King Richard greeted his brother warmly and offered the men that came with him as much good welcome as could be managed on such short notice. But it seemed his big brother was having none of it. Not a terribly great surprise. Roland and Richard had always bumped heads to a degree before their father's passing. But when the throne was passed over Roland's head to Richard, their sometimes contentious relationship had become painfully strained. Richard always hoped some day his big brother would lay aside his hurt on the matter but each time they met, the king could see if festering away inside the older man. It was a sad thing to watch one's own brother be consumed by something like that. And the older they got, the more Richard could only hope they would make amends before the end. He wanted no ill feelings between he and his brother when they passed into the realm of their ancestors.

But by the serious look on Roland's face, Richard knew well that there would be no time for talks of reconciliation this day. No, Roland came only to bear bad news before the sleepily assembled court.

“Brother, tell me, why are you here? You must have ridden all through the night to reach us.” Richard's voice boomed into the room as he tried to stifle a yawn. He was a man that worked late into the night, not one that rose particularly early. And so, Roland began to tell Richard and the court of the attack.

“Estal has been attacked.” A wave of startled gasps went through the court and suddenly everyone was very much awake. “I believe Count Montierro played now small part in the betrayal and I believe he means to come for you next, brother.”

It was the first time Roland had called King Richard “brother” in perhaps over a decade. It touched the king deeply and in ways he had not expected. The throne was a lonely place—especially when one was making absolutely no friends among the court that filled the halls of one's home. To think his brother might call him so again, might worry for his safety... it warmed him. Though the idea that Montierro of all people would try to attack Roland was a bit... well that was a bit odd.

“Count Montierro has no army. Are you certain it was him?” the king asked.

His brother gave a solemn nod, “Yes, there is little doubt in my mind. I believe he hired soldiers of fortune for this deed. Please, allow me to station my men in the castle. We cannot allow this man to strike at the throne directly. I have seen his hired hands at work, I know how he will strike; I would ask that the command of the palace guard be given to myself.”

Richard considered if for a brief moment. Of course, Gwendolen would not be pleased. If there was battle to be had she would want to command her soldiers and knights and likely ride out with them. But Richard could not stomach sending his daughter to battle again. He had barely been able to tolerate her trips to the borders, he could not chance her blood being spilled on his very own doorstep.

Richard gave a slow nod, “Very well, your med may eat and rest from their long journey before they take their posts.”

Meanwhile, pacing in her room, Gwendolen was near to pulling her own hair out. She couldn't just [i]sit there[/i] while her father held court. And while she loved her uncle dearly, she was not always sure she trusted him. She had visited him on her return from the borders and there was occasionally a queer sort of spark in his eye as he surveyed the lands or looked out towards Valeria—though it was too far away to spot on the hilly horizon—that made her rather uneasy. She did not know why it made her uneasy and felt rather ashamed for being a bit suspicious of her uncle. But that he was here now was not a good sign.

Roland was a man of riches and conveniences; much to the dismay of his people. He would not have ridden so hard all through the night to reach the castle if there was not urgent matters to attend. So she decided not to wait for her father's summons. She summoned her maids and was made ready for the day. As she wanted to attend court, she was dressed in muted gold and rich brown. Her maids complained a bit at her continued persistence of such dull colors when there were rich reds and royal blues and stunning purples in her wardrobe. But Gwen found she preferred the muted deer tones these days and could not be swayed. Her hair was braided and face lightly decorated before Gwen slipped her feet into her slippers and dismissed her girls, making her way to the audience chamber where it was likely her father was hearing out Roland's news.

She slipped in quietly, keeping near the edge of the room, behind most of the preoccupied courtiers. She had no desire to be shooed out if they were talking about something her father would rather she not hear. She nearly seethed when her father gave Roland command and felt her gut twist uneasily. Somehow she did not like this—for more than having the chance to test her mettle again taken from her grasp. But her father's word was law and he was likely to be cross at her for not having waited for his summons like she had said she would. (Though honestly when had she ever actually [i]waited[/i] for her father to call her?)