Arthur started counting the silver coins again from scratch. Outwardly unmoved, he counted with deliberate slowness.
When he had distributed them into two piles on the table, he enclosed each of them into a leather pouch. He paused for a heartbeat, then carefully shoved the bigger purse in Kai's direction.
As was his wont most evenings, Arthur was seated in his great chair in the long hut. Save from Llud and Kai, none of the Celts from his tribe surrounded him.
They had departed earlier than usual from the Great Hall after the last repast of the day: the villagers had somehow sensed Arthur’s ill humour and left him to it.
Even the bard had not lingered, finding a rather lame excuse to make his exit.
Llud kept his attentive gaze on his young chieftain's face, searching for any sign of turmoil. He found none and settled more easily on his stool.
Llud inwardly smiled: now that he reflected on it, his son did look unsettled. Was such a stroke of good luck so incredible to Kai?
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