"Stephen," Richard said, a grin forming as he took a few steps closer. "You naughty man."
"No—no, uh—" Stephen stammered, waving a hand, physically batting away the accusation. "My sister. She works here. I came to see her."
Richard's brow lifted. "Sister?" he repeated.
"Yes," Stephen said quickly, nodding too eagerly. "Yes, she—she works here."
"How industrious of her," Richard murmured, glancing briefly toward the tavern entrance before returning his gaze to Stephen. "And where is she, then?"
"Mr Beaumont says she has the flu," he said at last. "I cannot risk being around her. Wouldn't want to bring illness back to the palace. Don't want to make the king sick."
It was a decent excuse. And entirely unconvincing. He took in the stiffness in Stephen's posture, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked just slightly toward the tavern door before snapping back.
Richard folded his hands behind his back. "Of course," he said finally.
