A fox in the parlor

The next morning, you oversleep the sunrise by at least an hour, but the castle staff had been told in advance that you would not be expected for breakfast. Valerie has returned to her own bed already by the time you wake, which is unusual for her, but of course she knows you have pressing business which cannot wait.

"We will need to attend to the festival," you say to Duncan as your valet assists you into that wretched ceremonial breastplate. "But if what our guest says is correct, then we must at least discuss it without further delay. I will speak to her in my parlor before the official festivities begin. Today is the parade, is it not?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Please ensure that Steelheart is fed, watered, and groomed. I'll need to -" An urgent-sounding knock at the door interrupts you.

The valet looks at you questioningly, wondering if he should answer it; it is most unusual for anyone to pound at the King's bedroom door in this manner. You shake your head no, and simply shout, "Enter!"

The door opens, and Magnus squeezes his way in (perhaps not literally, but a man so large always looks to you as though he barely fits through a door). "A thousand pardons, Sire!" Magnus exclaims. "The Vixen is gone!"

You see the valet's eyes grow wide; it had not been made common knowledge who was spending the night in the tower room. "Calm yourself, Magnus," you say, not wanting him to bellow such news all over the castle. "Are you certain she is not in the room?"

"Aye, Sire! It has been searched thoroughly. I myself guarded the door all night, and never once did I allow my attention to waver. I do not know how she managed it, unless the lass grew wings during the night!"

"Nothing quite so dramatic as that," the Vixen says as she steps out from behind Magnus' back. "Good morrow, Your Grace. Forgive me if I have overslept, it has been some time since I had such a comfortable bed."

Magnus stammers, blinks at her as if he can barely believe she is real. "But... how..."

"Perhaps this would be better discussed over tea in the parlor," Duncan suggests, glaring at Magnus. "Lady Vixen, would you do an old man the honor of an escort?"

"I would be delighted, Lord Duncan," she smiles, and takes his offered arm.

Magnus is left with his jaw agape. He looks in both directions, sees you there, points at the door where the Vixen just left as if completely baffled by what he has just seen there, and then seems to realize all at once that he's standing stupidly in your bedchamber while you are only half-dressed. "Er... I, um, would take my leave, Sire," he mumbles.

"Granted," you say with a nod.

Magnus stumbles out, still flummoxed. The valet shakes his head, and then returns to your preparations.

"Not a word of this to anyone, Liam," you caution him gently.

"Of course, Sire," he says with a smile.

"I do hope you won't hold poor Sir Magnus responsible," the Vixen says as she sips at her tea. "One really can't blame him for failing to check the outside wall of the tower."

"That is very nearly a three-hundred-foot drop," Duncan says severely.

"Which would make it a very effective cell for most people, my lord," the Vixen says with a shrug. "I am not 'most people.' I merely stayed outside until they finished turning the cell upside-down, then followed Magnus back here. He is an easy man to hide behind."

"You came here of your own volition," Duncan asks. "Why would you then try to escape?"

"If I had tried to escape, I would now be miles from here," she says, the humor gone from her voice. "My point was to show that locking me in a tower is itself pointless. I didn't turn myself in just so I could flee back to the woods the next morning."

"Did you happen to try the door?" you ask in a quiet voice.

The Vixen looks at you, confused. "Excuse me?"

"Excuse me, Sire," Duncan mutters under his breath.

"If you had used the door to exit your room rather than the window, you would have found it unlocked," you say to her. "Magnus was guarding the room not as your jailer, but rather for your protection, which I recall you practically begged me to provide. I was under the impression, Lady Vixen, that we had agreed to deal with each other honestly."

For a moment, she looks as though she is about to protest, but then the fire goes out of her and she appears ashamed. "I beg forgiveness, Your Grace," she says with her eyes turned downward. "I was wrong to presume the worst. I am... unused to trusting someone."

"We need speak no more of it," you tell her, "and in any event, we do not have the time. Lady Vixen, please tell me as concisely as possible: what do you have to fear from Lord Velimir, above and beyond what anyone might fear from him?"