Chapter 11Theo shut the small red tower door, removed his outer coat, hung it up, turned round, and found himself in the middle of an argument with the man he loved. He hadn’t even known they’d been having a disagreement, but the look on Henry’s face announced as much to the entire tower, coats and raindrops and all.
“Very well,” Theo said, “what is it?” And for a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, he wanted to grab his coat and walk right back out. His head hurt—the usual, these days, plus wine and wine-spills, Clarence’s friends, disorder and constant noise, the need to balance the attentions of a baron with Henry’s obvious suspicions, with the entire murderous plot lurking just out of vision—and he wished to sit down, in quiet, with a book and no conversation.
Just for a moment. One momen
