“Dear sister.” King Eadbald kisses my cheek and takes my hand. “Come near the fire. May I offer you wine while we have our discussions?”
I accept a beaker, holding its warmth in my hand.
My brother selects a sweetmeat and chews thoughtfully, before wiping his fingers on a linen cloth. “We’ve been so busy in this holy season, we’ve hardly kept up with events in Northumbria.”
“I know enough,” I say, after sipping my wine. “I know my husband’s enemies laid waste to our lands and butchered our people.”
The king shakes his head. “Such heathens,” he says. “Events will run their course; order will return.”
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