I perched on the armrest of his throne. He had asked me to tell my side of the story. How I saw it. Of course, my skills in speech are renowned in the kingdom. And I relished any chance I had to be in his royal company. So I stood, my back to him. Not daring to look into his eyes. Focusing intently on the torn blue drapes over the window. And I spoke.

"When I fought in the battle against Macdonwald, when I witnessed our victory, the man's crowning as the Thane of Cawdor, there was no way I could have forseen such a turn of events. Of course, I caught on before young Lennox did, but that isn't difficult, my king."

His laugh escaped him, gently. "He's always been a naive little fellow, this is true. But you haven't been known to be that swift." Teasing.

"Hm. Well. How kind. I am extremely perceptive," I retorted. I cleared my throat before continuing. "I never once believed you were responsible. Not for a moment. When he tried to lay the blame on you, that was when I knew he was not to be trusted."

"And not when my father was found dead mere days after the tyrant received his thanedom? Had you not even an inkling that he was a murderer?"

"My mind was elsewhere when I received the news."

"Likely because of the whiskey." I felt a sharp pang in the pit of my stomach. I rarely drink. Only at festivities do I touch the bottle. But everyone insisted on bringing it into the conversation. Duff being the worst, but they all rib.

I straighten and turn my head. "My king, you can't tell me that you were not shocked by such news!"

"Of course, Ross. He's my father. I was overcome with grief. But I had other things on my mind as well. I had to think of Donalbain. He and I couldn't stay in Scotland. We knew not who we could trust." He became more and more agitated the longer he spoke. But the word cut me like a knife. Trust. I breathed in sharply, finally gathering enough courage to look at him. His eyes were shut tightly and he rubbed his temples.

"Did you not trust me?"

He opened his eyes rather quickly, and met mine. I wavered slightly under his gaze. "Ross-"

"Did you not trust me, my king?"

Silence. I searched his eyes for answers, but he gave no sign of his thoughts.

I sighed. "You trusted me not. I should have known." I reached down to check my pocketwatch. Twenty after 7:00. Nearly dark. "I should be going." I started down the long red carpet.

"Wait!" His voice stopped me in my tracks. I heard his footsteps behind me. As he placed a hand on my shoulder, I flinched. He slowly made his way in front, then turned to face me. His face had softened, his green eyes switching from the unattainable emeralds I had known all these years into warm, welcoming fields of grass in an instant. In an instant, I saw not the King of Scotland, but a man. A simple, loving man. I wanted it to be. I met his gaze

"I will always trust you, Ross. But anyone else? I could never truly know."

Could I? I tentatively began "My dear king..."

But he had already returned to his emeralds. "I said too much. Pay no mind to me. I'm alright."

I broke the eye contact and straightened my lapels.

"I do trust you."

"And I you, Malcolm. ...My king..." God. No. No, no, no. I have made a grave mistake. I stepped backwards a few paces, keeping me eyes on the ground.

"Malcolm." He stepped forward again. Maybe less of a mistake than I thought? He gently brushed a hand under my chin, encouraging me to lock with his eyes once more "Come, we have known each other all these years! Let's not be so formal with one another."

"M- Malcolm?"

"Hm?" He swept my fringe away from my eyes. This can't be happening

"May I..."

"What?"

"Continue?" He stepped back in surprise. "The story, I mean."

He cleared his throat and gave a small laugh. "Of course. May I take your coat?"

"Malcolm"

"Well, it's a long story, is it not?"