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T he word of Sir Edward’s death and the failed attempt on Empress Maud, followed by her almost choking to death, spread like wildfire.

Servants were questioned about the crown, particularly those who served within her immediate household, led by Sir Miles.

Sir Bors led the investigation into the attempted poisoning on her life, and for the next few hours, cooks were questioned, guards demanded answers, and the castle was in an uproar. All over a crown and a piece of bread.

Bronwyn worked in the kitchen, her eyes and ears open to all the court gossip.

But each time a servant was questioned under armed guard, she tensed and couldn’t concentrate.

What would she say when they asked her? That the crown had been poisoned was news.

How could someone poison a crown? She froze amidst wiping.

Had the crown been poisoned when she’d had it at the camp?

She’d touched it so many times. Admittedly, it had been mostly wrapped in her apron or the dresses at the time, but she had worn it once.

Had she unknowingly risked her own life in handling it? She needed to learn more.

She wiped down the worktables with trembling hands and helped clean up after the evening meal. But soon her turn came.

A guard approached and said, “You. Come with me. You’re wanted for questioning.”

A lump rose in her throat. She followed the servant into the adjoining cooking space and saw that they’d meant to question her in the kitchen, at the table where the cooks and servants ate.

She blinked. They couldn’t be able to get much information out of people when they practically had an audience. Anyone could listen.

She sat at the long, empty, wooden table, where Sir Bors had made himself comfortable with a cup of ale. “You. You’re always at the center of trouble, aren’t you?”

Bronwyn shook her head. She opened her mouth, then shut it. She had a feeling that anything she said would only be used against her, depending on Sir Bors’s mood.

He noticed her shut mouth and grinned. “Smart. Now. What do you know about this business with the crown?”

She froze. “I don’t know anything.”

“And I don’t believe you. Tell me what you know. Now.” He leaned back on the bench.

She shrugged.

“Did you know the crown was poisoned?”

“No.”

“Did you happen to touch it?”

She cocked her head at him. “When would I have done that?”

“I know the empress wanted you to find it. Failed at your mission, didn’t you? Maybe you got jealous and wanted to hurt her after somebody else found the crown and you didn’t. It had a needle stuck to it. You know something about that? You missing a needle?”

“No. I don’t have any.” She didn’t want to suggest he speak to any maids, either. She didn’t want to implicate anyone innocent. Unlike Lady Alice and poor Mabel.

“Fine. And this bread that the empress ate. You bake that?”

“Probably. We all have a hand in the cooking, usually.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe you wanted her to choke. Maybe you purposely made the bread so hard, you hoped she wouldn’t be able to swallow it.”

“I didn’t do any of those things. We always make the bread the same way.” She was thinking very rude thoughts now but didn’t speak them. It wasn’t her fault the empress had taken too large a bite and almost choked to death.

“A likely story. It’d have been easy for you to get some poison, I bet.”

“How was it poisoned? I heard a knight died.”

“Sir Edward.”

Her hand darted to her mouth. “The man who was in love with Lady Eleanor.”

“The very same.”

“How did he die?”

“He touched the crown and it pricked him. Now listen here, I’m asking the questions.” He glared at her. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? Who’s to say you and Theobold didn’t get together and—”

“We’re not together,” she said.

Sir Bors laughed, a loud, ringing sound. He waggled his eyebrows at the guard by his shoulder. “’Course you’re not. You two just happened to be having it off right there in the empress’s tent the night of the bonfire. You lovers, I swear.” He chuckled.

“We are not lovers,” she said hotly.

“Sure, you’re not,” Sir Bors said, “and I’m made of cheese. All right, I’m wasting my time here. But you hear anything, you tell me. Yeah?”

She nodded.

“Let’s go. These servants don’t know anything,” he told the guards. He rose, stretched and finished his ale, then belched loudly.

Bronwyn went back to the worktable, which was clean already, and picked up the damp rag she’d been holding.

If that was how Sir Bors went about investigating, it was no wonder he hadn’t found anything.

He was hopeless. But she had learned a few things.

First, poor Sir Edward had died, pricked by poison.

But how? She had touched the crown so often, she likely would have poisoned herself rather quickly at the camp if it had been poisoned then.

She tried to focus on her work while thinking.

Rumors spread that it had clearly been an attempt on the empress’s life.

Others said King Stephen had broken free of prison and forced her at spearpoint to eat it or give up her throne, whilst others said it had been mere clumsiness on her part.

She’d simply eaten a piece of bread that had been too big to swallow, and being hard, it had stuck in her throat.

It was not the first time a person had died from choking, nor would it be the last.

A lesser woman might have feared for her life, or having had two near-death experiences, be a bit rattled. Not Empress Maud. If anything, she was more focused, more driven, more demanding that actions fall into place to secure her rule.

The next day, a page tapped on Bronwyn’s shoulder in the kitchen. “Yes?”

“A squire wants to talk to you,” the page said.

“Oh.” Her spirits lifted. Was it Rupert? She wiped her hands on her apron.

The head cook waved her out. “Don’t take too long. We’ve got luncheon to prepare.”

Bronwyn nodded and followed the page out of the kitchen.

Seeing Theobold standing in the corridor, she said, “Oh. Hullo.”

He nodded at the page, who left. Once he was sure they were alone, he said, “Don’t look so disappointed. We need to talk. Walk with me outside?”

“All right.”

They exited the castle, their shoes crunching on the stiff ground. Theobold said, “You’ll no doubt have heard about the death of Sir Edward and the empress almost choking.”

“Yes, everyone knows. Someone tried to kill the empress.”

“I was there. Sir Edward’s death was an accident.

When he brought the crown to her at dinner, someone had affixed a poisoned needle to the inside of it.

The crown was stained with Sir Edward’s blood when I looked at it, but it also bore a different kind of stain.

I thought we might speak with the healer about it together. ”

She let out a small sigh of relief.

“What?” he asked.

“So it was poisoned after we arrived in Gloucester.”

“It looks that way. Oh. Oh.” He cursed and ran a hand through his dark curls. He gripped her shoulder. “Good God, Bronwyn. If it had been poisoned before…”

“I’d be dead already.” She turned a shade paler. “At least you know it wasn’t me.”

“No. It was likely poisoned after you returned it. But I can’t say I didn’t suspect you.”

She glared at him. He removed his hand.

“Only for a minute. I realized it couldn’t have been you. And…… I didn’t think it was.” He faced her. “You may not like me, or like the idea of being with me, but we are mixed up together in this mess. I think we know each other well enough to know that neither of us would willingly commit murder.”

She met his eyes. But both of them had killed before. She had in defending herself and the empress, and he in rescuing her during the battle outside Lincoln. “Neither of us is a poisoner, I believe that.”

“Good enough. I…… didn’t tell anyone you had the crown.”

“Thank you. But why?” Her fingers touched her parted lips.

“I don’t think you meant the empress any harm. Besides, you had the crown for days. During that time, you could have sold it, ransomed it, collected enough money to start your life over. But you didn’t.”

She paused. She’d never even thought of doing any of those things. But they were wrong. To knowingly sell a crown that wasn’t hers to begin with, it amounted to stealing, to selling stolen goods. That was not her way.

Bronwyn met his eyes. There was warmth, and kindness there. “Thank you.”

He smiled faintly and a slight blush colored his cheeks. “Anyway. Thought you’d want to come along. It’s not my usual choice of how I’d spend time with a pretty woman, but it’ll do.”

She rolled her eyes at that and tried not to smile. “Lead the way.”

He took her to another part of the castle, where the surgeon had a sort of hut, filled with low-hanging bushes and vines of herbs.

It was a proper workroom, with many shelves laden with jars and pots.

The surgeon and his assistant from the camp were there, along with Sir Robert of Gloucester, a hooded figure, and stretched out on a worktable, a body.

Bronwyn tensed. It was Sir Edward. Gazing upon his corpse was chilling. She recognized his thinning, blond hair turning to silvery grey, and the cut of his clothes. A pang of sadness filled her for the loss of him. First Lady Eleanor and now him. Two good people dead. It didn’t make sense.

The surgeon stood by with his assistant and beckoned them to come close. “Close the door,” he said.

Sir Robert asked Theobold, his eyes darting to Bronwyn, “Why is she here?”

The hooded figure waved at Sir Robert and hissed. “We do not have time for this. Continue, Master Surgeon.”

Theobold extended his arm to Bronwyn, as if they were at a dance. “You can hold on to me if you wish. If you feel overcome.”

A part of her wanted to laugh at him, then she realized he was being serious. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Once they were gathered around the body, the surgeon said, “I do not like this.”

“Tell us what you have found,” the hooded figure said.