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Empress Maud shot up from her chair. “Sir Edward!”

Theobold dashed around to see. Sir Edward thrashed on the floor, choking and clawing at his throat. “The crown…” His eyes were wide and he gasped for air.

“Fetch the surgeon—now.” Sir Robert said to the nearest page.

“Somebody help him!” Empress Maud said. “Sir Edward, stay calm.” She knelt by his side.

Sir Bors stood stock still, clearly horrified.

The crown lay on the floor, discarded.

Sir Edward gasped and choked and coughed, and then all was still.

Theobold went over to him and bent down to assess him. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his chest had stopped rising and falling, and his mouth hung open, slack in mortification. Theobold took hold of his wrist and then pressed two fingers to the man’s throat.

“Is he….?” Empress Maud asked.

“He’s dead.”

Someone gasped. Guards pulled the empress away. She batted their hands off and cried, “Stop this. Unhand me!”

The men stopped. She stood stiffly, quietly. “Someone, pick up my crown.”

People hesitated. No one wanted to touch the crown, especially as a man had just died holding it. Theobold could easily predict their thoughts. What if by touching it, they died too?

The knights looked askance at each other, until Theobold snatched the silken cloth from Sir Bors and carefully wrapped it around the crown. There came a hush and then whispers as he picked it up. Theobold ignored the murmurs and holding it carefully, turned the crown this way and that.

“What are you doing?” the empress asked.

“I want to check something. Sir Edward said something scratched him, like a needle.” Theobold carefully turned the crown over.

There, affixed to the inside of the crown was a needle.

Not so big, but its point was bloody and stained.

He stopped. Could Bronwyn…… He didn’t want to think it, but his thoughts ran like mad, refusing to let him ignore the possibility.

He’d been with Bronwyn as she’d put the crown back in the empress’s tent.

Could she be behind this? Had he misjudged her?

He knew she liked Rupert. Had he put her up to this?

Or had she been acting alone? What if she was innocent, and someone else was behind the tampering of the crown? If so, who?

He approached the empress and said quietly, “Your Grace, this crown has been poisoned.”

“What?” She shied away as if she’d been slapped. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. Look here.” He pointed to the tiny needle affixed to the inside rim of the crown. “This is what scratched Sir Edward. I have no doubt it was meant for you. When you would have worn it, the needle would have scratched your head—”

“Killing me instantly.” Her face turned pale. “Right.” Loudly, she called, “We shall hold a mass for our lost knight. Sir Edward was a good man.”

Theobold stood by as she said quietly, “Remove him. Lay him out in the church. We will bury him once the ground softens.”

As if awoken from a dream, her knights snapped into action. Some of the knights calmed the others around them, urging the pages to refill cups of wine, the minstrels to play on their lutes, while Sir Ranulf organized for Sir Edward’s body to be removed.

As the body was taken away, Sir Bors bowed. “I am sorry, Your Grace. I had no idea what Sir Edward planned.”

“What? What do you mean?” Empress Maud asked.

“Well, it’s just, he came to me and said it would be a treat to bring you the crown, now that it’s been cleaned and all. It was his idea to crown you before everyone at the meal. Put it in their minds.”

“Put what?” she asked.

“That you’re the rightful ruler. I had no idea what he was planning, honest.”

Theobold surveyed him thoughtfully, and his mouth went dry.

He felt relief that people had handled the crown after Bronwyn had returned it.

And of course they had, for someone would have packed it for traveling to Gloucester.

His shoulders relaxed. If she had poisoned the crown, most likely the servant packing the empress’s things would have been killed right away, unless they’d been in on the plot.

That seemed highly unlikely, which meant that whoever had poisoned the crown had done so after they’d arrived at Gloucester Castle.

Bronwyn was innocent. He felt a wave of relief come over him that he’d not told anyone about her involvement with the crown.

“Very well. But this displeases me greatly. I am most unhappy.” She clapped her hands and motioned him away.

Sir Bors gingerly held out the pillow. He avoided Theobold’s eyes.

Theobold gave a slight snort and replaced the crown on the pillow, carefully. Sir Bors bowed again and followed the men out.

Empress Maud let out a sigh, retook her seat, and picked up the cup from the table. “We are most saddened by this loss. Let us hope that we face no more tragedy in this war, as my cousin seeks to strike us down.”

An unsatisfied grumble emerged from the men present as she took a ladylike sip of her wine and then grabbed a dainty piece of meat and a great big mouthful of bread, popping it all into her mouth. She chewed and then she coughed. Once, twice, thrice—and she began to have a coughing fit.

The men shot to their feet. “Where is that blasted surgeon? Fetch him,” Sir Robert said to Theobold. He put his hand on Maud’s back and thumped her hard.

She kept coughing, as the men cried, “Help!”

“Where’s the healer?” came another cry.

“Fetch help, quickly.”

Theobold hurriedly looked around for a healer. The place was filled with cries for help as the empress kept coughing and pointed at her throat. She gasped.

Rupert ran forward and shouldered Sir Robert out of the way.

“What are you doing?” Sir Robert asked.

“Let me.”

The empress gasped and coughed, her face turning pale. Rupert put his arms around her.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Sir Robert demanded, his mouth falling open.

Rupert put his arms around the empress’s middle and tugged hard, inward, toward her stomach, his hands clasped together in a fist.

She gasped and expelled a breath.

He pushed hard, inward and upward again.

“Let her go. Guards!” Sir Ranulf shouted.

“Get your hands off her.” Sir Robert had his hand on his sword.

The knights were like children, none knowing what to do.

Theobold stared, transfixed, as Rupert gave it one more mighty push, and the offending piece of bread shot out of Empress Maud’s mouth, flying across the table. It landed in a cup of wine with a great splash, sending the wine cascading over the rim of the cup.

The empress gasped and slumped forward, putting her hands on the table as she coughed, her body wracked with hacking sounds as she breathed in fresh air.

Rupert stood back and let the guards grab hold of his arms, restraining him at spearpoint. Sir Ranulf had his blade at Rupert’s throat. “If you killed her, boy…”

“I didn’t,” Rupert said. “Look.”

He was right. The empress coughed, took a fresh sip of wine, and swallowed, emitting a loud breath. She stood, leaning a hand on Sir Robert’s arm. He gripped her arm in return and asked, “Are you all right?”

She nodded weakly and coughed again. The empress released his arm and sipped the wine, beckoning a servant for more. When she had drunk her fill, she said, “I am now.”

She turned toward Rupert, who was still being held by the guards. “You. Who are you?”

He met her gaze head on. “Rupert Bothwell. I serve Sir Baldwin of Clare.”

“Baldwin? I know him. He was one of my knights,” she croaked, her expression falling into a frown. “You are his squire?”

Rupert nodded.

“How did you… know what to do?”

“You were choking, Your Grace. I’ve seen it before. A man was choking in the market one day and another man came up behind him and did the same movement. Saved his life. He could have died but for that bit of fish.”

“So you saw me choking and leapt into action. What quick thinking on your part.”

Theobold crossed his arms. Of course, Rupert would act the hero. But why would he save the empress, the leader of the opposition, when he served Sir Baldwin of Clare, one of Stephen’s close knights?

Sir Ranulf turned to the servants. “Get the head cook in here. I demand to know why they sliced the bread so thick. We’ll have his head. He almost killed the empress.”

Empress Maud waved her hand, negating his order. “No. I was the one who tore off a bite too big to eat. It is no one’s fault but my own.”

Sir Ranulf turned red, but Maud didn’t care. Her attention was fixed on Rupert, much like a snake on an unsuspecting mouse.

“You may have saved my life.”

“I only did as any man would, Your Grace. If my master were not sitting in prison right now, I know he would have done the same for you.”

She snorted. “Ha. Sir Baldwin made his choice. He is with his master now. Why are you here?”

“I wanted to make myself useful.”

“And so you will.” She surveyed him thoughtfully. “You are a squire. You will serve my man, Sir Ranulf de Gernon, and still look after your Sir Baldwin. You may go.”

She waved her right hand, and the guards released him. Sir Ranulf brightened and opened his mouth, but the empress spoke first.

“Tell the cooks to prepare a handsome meal for Sir Baldwin, and bring it to him in the prison. As a thank you for the actions of his quick-thinking squire. Perhaps a decent meal might make him reflect on his life choices, and think about just whose prison he rots in.” She clapped her hands.

“Now, I will have music. Play us a tune.”

Theobold clenched his teeth and retook his stance behind his master, Sir Robert.

He tried to keep his face calm and composed, but all he wanted to do was punch Rupert in the face.

He wasn’t just a flirtatious chap who liked Bronwyn, now he was a rival at court.

I’ll need to keep a close eye on him , he thought darkly.