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Mistress Bartree threw a challenging look her way. “No doubt you find such a thing hard to believe.”

“Not at all.”

“I was young once.”

“You are an attractive woman still, Mistress Bartree, and not so very old.” She could not be more than five and forty, Gunnilde estimated, though she wore such ugly headdresses.

Mistress Bartree’s lips flattened to a thin line. “I was not looking for flattery,” she said harshly. “Save your flummery for the Queen.”

At this point they heard a step, and both stood up as the Queen entered the room. Gunnilde was shocked to see Armenal’s wan and listless appearance. She looked sallow and strangely shaken.

“Come and sit down, Your Majesty,” Mistress Bartree urged, rearranging cushions on a comfortable-looking seat.

“I must make an appearance soon, lest tongues start to wag,” the Queen said tiredly, but she dropped into the seat all the same.

“Have Unwin fetch me a posset, Magnatrude, for that unpleasant taste I told you of lingers still on my tongue. You know the one which settles the stomach.” She pressed her hand to her midsection and Gunnilde saw her wince. Was the Queen ill?

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mistress Bartree hurried from the room to summon her page.

“You are not well, Your Majesty,” Gunnilde ventured. “ Must you make a public appearance today? The King would wish you to conserve your strength, I am sure.”

The Queen smiled grimly. “I am not ill, rest assured, my good Gunnilde. I am merely afflicted with the condition that often afflicts wives sooner or later.” She sighed. “Rather later in my case.”

Gunnilde sat back in her chair. Was the Queen saying...?

“But yes,” Queen Armenal said, nodding gently, “It appears I am with child.”

Gunnilde’s mouth dropped open. “C-congratulations, Your Majesty!”

“Thank you.” Her tone was rather dry.

Mistress Bartree bustled back in. “You will refrain from discussing this matter before others until it is formally announced,” she said, glaring at Gunnilde.

“Oh, of course,” she agreed quickly.

“I hope you are fully aware of the honor done to you!” she continued fiercely. “Thus far, only a very select few have been informed. Scarcely anyone besides the King and the royal physicians.”

“Is that why the Queen has been spending time with her married ladies of late?” Gunnilde blurted, thinking of her previous conversation with James.

Mistress Bartree looked immediately affronted but Queen Armenal gave a wry laugh.

“You see, Magnatrude. The rumors have likely already started. Yes, that is why,” she said.

“I have needed advice from my ladies who have been through the same ordeal. Countess Vawdrey has been invaluable, I will admit, though I am not at all fond of her husband. After the Solstice I shall insist that my good Linnet comes to court again, and the little Mathilde. They have contended with several confinements and seem none the worse for the ordeal.”

Gunnilde saw this did not please Mistress Bartree and felt strangely sympathetic. It must be hard for her to fall from favor due to her own lack of experience in such matters.

“And now,” the Queen said, rousing herself, “you must talk to me, Gunnilde, and enliven me with your chatter, for I am sorely in need of a tonic to pick me up before I must face the others. Tell me how your banquet it is taking shape.”

Gunnilde explained that she had started to receive replies to her invitations, reeling off the confirmed attendees.

“I still need to send out more invitations,” she admitted, turning to Mistress Bartree.

“I will start with you and Unwin. I mean to invite all of my fellow ladies-in-waiting.” Before the stunned woman could respond, the Queen cut in.

“Yes, quite right,” the Queen agreed, “but never mind about that, I wish to know if you have heard back from your erstwhile suitor and his family.”

“Not yet, Your Majesty. In truth, I had no idea of the direction to send Sir Arthur’s invite, so I simply included it with his sister’s. I was informed the Lellands are not currently at court and was instructed to send it to their place in Fulford. I did so accordingly.”

“Fulford is not so very far away,” the Queen asserted. “But certainly, they must come. It is nonsense to think otherwise. Did you inform them there will be a royal presence?”

“I did, I said Your Majesty had graciously consented to attend.”

The Queen looked appeased. “Well, in that case they can have no excuse.”

Gunnilde folded her lips. Wordlessly her eyes met Mistress Bartree’s. Was it her imagination or did the other woman’s hold just the faintest hint of sympathy in their depths?

“And what of the menu? Have you consulted with the royal kitchens yet?” the Queen asked imperiously.

“I have not,” Gunnilde admitted, and the Queen tutted.

“We must put our heads together. The fare must be very grand and opulent if we are to impress on them the eminence of your elevation. Perhaps swan or peacock for the main course. They must be dressed with feathers and presented very fine.”

“Yes,” Gunnilde agreed dutifully while privately hoping that James’s purse could extend to such exotic birds. Perhaps she would not send out many more invites after all. She would not wish feed more than fifty guests with such sumptuous dishes.

“My burgundy velvet, I think,” the Queen said, addressing Mistress Bartree, who was holding two gowns aloft for her selection. “And for your dress?” she asked, turning back to Gunnilde. “Have you had any thoughts as to your banquet attire?”

Gunnilde perked up. “Ah yes indeed, Your Majesty,” she said, silently thanking Lord Bardulf for his recommendation earlier. She settled back in her chair, preparing to hold forth enthusiastically about the unicorn motif.