He didn’t even wait for good-byes as he quit the room.

Rob leaned back, draping his arm over me and staring up. “And I thought our love was fraught,” he said.

I held up the letter. “If they’re bringing more silver, we need to wait until it’s here to steal it,” I told him. “We can only make this play once, and if Prince John has enough to fill the treasury back up again the plan is useless.”

Rob looked at me. “There’s no way if Eleanor, a huge number of nobles, and de Clare are here for a wedding, Prince John isn’t planning on coming. Especially since I’m sure de Clare has sent word that we’re here by now. Prince John won’t be able to stay away. Which means stealing the money when he’s here. When he’s watching.”

“And when Winchester is either too drunk with grief or running off with his bride to help us,” I added.

He drew a breath and closed his eyes, his throat working. “There are a million ways this can end badly, Scar.”

I nodded. “There always were.”

Chapter 29

That night, I went to visit Margaret. She were awake in her room, staring out the window, quiet.

She turned to me when I entered. “Have you seen Saer?” she asked.

I nodded. “He’s gone riding. I thought that meant an hour or two, but Rob thinks he won’t be back until tomorrow or the next day.”

She sighed. “That will clear his mind.”

“He wants to run away with you,” I said.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “He does?”

Sitting beside her, I nodded. “I told him I would help you both if you consented. If you wanted to overthrow your father’s wishes.”

She looked at me. “You did that, didn’t you? Disobeyed your father. Ran away.”

My shoulders lifted. “It turns out he was not actually my father, but yes. I ran away—without a man—instead of marrying Gisbourne, who my father wanted for me. I was young, though. Not ready in so many ways.”

“And it was the right choice?” she asked.

I sighed. “Maybe. I think life becomes a fabric of choices, interwoven, all related. I think I had to run away then to be married to Rob now. But running away also cost me the life of my sister. It split my life into these two things, thief and lady.”

“You aren’t split. You’re simply more than one thing at once.”

I shrugged. “I don’t think I would have chosen different,” I told her. “But this path has been costly beyond measure, and fraught with darkness and pain. I would wish different things for you.”

She stared out the window again. “I don’t understand if the less painful path would be to marry de Clare and obey my father, or Saer. The man I love.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I can’t say either. But being married to someone you love . . .” I stopped, shivers running over my skin. “I never imagined I could care for someone like this. I didn’t think I had that in me.”

She took my hand, gave me a weak smile, and looked out the window as her smile faded. “I can’t disobey my father,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

Isabel called for a feast to be held the next evening to celebrate the engagement of Margaret and de Clare. Even in so little time, the palace cooks made a ridiculous spectacle of stuffed birds that looked frozen in flight, sugar confections that appeared as if from some kind of strange dream, and food enough to feed half of London.

There were minstrels called in, and I shouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see Allan amongst them, but I were. Rob laughed beside me, grinning my way.

“I have prepared something exquisite for the princess,” Allan said, bowing to Isabel.

She beamed at this. “Very well, minstrel,” she said. “Play on.”

Allan glanced at me with a wink, and I glanced at Rob, horrified and hoping I weren’t the princess he meant. Allan swept out in another, fancy bow for Isabel, and he nodded to his fellows.

A bonny fine maid of a noble degree,

With a hey down down a down down

Maid Marian called by name,

Did live in the North, of excellent worth,

For she was a gallant dame.

For favor and face, and beauty most rare,

Queen Hellen she did excel;

For Marian then was praised of all men

That did in the country dwell.

’Twas neither Rosamond nor Jane Shore,

Whose beauty was clear and bright,

That could surpass this country lass,

Beloved of lord and knight.

The Earl of Huntingdon, nobly born,

That came of noble blood,

To Marian went, with a good intent,

By the name of Robin Hood.

With kisses sweet their red lips meet,

For she and the earl did agree;

In every place, they kindly embrace,

With love and sweet unity.

Rob kissed my hand, but I felt pale and weak and sick. This couldn’t be a good thing, and I felt eyes on me, de Clare and Isabel at the very least.

The song went on, verse after verse, telling some silly false story of kisses and feasts and me getting wounded and Rob rushing to my aid. Which, I’m sure, were true in some way, but it felt strange and different, and I sounded like a simpering lady. Not one word of my knives, or the scrapes I’d saved him from. I felt myself scowl deeper and deeper at Allan.

“It isn’t really about us,” Rob whispered to me. “It’s what they want to hear.”

“They want to hear lies,” I grunted.