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“Come!” Mistress Bartree said with a quick hand gesture. “We will be wanted.”

Gunnilde fell in step with her as they made their way toward the door to Aremenal’s room.

“Ah, Hilde!” the King said, catching sight of her and beckoning. “Met that brother of yours yesterday.”

“Did you, sire?” Gunnilde bobbed another curtsey, acutely aware of Mistress Bartree stood at her side, cold and disapproving.

“Seems a likely lad, if ever I met one. I had him sounded out by my man Vawdrey and made a part of my son’s retinue for his impending visit.”

“But what an honor, Your Majesty! I am sure Hal will be fully sensible of it and most grateful for the opportunity to distinguish himself with the prince.”

“Aye.” The King nodded. “The boy expressed himself well. I expect great things from him. They tell me he cannot be beaten with the staff or at wrestling.”

“Such is his reputation, Your Highness.”

“Hmmm.” The King looked impressed. “I mean to watch some of these Squires’ Revels. I have not done so before but this year I find myself somewhat intrigued.”

“The boys will be beside themselves with excitement, Your Majesty, I have no doubt.”

The King’s gaze strayed over her head to dwell on the door behind them to Queen Armenal’s apartments. His eyes looked troubled. “You must attend the Queen with all diligence, Hilde. She will have need of your support at this trying time.”

Did he mean with her pregnancy, or with the impending visit of her stepson? “Of course, Your Majesty,” she said aloud. “It has long been my greatest ambition to serve the Queen.”

Mistress Bartree inhaled sharply beside her, but King Wymer did not seem to find anything amiss in her words. “Very good, Hilde. Carry on.” He nodded toward Mistress Bartree, who curtseyed again and then moved forward.

They found the Queen sat before the fire, a distracted look upon her face. “Your Highness,” Mistress Magnatrude said, rushing forward. “Shall I fetch you—?”

“Do not fuss, my good Magnatrude,” the Queen told her fondly but firmly. “Please. The King has done enough fussing and fretting to last me a whole calendar month. This baby distresses him. He has no need of an heir, but these days he finds he has need of me.”

She gave a small laugh. “After all this time I have finally become indispensable to this King of Karadok. He worries, oh how he worries that he will lose me. You would not believe how exhausting it is to put on the brave face for him all the time. I cannot ever be weary or lackluster in front of him. The King must never see me lacking in vitality. It alarms him.”

The Queen’s shoulders drooped for a moment.

“Here, take this and add it to my jewel case.” She passed over a sapphire and pearl necklace, which Gunnilde guessed the King must have gifted her just now.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” she commented when even Mistress Bartree could not pass up the opportunity to admire it.

“Poor Wymer does not wish me to feel neglected while he entertains his son the prince.” Her tone was rather dry, but Gunnilde did not think she sounded unduly put out.

“Have you met Prince Raedan before, Your Majesty?” she asked.

Queen Armenal nodded. “A mere handful of times,” she answered. “He is a stiff, cold little boy. Nothing like his father. I wonder what all these courtiers who clamor for the glimpse of him will make of him. They will be disappointed, I think.” She sighed.

“Gunnilde, be seated next to the table and pour us some drinks from the tray.” Gunnilde set about filling the three goblets as Mistress Bartree tidied away the jewel case. “Tell me the day’s news, for I have need of distraction.”

“The details of the prince’s visit seem to be the subject on most tongues,” Gunnilde replied truthfully. “My brother is to be part of an official party of squires to welcome him. The Squires’ Revels are to form part of the entertainment for the prince, it seems.”

The Queen nodded. “That was one of Lord Vawdrey’s little ideas,” she commented. “My husband always relies on him for inspiration.”

“It seems Lord Vawdrey selected the squires for the prince’s welcoming party too.”

“No doubt,” Armenal replied shortly. “Who else is to feature therein, do you know?”

“Cuthbert Ames, who is squire to Sir Roland Vawdrey,” Gunnilde told her at once excitedly. “Kit Montmayne, squire to Sir Garman Orde—”

“He is known by a much-venerated northern title nowadays,” Mistress Bartree corrected her, seating herself nearby. “And called Earl of Twyford.”

“Oh yes, I always forget. He competed so many years at my father’s tournament that I always think of him as Sir Garman. If it comes to that, Sir Roland is now hailed as Viscount Vawdrey,” she added guiltily. “I do not know why but it always takes me a while to remember new titles.”

The Queen pulled a face. “My brother Wilhelm does not award titles as frequently as they do here in Karadok. I am pleased for Eden, of course, but otherwise I do not see why the Vawdreys should have found such favor. In Lascony they would not have risen to such prominence, I can assure you.”

Gunnilde fidgeted in her seat. It would be tactless indeed to point out that Sir Mason, or the Duke of Cadwallader as he was now known, had been a general in the late war, and had risen from the ranks for crushing northerners under his booted foot.

Mistress Bartree was one such northerner, whose family had lost everything.

As for Earl Vawdrey, ’twas clear the Queen resented his great influence upon the King. She could only suppose that Sir Roland had offended by stealing Eden away from the Queen. Either for that transgression or because he was a brutish knight, which the Queen also looked down upon.

“I had a letter this morn,” the Queen said in a swift change of subject. She gazed pointedly at Gunnilde. “From your new mother-in-law.”

Gunnilde felt the color rush to her face. “You did? James had a letter too. She must have sent them at the same time.”

“Did he tell you the contents of his letter?” Gunnilde shook her head. “Probably he is wise to keep his own counsel,” the Queen admitted. “His mother, she was most displeased to have lost the prospect of the Lady Constance for a daughter-in-law.”

Gunnilde’s heart plummeted. “Oh,” she whispered, wondering if his mother had said as much in her letter to James.

Surprisingly, Mistress Bartree spoke up at this point. “I doubt she had heard of the Lady Constance’s elopement when she wrote that letter,” she said in disapproving tones. “If she had, she could hardly regret the loss of such a woman for her daughter-in-law.”

The Queen shrugged. “Well, if she had heard tell of it, she did not own as much.”

Gunnilde darted a grateful look at Mistress Bartree, though she did not really know if she had spoken in defense of her or just a generalized hostility toward all other ladies at court.

“It might perhaps be politick of Sir James to take you to visit his mother at Wycliffe Hall and appease her,” the Queen mused. “The Solstice is after all a time for families. It may soften her heart toward you.”

“Oh no,” Gunnilde said in horror. “We settled it very early on that we would not visit his home before next spring. Neither of us wished for it, you see.”

The Queen’s eyebrows shot up. “I see.”

“And with the Squires’ Revels and our upcoming banquet it really does not seem like the ideal time to leave court, does it?” Gunnilde said desperately.

“Well, I am sure you must know best,” the Queen said, still looking vaguely disapproving. “Wymer’s parents were both dead when I was married, so I have no experience of my own in such matters.”

Gunnilde pressed her lips together and tried not to worry. The Queen was just out of humor, that was all. It was nothing to do with herself or James. Nothing at all.