"It will be quiet here."

Philip hadn't looked at me since we left the throne room. I had followed him to an empty hall of the castle, scarcely daring to glance up from my boots. He stood now in front of an open room with windows and gestured for me to enter before closing the door.

"This is the study," he said. "My father held his informal meetings here. I could usually be found reading in the corner while they had tea." He smiled faintly for a split second, then dropped his lips into a frown again.

My hands hung limp at my sides. I wanted to reach for his, just to offer a squeeze of reassurance, but settled to hang back in the shadows and watch him.

The King's study was a cozy space, furnished with warm tones - gold and cinnamon brown. A rustic chandelier hung from a chain in the center of the ceiling, bearing eight candles. Two walls were made up of bookshelves, from ceiling to floor, with a wooden ladder to reach the top. The windows were slightly ajar and the heat drifted indoors, carrying scents from the garden outside.

Philip unclasped his cloak and threw it on the armchair, letting it ripple over one side like a red waterfall. I watched him collapse on the sofa and scrub his face until the white powder disappeared and his eyes looked more hollow than ever.

I followed slowly. My boots dragged as if I were trudging through the swamps. There were several seats - the velvet armchair, the footrest, the wooden desk facing the windows. It was stacked high with small books, a quill pen and inkwell, a dusty globe, and an unlit candelabra for night reading.

I found myself sliding to the floor instead, my back propped against the sofa, my eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. Somehow I thought the best place for me was at his feet.

His eyes met mine and I tried to summon a smile, though it probably looked more eerie than comforting.

"You can stay in here awhile," he said. "Till I decide what to do with you."

I drew my knees up to my chest. "You mean... decide whether to throw me in prison or not?"

Philip sighed. "I'm not going to throw you in prison." He sank back into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes. "But I can't exactly ignore all this."

"I've never seen that leaflet before," I said, my voice bordering on desperation. "You have to believe me."

He shook his head wordlessly and turned to stare out the window. The hedge maze where I'd first approached him was in plain view, and I could do little to stop the flood of memories that followed. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

"Until Captain Fitzhugh gets back to me, I won't have any idea how widespread this thing is," Philip said after a long pause. "Of course, publication of seditious papers is punishable by death. Anyone who owns or distributes a copy is risking arrest."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "But what does that mean for me? Do I have to go into hiding or something?"

He let out a short laugh. "Surely not. There must be a thousand peasant boys with cropped hair and hunting boots. Lose the vest, perhaps."

My heart ached. My mother had made me this vest. How could I throw it away like nothing?

"It's maddening to think... there could be people out there whom you've never met... that want you dead." Philip's voice was high and strained. "I'd never imagined I was so despised."

I fought down the growing bitterness inside me. Did he not care about my problems at all? About how all this affected me, the one with no power and no protection? It wasn't as if I had an army of Royal Guards to defend me if some peasant didn't like me.

"There's a lot of people who want me dead," I told him. "Amadi, Sir John, the Duke, Mr Coopers, likely- though I imagine he wants everyone de-"

"The Duke?" Philip interrupted. "What Duke?"

"The-" I stopped short with a hard swallow. "Um-"

"Forget it," he said, returning his gaze to the window. "Can you just be quiet, please? I'm thinking."

I picked at the frayed threads hanging from the bottom of my vest. I was sweaty, covered in pieces of grass, trousers stained with dirt. And just in case I forgot how disgusting I was, I needn't look further than my hands, rubbed raw from holding the shears all day.

Philip's knees were bent, his feet tucked up on the sofa. I was eye level with the pretty silver bows on his stockings, and suddenly I felt like a dog that had just been kicked.

A soft knock at the door called him away. Philip stood and smoothes his cravat on his way across the room. "Just Charles," he said. "I'll let him in."

"You sent for Charles?"

"Oh, Charles always brings tea and crumpets to the study this time of day." The King waved his hand. "Worry not. He can be trusted."

Could he? I thought. Could anyone?

Philip opened the study door and the butler entered, looking particularly damp with perspiration. He hurried to set the tray in his arms down before blotting his brow feverishly with a handkerchief. I accidentally made eye contact with him, then ripped my gaze away and hugged my knees.

"Mr Murray," the butler said, bowing his head.

"Charles," I returned.

Several pastries were laid out on the tray. Some were topped with chantilly cream and others a sprinkle of cinnamon. "Here we have the bichon au citron," Charles said, pointing out a flat powdered pastry. "A new dessert from France." He drew two teacups from the stack and poured the steaming tea.

"I suppose if the French are good for anything, it's their food," the King muttered.

Charles let out a chuckle. The ample flesh of his neck wobbled from the movement. "The French are our allies now, sire. You would do well to appreciate their culture. Besides, your children shall be half-French." His eyes gleamed as he stared down at the bichon au citron.

"You have it." Philip clasped his teacup in both hands. "Talk of children has spoiled my appetite."

Charles wet his lips, seemingly considering, then cleared his throat. "Oh, I could never. These are for you, Your Majesty."

"Auden, are you hungry?" Philip asked.

I was starving, but my stomach was so tight with knots I feared I would throw up even a sip of water. There was a high-pitched ringing in my right ear and the air was slowly draining from the room. I just wanted to sleep for days, maybe weeks.

Philip kept looking at me, even when I didn't respond, until Charles touched his arm lightly. "Another thing, sire," he said, his voice subdued, "the, eh... Lord Chamberlain plans to pay a visit to the study."

"Oh, splendid. A visit from Beauregard. Just what I need." Philip massaged his temples.

"Can I have a crumpet?" I called, too loud. And maybe something strong to drink.

Philip hesitated for a moment. He glanced at Charles. "Yes, you can have a crumpet."

Clumsily, I climbed to my feet. Charles poised his small knife. "Butter or jam, Mr Murray?"

"Butter," I said, feeling my stomach rumble as I smelled the warm pastries. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and the sun would go down soon. "Do you have any croissants?"

Charles gave an apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, sir. I shall tell the kitchen to prepare them next time." He looked between me and the King. "Had I known... you would be here, I would have brought water."

"It's alright," I said.

"No, no, I can retrieve a pitcher," the butler insisted.

"I like tea," I told him.

Charles began to sweat. He blotted his brow. "It would be no trouble."

"Would you shut up!" Philip shouted suddenly. "He said it's fine! He can drink the bloody tea, for God's sake! Just go!"

The butler's gray eyes dimmed. He fell silent and sank into a deep bow before retreating from the room.

Philip spun on his heel, making the coils of his chestnut wig bounce, and pressed a fist hard to his mouth. "God," he hissed through his fingers. "Why did I do that?"

I pushed my crumpet away, no longer hungry.

"Afternoon, sir." Charles' voice floated from the hall.

"Afternoon."

I recognized the cold, posh voice that returned the butler's. Evidently, as did Philip, for his hand slammed into his forehead. "Fuck! Fuck."

"Your Majesty." Beauregard's shrewd eyes narrowed like a cat's. "Have I come at a poor time? I would so hate to be a bother."

"No, you've come at the perfect time," Philip said dully. "I'm of such good humor, can't you tell?"

The Lord Chamberlain was caught off guard but quickly recovered. "Well!" he said, clapping his hands once. "I have just the thing to rouse your spirits, sire. Or shall I say, just the person." He wiggled his brow and ducked out the door.

I tried to catch Philip's eye, but he was staring into space, shaking his head.

"Your Majesty, there is someone I would like you to meet." Beauregard returned, this time dragging a short, scraggly boy by the wrist. He had long brown hair tied back with a ribbon, dirt brown eyes, and a sour expression on his face. Beauregard held the boy tightly by his bony shoulders, as if afraid he would escape. "This is Demitri."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty." Demitri bowed carefully, both hands clasped behind his back. He had a thick Russian accent.

"Demitri is the son of an ambassador who now works translating Russian books to English. He is highly educated and can discuss art, music, and literature." Beauregard strolled to the table, looking down at the arrangement of pastries with mild disdain. He plucked the crumpet from the plate in front of me. "You weren't going to eat this, were you, boy?" he asked before taking a bite.

"Actually, I've already had my fill," I said. "But the scraps are all yours."

"Auden," Philip warned.

"Oh, it's Auden now, is it?" The Lord Chamberlain took another bite, his smile pleasant as ever. "I thought you were still calling him Mr... whatever his name is."

It's Auden Murray, you pretentious bastard, and if you don't step away from me this instant I'm going to shove this butter knife down your throat- I placated myself with mental images of stabbing his smug face repeatedly.

"Let me put it this way, sire," Beauregard continued, walking back to Demitri. "I... am not ignorant to the fact that you have been... well, lonely."

Philip flinched, but he said nothing.

"I blame no one but myself for this unfortunate situation." Beauregard let out a soft sigh. "I should have seen the signs in your early years and talked your father into... getting you some friends..."

Philip's form became very still. Pain flickered in his eyes and yet he did not allow his emotions to take hold. "I don't see why that would have been your responsibility," he said faintly.

"Well..." Beauregard seemed to struggle for the right words. "I, as your close confidant and caretaker, should have done more to ensure your happiness. Demitri will make a good companion for you, sire. A good influence."

"I have a companion," the King replied stiffly. "He's sitting right there."

"That-" Desperation broke through the Lord Chamberlain's steely mask. "That boy will bring you nothing but trouble, sire. Trust me. I... I know his kind well. It is important you find someone of your caliber."

"I don't care," Philip whispered. "Auden is special to me."

"Look." The Lord Chamberlain strode forward and clasped the King's shoulders, staring down at him. He lowered his voice, perhaps hoping to sound soothing, perhaps hoping I wouldn't overhear. "I understand, sire. You found some boy off the street who worships the ground you walk on and looks at you like a god. It would be addicting for anyone-"

"You're wrong." Philip's voice quivered but he held his ground. "You're wrong and that is why you'll never understand. He doesn't look at me like a god. He looks at me as I am. He knows I have a heart and I have feelings and he cares about me. You never cared. You knew how alone I was for years and you did nothing."

Beauregard's hands fell from the King. "I was only-"

"Well I don't need you!" Philip took a sharp breath. A single shining tear rolled down his cheek. "I can make my own friends now."

"Of course you can, sire," Beauregard said, gently like he was speaking to a child. "Of course you can."

Philip choked back a sob and stumbled away from him, both his arms coming up around his body like a shield. "You don't know what it's like to live like this." His eyes glinted with tears. "No one wants to even look at me."

"That is the cross you bear." The Lord Chamberlain spit out the words. "You are King. Your duty is to rule. Your father raised you-"

"Stop talking about my father!" Philip screamed. "You're just like him, I hate you!"

Beauregard drew himself up, his eyes smoldering like the coals of a dying fire. "No. You are more like him than you will ever know. Philip."

The room grew deadly quiet. Demitri looked about to faint. The King looked at Beauregard with empty eyes and held himself tightly, as if he might topple and break. "You may take your leave now," he whispered.

The Lord Chamberlain sucked in a small breath and steered Demitri from the room, his grip on the boy's shoulders lighter this time, almost protective.

Philip crossed to the window and stared out at the garden for a long time, his back turned to me. I counted my heartbeats until they were steady enough to get up, and then I went to his side, standing beside him but saying nothing.

We breathed in the scent of flowers and watched the nobles walk the garden, their voices a soft buzz. The sun was setting; soon the air would be cool and bring relief from the blaze of summer. I could see gray clouds in the sky, promising rain.

He spoke suddenly, his voice so soft I barely heard. "Do you think I'm like him?"

"Your father?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes." He turned and faced me with hauntingly calm eyes. "Do you think I'm like my father?"

My thoughts turned to King Philip III. Propaganda pieces had always depicted him with exaggerated features - huge and bloated and wrinkled - but the only real image I had of him was his dead body lying in the courtyard, the line of blood trickling from his open mouth.

"No," I answered, because when I pictured the dead king, I saw something vile, something disgusting, and when I pictured Philip, I saw only beauty.

"My father was cruel to his people," Philip said. "I think I could be very kind, if someone only gave me the chance."

"You are kind," I whispered.

"I was horrible to Charles."

"You were upset," I said gently. "He'll forgive you."

"And I was horrible to you." His voice trembled.

I took a slow breath. I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, he could treat me like a roach in the dirt and I would still love him. But I held my tongue.

"I couldn't even stand up to Fitzhugh when he said you... you were all livestock," he murmured.

"Philip," I said. He turned away from me. He was ashamed. He didn't really think those things.

He didn't think those things about me.

"Philip, darling, please look at me," I whispered. When he did not, I went on anyway. "I'm not good with words. I never... learned the right way to say things. Or when to say nothing at all. But... I think you're perfect. You're kind and empathetic and curious. You want to know about the world. You want to understand people. You've been through so much, losing your father, having to rule so suddenly, being under such scrutiny... it's alright not to be... strong all the time. And you're so beautiful. You're radiant. As the sun itself. And I..."

I broke off. I could feel my heart climbing in my throat, the airways tightening and twisting. I was too much of a coward to say it.

"And if all your subjects knew you as I do, they would adore you."

Finally he met my eyes. "I don't know how to make them know me."

I paused. I'd thought about this since the last time we spoke of the people, and I had a better answer this time. "I think... you need to know them first."

His arms crossed over his chest. "Alright, so how do I get to know them?"

"I have an idea, but it might go horribly," I said.

Philip narrowed his eyes. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I don't know. We both get killed?"

He smiled at me for the first time since I'd lain in his bed, holding him in his arms, thinking I had found heaven on earth. "What's your idea?"

"What if you could see the people for yourself? Not as a king, but just as a man? No fancy carriages, no courtiers trailing you everywhere. Just you and me and two horses. Let's get out of here."

His teeth sank into his lip and twisted. I knew that meant he was thinking. "Where would we go? It's nearly dusk."

I grinned. "Just out to London."

Philip let out a loud sigh. But he was smiling. I had made him smile. "Auden, for God's sake, where are you taking me?"

"The place everyone in London goes at night. The tavern, of course."