The Problem King by Kris Owyn

Author:Kris Owyn [Owyn, Kris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Halfswitch Press
Published: 2019-06-09T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-eight

“You didn’t,” gasped Eleanor. “Guin, he’s the King...”

“I know,” Guinevere sighed, lying on her bed, arms over her face. “But he was just stubbornly refusing to engage with me. Whatever I said, he veered back to talk of sewing devices and tubes and—”

“Still... it might be a step too far, even for him.”

Guinevere laughed, shook her head. “Too far. There is no ‘too far’ anymore. I’ve nothing to lose.”

“But making him your enemy—”

“Oh, that will never happen. He’s lurking around like a scolded child. I don’t think he has a vindictive bone in his body. And that’s my problem: if he hated me, he’d bring charges I could fight. If he distrusted me, he’d send me somewhere I could still operate. If he feared me, I could push him where I needed him to go. But he’s protecting me, and there’s no recourse to smothering.”

Eleanor sat on the bed next to Guinevere, rubbed her arm, kissed her cheek. It was nice to have a friend again, especially with Ewen gone.

Their positions had swapped, somehow, in the last few months; Guinevere, cutting back on expenses, wore simpler clothes, had simpler jewels, had simpler meals that left her leaner, coarser. Eleanor was a flowering beauty all over again, with dresses that — while not as extravagant as she might’ve had, without Gawain managing her finances — would never be mistaken for servant’s clothes. She looked alive, and Guinevere wanted to soak all of it up, as long as possible.

“He’ll see reason eventually,” Eleanor said, gently. “Men need time to think, sometimes. Give it a few days, and—”

“I don’t have a few days,” Guinevere sighed. “If that shipment reaches London and I’m not there to receive it, and the Gwynedds demand payment while I’m still stuck here... I’ll be finished. There’ll be no way back from that.” She picked at a loose thread on her skirt. “Thirteen days until the delivery’s made. I’ll need two days to get there — assuming I can get a fast enough horse — and another two to squeeze every tremis I can out of Rufus to pay my bills. Three, if the tax collectors have been idle for too long. That’s eight days. Eight days into which I must fit waiting for the King to think, fighting to convince him I’m right, and hoping that he will let me go. It’s not the greatest of schedules.”

Eleanor seemed defeated by this calculation, but only for a second. Her eyes lit up: “Maybe I can go to London for you.”

Eleanor in London. Well, on the one hand, Eleanor had more than enough experience with Rufus to make the trip safely. She knew him far better than Guinevere did, even. But then there was a long history there of failing to sway Rufus on even such basic matters as paying debts owed to her father. Would this be any different? Would Rufus hand over the tax revenue he owed, or would he deflect and dismiss? Would he give her the

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