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Winchester was… disappointing. Part of it was the rain that drummed against the oilskin saddlebags and his hooded jerkin, running in rivulets down his back and his horse’s legs as they made a slow and steady march through roads that turned to mud.

He had formed part of the empress’s entourage as she’d visited with Henry of Blois and paid her respects to the church, but to her surprise, not all the nobility had been there to recognize her in her pre-coronation ceremony.

Theobold had watched quietly as the empress, whilst putting on a polite and serene face in public, took issue with this before the men.

She raged and threw objects in private. More than once, he’d had to duck and dodge as crockery dishes, plates, and vases were launched at the walls, shattering against the stone and jangling his nerves.

This wasn’t a queen, this was an empress, and she was volatile.

Even worse, the treasury she was to inherit was empty. At the time when Henry of Blois had told her, she had laughed and said, “Is this a joke?”

The bishop’s silence had answered her, and her smile had fallen. As had her goodwill. Theobold had exchanged a knowing look with the other squires as they’d stood by silently, conscious that another rage was coming.

Her courtiers, for there were always some, had been quick to try to placate her.

The rain and foul weather had delayed many traveling, especially on the roads from London.

But she’d eventually gotten her approval from the church, on the proviso of some deal she’d struck with Henry, and earned her ceremony in Winchester, before dozens of nobility.

The London delegation still had not arrived.

On a fine day in April, she wore a fine dress and Theobold wondered what Bronwyn would think of it all, the pomp and ceremony, as she was announced empress and future Queen of England.

The hall filled with the applause and cheers of her knights and noble families.

But as Theobold looked around the great hall, he wondered how many of them would actually stand by her.

The noble families wore plastered smiles and toasted the empress, but would they still if they knew the treasury was empty, and she’d sent the bishop’s own brother to prison?

That night after the ceremony, a feast was held in her honor.

Theobold served at table, monitoring his master for anything he might need, and remained quiet as he ignored the admiring looks of the ladies present and the maidservants.

He had no interest in their smiles, and it surprised him.

After the meal, he took his time to chat with a few and recognized a few not-so-subtle invitations to sneak into some dark corners to steal kisses, but when faced with the possibility, something in him turned cold.

He no longer wished to plant his lips on just any young woman’s willing face.

He had no interest in their hair, lips, or bodies.

He wanted only one: the bright-eyed, frowning face of Bronwyn Blakenhale, whose blonde braid swung like an angry cat’s tail when she was angry, and whose eyes flashed when she was annoyed, a thing that happened often.

He missed her, he realized. Why had his cousin, Lady Morwenna, had to go and ruin things?

But then, he’d played a part in that and had only himself to blame. Why had he told Lady Morwenna such lies? But he knew why. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

He was beholden to Lady Morwenna’s family, the Banburys, and had been since he’d been a small child.

His own family was poor, and what money they did have went to their survival.

But his uncle, Lady Morwenna’s father, didn’t have a son, only daughters, and wanted to do right by him.

Their family had connections and sometimes sponsored young men who showed promise, like Theobold, when he’d shown an interest in stepping outside his own family’s traditional profession.

His uncle had taught him how to serve as a page and when he’d turned nine, introduced him as a potential page to Sir Robert of Gloucester, who had been visiting and as luck would have it, whose page had recently died of illness.

Theobold remembered that night, serving at the table in clothes too big for him, his shoes shuffling, almost slipping as he’d carried wooden trenchers heavily laden with steaming meat, straight from the kitchen.

His uncle had arranged the introduction and after serving for the evening, the young knight had turned on the bench and surveyed Theobold.

“How old are you, boy?” the man had asked. He’d had a full, thick beard and had been broad-shouldered.

“Nine.”

“Can you fight? Are you strong?”

“Yes.” Theobold had curled up an arm to show off his muscles.

The man had grinned. “Can you ride a horse?”

Theobold had nodded.

“You’ll do.” The man had waved him over to fill up his cup of wine and said no more.

The next day, Theobold had been visited by the man on a great horse, who’d told him to bid his family goodbye.

His mother had clasped him close to her breast, tearing up, whilst his father had clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Be strong, and of good faith, lad. Do what your master says, and you’ll see the world. ”

His sister, Winifred, had shyly watched from the doorway and given him a flower goodbye. He’d lost it in the first week, but whenever he saw the purple tops of thistles, he thought of her.

That had been years ago. He’d aged since then and had visited but rarely.

Attracted by the idea of adventure and serving a knight, he’d grown up in the employ of Sir Robert.

Once Lady Morwenna had become one of the empress’s ladies-in-waiting, and she’d come bearing a missive from her father, his patron, Theobold realized they’d hardly needed to ask.

Of course, he would look after her and make sure she settled well into the court.

It would do them good to know a family member was nearby if she needed help, and it reminded him of his obligation and debt to his patron.

But the Lady Morwenna at age nineteen was not the same woman as the wide-eyed, black-haired girl he’d known as a child.

She was simpering, she was mocking, and even mean.

She ordered other people around like servants, when there was no need to, even the fellow ladies-in-waiting at times, and hardly a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ ever passed her lips.

And worse, if he showed too much romantic interest toward any one woman, she made their lives miserable.

He didn’t dare reveal how he cared for Bronwyn.

Theobold didn’t want to give Lady Morwenna the satisfaction, or see what horrid plans she would plot for her.

He liked Bronwyn too much for that. But how to tell Bronwyn?

Her hurt expression made no bones about it: she was offended and no doubt angry at him for keeping the empress’s orders a secret from her.

He wasn’t likely to tell her that he’d been instructed to flirt with her and get into her good graces, but he could see why she felt betrayed.

The sharp step and foul cursing of the empress drew his attention away. She cursed a blue streak in French, her native language, and said words he did not know, but he was rather glad he didn’t.

She was followed into the private room by Sir Robert, Sir Miles, and a handful of other knights. Theobold stood at attention as she raged and paced the room, her hands clenching and unclenching. She approached Theobold. “Give me your sword.”

He unsheathed the blade and handed it over without question.

She took it from his hands and wove it in a large arc, attacking the nearby table. The heavy blade struck the wood with a loud thunk , chipping small pieces of wood into the air.

Theobold stiffened and looked at his master, stunned. He rubbed his forehead. The empress might have a right to anything she wanted, but she was damaging his sword and he began to fret. Swords were expensive.

Everyone in the room stared in amazement as the empress hacked and swore, slicing and chopping at the wooden table in her anger.

She railed and stabbed at the long table with the sword, which was heavy for her to bear.

In moments, she became tired and tossed the sword away, panting.

She shouted a swear word and leaned over the table.

Theobold quietly picked up his fallen sword. It wasn’t meant to be used as an axe. It hadn’t taken any major damage, but he’d need to hone the blade and clean it again for sure.

“Empress?” Sir Robert started.

She looked up.

“If the table offends you, I’m happy to find you a proper axe.”

She glared at him, meeting his eyes for a solid minute, then let out a throaty laugh. “No, the table does not offend me. The London nobility does. They have not come to hear me announced as the queen, and it is a grave insult. I am insulted, as should all of you be. Who do they think they are?”

Sir Robert walked toward the pitcher of wine on the table, filling a cup and handing it to her.

She drank thirstily, then set it down. “They also insult me by taking their time. The roads are clear, the rain has all but stopped. Why have they not come? They have missed the ceremony entirely. Did they even mean to show their faces?”

The men were silent. Sir Robert bowed his head, as did Theobold. Silence reigned in the room, when a voice said, “They do not respect you, Empress.”

Empress Maud’s head snapped toward the sound. “Who said that?”

Sir Miles spoke up. “I did. The fact is they do not believe you are worthy of their respect, so they dally and delay. You need to make them sit up and take notice that you are their rightful queen.”

“Yes. But how? I already had my ceremony here.”

“Be crowned in London. Make them pay,” Sir Miles advised. “Charge them for their loyalty, demand their fealty with a cost to their purses, and they will take you seriously.”

Theobold’s mouth set in a firm line. That strategy sounded like a good way to make the people of London dislike her.

“Empress, I must disagree. The London nobles are late, but that’s no reason to punish them. They will not take kindly to this.” Sir Robert said.

“I do not care. They should have treated me with respect if they wanted respect in return. No, Sir Miles is right. They need to be taught a lesson. I will make them pay for their rudeness with every coin they have. I am Queen of the English, and they will recognize my legitimacy.” She looked at Sir Robert.

“We will be crowned in London. First, let us return to Gloucester and get more men. Then we go to London.”

Days later, in early May, the empress summoned him. “Theobold. Are you still close with that kitchen maid?”

Bronwyn was never far from his thoughts. “Yes, Empress.”

“Good.” She rubbed her hands together. The empress’s smile was warm, but her eyes were calculating. She gripped a small note in her gloved hand. “I have here a letter from Matilda, Stephen’s wife. She writes to beg for her husband’s release from prison.”

Theobold glanced at his master, Sir Robert, who gave a slight shake of his head. His frown was apparent.

“I will do no such thing,” said the empress. “He is a danger and is better off where he is.”

Sir Miles stood by, his hands resting behind his back.

“A wise decision, Empress. While he lives, he poses a threat to you and all you stand for. The nobles will not respect you unless you show strength. Come down on them hard, demand their respect and their coin, and they will give you their loyalty.”

Empress Maud nodded. “I want to give Matilda a little surprise. I will write back and invite her to London, to witness my coronation as rightful ruler. She will not call herself ‘queen’ for much longer. And having her favorite, little kitchen maid there, seeing her amongst my people, my followers, will be all the better for it. We will travel there for June.” She turned to Sir Robert and Sir Miles.

“Call the men back from Bristol. Let us make the arrangements for my coronation.”

Theobold schooled his face to display no change of emotion. But this did not bode well. For the first time in a long time, fear bloomed in his heart.