William. Castle Randal The steward adjusted the shoulders of William's vest, smoothing the brocaded fabric so it would lay flat. He stood in front of a mirror in the guest quarters he'd been given in the castle, allowing the steward to do his work as he remained silent and practically unmoving. "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. He left his bedchamber, only to find Towson awaiting him in the privy chamber. William bowed to the older man. "Lord Ingraham," Towson greeted him, his face somber but friendly, "I thought perchance to speak with you, before council." So word of Aliana's appointment of him to the council had spread. "And so we shall," William assented, striding toward the door as Towson joined him. They exited into the hall, and 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 I did not," William replied, presenting an image of cool calm. "I had not the calmness of mind to sleep, as I am sure you understand. I cannot express the guilt I feel at His Grace's injury." 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 means to be without the princess, I want the worst of all nights. They spoke no more of William's alleged wandering of the castle halls as they moved down to the council chamber. Rounding the corner to the hall off of which it sat, William saw Aliana standing in the corridor, away from the doors. Keynes was by her side. Aliana 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 Aliana'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 Aliana before moving into the chamber. Her gaze again turned to William. "I thank you for sitting on my council, Lord Ingraham," Aliana 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, my lady," 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, my lady?" he asked urgently, focus fixed on Aliana. "I am merely tired," Aliana 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 Aliana 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 Aliana." The use of her name, not her title, warmed him -- but then, Keynes knew it would help.