“Get up,” Dagobert whispered in the darkness of the antechamber, too furious to be polite. Eustache roused himself with some difficulty, sparing a skeptical glance at the shadows still enfolding them.
“Can you not make merry a little longer? It would do me no injury to have a decent night’s sleep,” the older man growled. He gathered a blanket around his shoulders against the chill of the early hour.
“She knows,” Dagobert hissed. He paced the width of the room and back while his friend absorbed the tidings. He had the urge to kick the one-horned goat that was at the center of the entire mess, though none of it was that creature’s doing. The fault was all his own. His temper was not improved by the timing of Alienor’s declaration.
Eustache ran one hand through his hair and squinted at his
