was quite adept at presenting convincing arguments.
    “Bishop Henry might not feel so generous toward de Salis if his villages were being burned and his people harmed.”
    “Too true. Do you see him?”
    They were nearing their destination. Darian’s height proved useful as he glanced around at the men and women milling in front of the doors to the antechamber.
    “Nay. Nor do I see any of the earls or other advisors present yester noon.”
    A good sign. If Bishop Henry had, indeed, won King Stephen over, the bishop would surely be present to gloat.
    “Perhaps they are already in the king’s chambers. Ah, the doors open.”
    The huge oak doors swung wide. The crowd rushed forward to enter the antechamber. Pushing and shoving ensued, each person trying to gain advantage over their fellows. Their efforts would do them no good. Unless they’d been summoned by the king or paid the clerk a goodly sum beforehand, they would be forced to wait until the clerk deemed them worthy of entry into the royal presence.
    One woman had apparently come to that conclusion. Garbed in a topaz-hued bliaut covering a white chemise, the softly rounded, dark-haired woman actually seemed hesitant to pass into the antechamber. Darian saw her nervousness in the flight of a hand over a gauzy veil that needed no smoothing, her uncertainty in the touch of a finger to the gold circlet that held her shimmering white veil in place. From behind her, he couldn’t see her face, but could well imagine the misgivings he might glimpse in her eyes.
    When he found himself wondering what color the lady’s eyes might be, he pulled his attention back to where it belonged.
    He and William edged forward at the back of the crowd, the king’s summons guaranteeing they would be among the first admitted to the king’s audience chamber. Which suited Darian immensely. He didn’t like crowds and found the air in the palace stifling. Better this audience was over quickly so he could get on with more important duties and not have to deal with personages of noble birth, most of whom couldn’t be bothered with anything other than their own petty concerns.
    The lady in topaz bowed her head and positioned herself close behind two large men who shouldered their way through the middle of the crowd, doing her best to avoid notice by the guards on either side of the door. She slipped into the antechamber without challenge and Darian could almost feel her relief.
    She’s not supposed to be here.
    He admired the lady’s boldness, but knew her efforts were for naught. She may have sneaked past the first set of guards, but would never get past the clerk if she wasn’t on his list of those who would be allowed to speak with the king. And he highly doubted she was on the clerk’s list.
    Her problem wasn’t his problem. There was nothing he could do to help her, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.
    Still, his curiosity prodded him to nudge William and ask softly, “The woman in topaz. Do you know who she is?”
    William squinted. “Lady Emma de Leon. Have you heard her tale?”
    He’d heard of the woman and her plight.
    “Daughter of Sir Hugh de Leon, who had the misfortune of dying while fighting for Empress Maud. King Stephen’s ward. Barely tolerated at court.” As he was grudgingly tolerated. He brushed aside an unwanted pang of kinship. “Must a royal ward be on the clerk’s list for her to speak with the king?”
    “Probably. Why?”
    “Merely wondering.”
    Thankfully, William accepted the explanation without comment because Darian truly couldn’t