Eat the Poor

XXVI

"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.