William. Castle Randal The steward adjusted the shoulders of William's vest, smoothing the brocade so it would lay flat. He stood in front of a mirror in the guest quarters he'd been given, allowing the steward to do his work as he remained silent and still. "Is there anything else I can provide for you, my lord?" the steward asked, standing a step back with his arms behind him. William looked over at him wearily and shook his head. The young steward seemed nervous, but when William did not object he bowed and departed the room quickly. William looked back at the mirror. It was badly in need of a shine, and the imperfection of the reflecting surface made him look even more haggard. He had not slept, but then, he had not wanted to; nor, he was certain, would he have been able had he been alone. But he had not been alone. And if he found any comfort at all, it was in touching his chest and remembering Laina's hand there, or her mouth on his neck, her heart racing up to meet his when their bodies tangled together. Thoughts of her pushed down, he left his bedchamber, only to find Towson awaiting him in the hall. William bowed to the older man. "Lord Ingraham," Towson greeted him, his face somber but friendly, "I thought to speak with you, before council." So word of Laina's appointment of him to the council had spread. "And so we shall," William assented, striding ahead as Towson joined him. They began toward the stairs. "What is on your mind, my friend?" William asked amiably, trying to keep his tone light. Towson smiled in a knowing way that only one of the court's best spymasters could. "I have word you did not make use of the chambers the princess most generously provided for you until just this morning, after sunrise," Towson said, unflinching and not wasting time with niceties. "Indeed not," William replied, presenting an image of cool calm. "I hadn't the calmness of mind to sleep, as I am sure you understand. I--" He tried to push as much truth into his words as he could. "I feel guilty, for what happened to His Grace." While his look remained skeptical, Towson said gently, "You are our king's most trusted friend, and he would not want you to aggrieve yourself so for the natural consequences of war, my lord." The older man paused. "I take it you wandered the halls, then, to tire yourself?" William allowed the older man to put words in his mouth, seemingly unfazed by the interrogation. "I did, to no success, but I hope tonight will be better," he said, meaning none of it. If better meant to be without the princess, he wanted none of it. They spoke no more of William's alleged wandering of the castle as they moved down to the council chamber. Rounding the corner to the hall off of which it sat, William saw Laina standing in the corridor, away from the doors. Keynes was by her side. Laina heard their approach first and turned, her dark eyes quickly finding William's. Both he and Towson stopped just before them, both bowing to her, though he did not drop his gaze from hers. "My prayers are with you, Your Highness," Towson addressed her, rising to look at her. "Have we any word of the king?" William watched as what little color remained in Laina's face left it. "No, my lord, no word," she replied. Her expression was harsh as it fell on Towson, harsh in a way that bore not hatred or dislike but impatience. Towson was brighter than most, and saw it as his cue to leave, bowing again to Laina before moving into the chamber. Her gaze again turned to William. "I thank you for sitting on my council, Lord Ingraham," Laina said softly, gratefully, but without so much as a half-smile. William could not begrudge her that, not with Derrick lying ill. He nodded his head to her. "It will be my honor to serve you, Your Highness," he said, and could have sworn he heard her quickened inhale at the very words he'd said to her in her bed just hours earlier. Keynes was no fool, and caught the sound too. "Are you not well, Princess?" he asked urgently, focus fixed on Laina. "Tired," Laina assured him, meeting William's eyes. Her look was a pretense, as if to assure him that she was alright, but they held the same glassiness they had in the night, of needing his comfort. She was quick to look back to Keynes. "I did not sleep," the princess said, her voice so convincingly somber that William almost believed she'd actually tossed and turned all night in sadness, rather than in his arms. He watched as Keynes placed a protective hand on her shoulder, wishing it were his. But Laina acted as a queen now, and even the comforting touch of Keynes, the adviser who had known her since childhood, was probably untoward. Keynes turned to him and met his eyes. For a moment, William was certain he knew. "Lord Ingraham, you may have my seat at council, until we have had it rearranged. I will stand with Laina." The use of her name, not her title, warmed him, but Keynes was the sort to know it would help.