King Boreas paced before the fireplace like a caged animal. The crimson light flickered across his handsome face and made his features sharper yet. The king snorted as he gathered his thoughts. Grace watched in silent awe. He is indeed like a bull, a great, dark, restless bull. She clutched the goblet of wine he had thrust into her hands moments before. The king had downed his wine in a single gulp, then tossed the cup aside. Grace might have liked to do the same, but she was not certain she could trust her shaking arms to bring the goblet to her lips without spilling. She was an overworked resident in the emergency department of a city hospital. What could she possibly do to help the ruler of a medieval kingdom? Boreas halted and turned to impale her with steely eyes. She braced her shoulders. “Have you ever heard of a Council of Kings, my lady?” Grace shook her head. “No, Your Majesty. I haven’t. Other than to hear it mentioned by the earl of Stonebreak after he … after he came upon me in the forest.”
