"That could work. I can get word to Tyr easily enough. Brynjar won't think twice of me speaking to my brother. Elska too. Evangelina might be difficult if she has her duties to attend to. We will have to be careful with Aethwulf. If he's a noble, people might get suspicious if he's seen getting too close to us. Invite him this time."
"Fair enough. He doesn't need to have his hand held. That is why Father trusted him to lead the northern lords. As for Evangelina, Beorn could enlist her help. I would not look unusual for him to speak with her. He is quite clearly taken with her," he noted with some amusement at his friend's expense. He was impressed at how Ingrid was adapting to the circumstances they had to operate under. He watched her as she tilted her head. He could almost see her mind racing and he could not help but admire the way the dawn's light seemed to be caught in her eye.
"We do have one way we could..." She began, pausing in thought, "unsettle him in the meantime. If you are agreeable to it."
He caught on precisely what she meant and he felt his mind race with the implications of that move even as he felt himself become hot with the desire she kindled within him with her coy expression. Unable to resist, his hands moved gently over her nightclothes, fingers skillfully setting upon the task of undoing them, a confident smile on his face as he leaned to kiss her neck.
"If you are to be queen, it is about time I get into the practice of serving you properly," he murmured, thoughts drifting back to the excitement of their wedding night. He would do much better this morning.
Patriarch Julius did not look up from his desk as he heard a knock on his door. He had just finished a letter to the Holy Chair notifying the See that he would be confirmed as Chancellor shortly. His face twisted. The self-important fools continued to regard his rise as an insult along with the nobility at court, but the joke was on them. He was the most qualified to be Chancellor and the one most qualified to be Patriarch. No one else could balance the tasks that he was entrusted with. He deserved to be named Cardinal and in the future, perhaps the Holy Father upon the Holy Chair. King Brynjar's reign would see to that. Could even the Holy Father afford to snub the trusted Chancellor of the prince of a mighty realm in the Faith's fold?
"Enter," he ordered impatiently, only slightly surprised when he saw Brother Beorn enter with a slight bow of his head.
"Ah. To what do I owe this pleasure? Is it the prince's business or the Faith's?"
"I suppose it would be the Faith's. Do you remember what Artemesia did to rapists in her armies?" he asked bitterly. Julius sighed, already knowing where this was going.
"She executed them. Quite creatively, in face, the blade swinging upwards from between their legs and through their skull. A harsh punishment for a harsh time."
"But the kings today can do as they like, it seems. Even if they have a man of the cloth as their advisor."
"It is a sad reality, but you know these people, Brother Beorn. Do you think there is outcry at court for a dishonored servant? Perhaps only among the most pious if that. And what would be gained from my condemnation? The loss of my office most likely and my head if I am unlucky."
"And you wonder why you do not rise beyond what the king can give you."
Julius held back his anger, but released as long suffering sigh.
"What do you want, Beorn?" he asked. The monk held his gaze.
"You arrange for the care of Brynjar's mistresses. You must send her somewhere else, give her the freedom to recover and start over wherever she wants. Within the church if she so desires. Or in a village with good land."
"And in such a situation where her honor is unquestioned. Yes, I know. Send her in to me tomorrow morning and I will make the arrangements if the king does not monopolize my time. Will that be all?"
"...Does God truly want Brynjar as king?"
"Mind your tongue and your thoughts. Yes, He does. If He didn't, Lelinus would be the elder and likely to survive past his 25th year. Now go," he ordered, picking up his quill to begin yet another royal order. The boy was lucky he was so forgiving. Another man would have rid himself of that turbulent priest.