Lord Bishop stood stiffly, his hands folded, though his eyes never stopped watching. He had lived long enough to recognize deceit when it slithered into a room. And right now, deceit had the face of Lord Richard.
Richard was speaking with unusual calm, his silver tongue sliding across words as easily as wine poured from a jug. "We must remain vigilant," he said. "The king's health… well, he weakens by the day. I suggest we take Lord Gabriel into hiding, begin preparing him for the throne. It is the wise course."
Bishop's lips twitched, almost into a smile. Everyone with half a brain knew Richard despised Gabriel. He had made no effort to hide it for decades. His hatred was an open wound. And now suddenly, he spoke as if the man were his prized jewel?
