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“It was inspired by the tale my wife told me,” he answered firmly. “The inspiration lay in the vividness of the retelling.”

“Well,” the Queen said thoughtfully, “my Magnatrude is not at all sure how to take the compliment. She will come tonight, I think, but more from duty than curiosity.”

As if on cue, Mistress Bartree appeared in the doorway with her little page, Unwin. She was head to toe in black, unalleviated save for one jeweled bar brooch in the center of her bodice. Her expression was very dour.

“She cuts quite the figure, does she not?” the Queen mused. “A fitting subject for your music. Tell me, is it tragic in tone?”

“Oh yes, very,” Gunnilde replied, eyes sparkling. “You will love it, Your Majesty. It quite moved me to tears when first I heard it.”

“Indeed?” At this moment, a small stir arrived, for two more royal guards marched into the room. “But what is this?” cried Armenal in consternation. “Do not tell me that Wymer—?” Her words broke off as her stepson promptly walked into the room. “Oh!”

“He came!” breathed Gunnilde, looking around in excitement. Hal, Kit, and Cuthbert crossed the room to take charge of the situation, herding the crown prince in Gunnilde’s direction.

Bows were performed and introductions made. “Royal Mother,” the prince said, addressing the Queen. “I did not realize you would be in attendance this evening.” He spoke the words blandly though politely.

The Queen smiled at him beneficently. “But yes. The good Gunnilde, she is a protégé of mine, and I take much interest in her progress. My attendance was assured from the outset. But you, my prince, you attend at the behest of Master Payne, I presume?” She turned to Hal.

“You are the brother,” she said, nodding to herself.

“For me, I can see a strong family likeness. But who is this?”

Hal bowed. “This is my hound, Dustin, Your Majesty,” he explained, lifting his arm to present the small white dog for royal observation.

“A hound?” Queen Armenal sounded doubtful. “This would not be considered a hound in my country.”

“I dare assure you he is a hound,” Hal answered mildly. “Whereso’er I goest, my faithful hound does follow.”

“Usually tucked in his tunic or clinging to his arm,” Prince Raedan supplied critically. “My father would not let me bring my own dog, Balto, to court, he—” But whatever he had been about to impart they were not to find out.

Dustin, realizing he was the topic of conversation, let out an excited bark and made a leap for the young prince. Surprised, Prince Raedan caught him and gave a startled laugh when Dustin’s tongue shot out to lick his face.

“Down, sir!” Hal scolded without heat. “You are impertinent!” He stepped forward to disentangle Dustin from the prince’s elaborate tunic, which was decorated all over with gold thread. “Ever heard of another animal that barks?” he asked the company at large with casual assurance.

An astonished silence prevailed. Everyone was far too shocked by Dustin’s lack of etiquette to answer. “Then there you have it, then,” he concluded with satisfaction. “He’s a hound. No question about it.”

“He fights anyone that disagrees,” Kit interjected. “So, it’s as well not to argue with him.”

Queen Armenal blinked, and for a moment Gunnilde held her breath, worried that Hal had given unforgivable offence.

“You are a handsome flower of youth,” the Queen said, choosing to focus instead on Kit.

“You are a Montmayne, are you not? And you,” she said, turning to Cuthbert, “interest me very much for you are like the golden sun to his moon. The pair of you would grace any court, even my brother’s court in fair Lascony.

Come and tell me your prospects, for I find myself most interested in you. ”

Gunnilde breathed a sigh of relief as the Queen moved to one side with Cuthbert and Kit, a diverted look upon her face. She glanced at Hal, concerned her brother might feel left out of proceedings, but he seemed to have caught sight of some new arrivals and was haring off toward them.

“It’s likely the arrival of Mistress Rheinholdt or is it Mistress Thackeray that is the current beloved,” James muttered for her ears only.

They both turned to look at the new arrivals, but as a matter of fact it was Hadrian Kellingford and a bunch of other squires her brother had invited along.

“I’m not so sure Hal has not got a new love interest,” Gunnilde answered. “Have you seen anyone wearing green and white this eve? Only Cuthbert intimated that Hal might have dressed to match his current lady love.”

“There’s a lady stood over by the fireplace,” Prince Raedan spoke up, betraying the fact he had very sharp ears, “whose dress is embroidered all over with white roses.”

“Indeed?” Gunnilde turned in that direction.

“Oh dear,” she fretted. It was Mistress Culmington.

Hal had transferred his affections, she was sure of it , but when Hal strolled back into view moments later, he was escorting Patience Stanhope on his arm and listening most attentively to everything that lady had to say.

“Lord Vawdrey just arrived,” the prince told her quietly.

“Oh!” Gunnilde grabbed James’s sleeve, then hesitated turning back to the prince.

“Would you like to come with us to greet them, Your Highness?” she asked, not liking to leave him unattended.

He considered a moment before nodding and accompanied them as they made their way to where Earl Vawdrey was stood with his plump, pretty countess.

Greetings were exchanged and Lord Vawdrey looked surprised yet pleased to see the young prince in attendance.

“I see Master Payne has tempted you from your rooms this evening, Your Highness,” he said with an approving smile.

“No doubt, it is the lure of his sister’s entertainments that drew you out. ”

“Well, he swore there would be no jesters present,” Prince Raedan answered succinctly. “That was sufficient a draw for me.”

James perked up at this. “You do not care for jesters, Your Highness?”

“No, I do not ,” the prince replied decisively. He and James immediately began trading stories of unpleasant encounters they had undergone with jesters over the years. “My father won’t go anywhere without one!” Prince Raedan scowled.

Gunnilde’s hands were seized by Countess Vawdrey.

“You look so beautiful this evening, Gunnilde, quite radiant,” Fenella declared, kissing her cheek.

“I will not stand on ceremony with you, for we are traveling down to Vawdrey Keep on the morrow and I mean to tell Eden we are on the very best of terms. I hope you will not mind my exaggerating somewhat,” she said apologetically.

“Oh, not at all!” Gunnilde assured her. “I only hope that Eden will forgive me for not informing her of all my news firsthand. I have a half-written letter to her in my rooms that I should have finished days ago, only I have been so busy, you see.”

“I am not surprised, for there is always something afoot here at court. And tomorrow the Squires’ Revels commence in earnest, so you will be attending those for the next three days.”

“Oh, yes,” Gunnilde agreed. She had scarcely even thought of the approaching Revels this past week.

“I only hope the young prince can be brought to enjoy himself there,” Lord Vawdrey said in a low voice. “Your brother and his friends have done their best to interest him in proceedings but...” He pulled a face.

“They are boisterous, and he is reserved,” Gunnilde observed.

“Yes, quite so. Still, I had hoped the Revels would interest him. After all, if he were not a crown prince, he would be of an age to enter squire hood himself. Alas, it seems knights and knighthood do not interest him remotely.”

“Well, but there are different kinds of knights after all,” Gunnilde said, remembering James’s words on the subject.

“Instead of regaling him with tales of Viscount Vawdrey or Lord Twyford,” she said, proud she had remembered to use their new titles, “why do you not tell him instead of modest, unassuming Sir Renlow?”

“Sir Renlow d’Avenant?” Lord Vawdrey echoed.

“Yes, for he is a vastly different kind of champion, is he not? James trained with him, you know, and apparently, he was always quiet and kind.”

Lord Vawdrey shot another look at James and Prince Raedan, who were now discussing the King’s favorite jester, Robkin, with many scathing comments. “Do you know, that is not such a bad notion. You may be onto something there, Lady Wycliffe,” he said thoughtfully.

“I think it sounds an excellent idea,” his wife chimed in.

“Eden always said you were clever, and I can quite see why.” Clever?

Her surprise must have shown on her face, for Fenella Vawdrey twinkled at her.

“After all, there are different kinds of cleverness, are there not? It is not always derived from a book.”

At this point, Gunnilde noticed that Harriet and her mother had arrived, and Winifred and her young cousin. Excusing herself from the Vawdreys, she made her way over to them. The room was fast filling now, so she was hailed several times, and returned many greetings before she reached them.

She was just complimenting Harriet on her new tippets when an altercation broke out over by the fireplace. They all turned in surprise to find Sir Symond Chevenix sprawled on the ground and Hal stood over him, flushed and indignant.

“You take that back, you unworthy dog!” Hal shouted furiously. “You sully this maid’s fair name again in my hearing and I’ll whip you like the craven cur you are!”

Gunnilde’s mouth dropped open. “What the—?”

Pushing and shoving immediately started in the vicinity, along with a good deal of shrieking and screaming. Half the room surged toward the fracas, while the other half fled from it.

“Oh no!” Gunnilde turned toward the door to summon the royal guards, but they were already wading their way through the crowd.

It was only after a moment that she realized they were not attempting to break up the fight, but rather to surround the Queen and the prince and protect them from any potential harm.

“James?” Gunnilde called, turning this way and that in vain, for she could not see her husband in the crush. Picking up her skirts, she pushed her way determinedly toward the front of the crowd to find her brother.

To her astonishment, she found James and Neville were already there in the thick of it with Cuthbert and Kit, surrounding a red-faced Hal, while Lord Vawdrey and Viscount Bardulf were restraining Sir Symond, who was now on his feet and seemingly furious.

Gunnilde had not even seen the Bardulfs arrive!

“Get your hands off me, I say!” Sir Symond snarled, attempting to shake them off. Surprisingly, considering he was a decorated member of the King’s guard, he could not loose himself from the two courtiers’ grip. This fact seemed to enrage him even further.

“Now, now, don’t get your breeches in a twist,” Viscount Bardulf tutted. “What lamentable manners! Ah, but here is an arbiter, our hostess, to sort out this mess.”

“What in the world has happened?” Gunnilde cried. When a sulky silence met her words, she turned to her brother. “Hal?”

Hal drew himself up. “Not a word will pass my lips. I would sooner die than repeat such foul—”

“Sir Symond insulted Mistress Culmington within Hal’s hearing,” Cuthbert interjected.

“I said naught that was not true!” Sir Symond spat out contemptuously.

“By gods I’ll—!” James and Neville tightened their grip of her flailing brother.

“Calm down, Payne!” Lord Vawdrey said sharply. “That’s quite enough!”

“Let me through!” the imperious voice of the Queen cut through the crowd. “If there should be an arbiter in this matter, it should be myself!” However, it seemed the guards were not amenable to this, much to the Queen’s chagrin. Her angry voice could be heard muttering in the background.

Lord Vawdrey was speaking to Sir Symond in low tones, and whatever he was saying made the knight’s face pale, then flame again. “Wycliffe?” Earl Vawdrey shouted. “Do you have that young brother-in-law of yours under control?”

“We have him, my lord,” James responded grimly. Gunnilde breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Very well, then, I think apologies are in order. Sir Symond, you will start. First to your hostess.”

Sir Symond shot a look of furious resentment in her direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Wycliffe, Sir James,” he muttered sullenly. “For bringing disquiet into your halls.”

“And what of—?” Hal started but was duly jolted and elbowed by his captors.

“Quiet, you fool!” Kit seethed. “D’you want to be slung out on your ear?”

“And now you will apologize for the misunderstanding, Chevenix,” Vawdrey continued in freezing tones.

“As an honorable member of the King’s guard, it is inconceivable that Sir Symond could have insulted one of the Queen’s ladies thus.

Therefore, he must have been misunderstood in this matter. Is that not so, Sir Symond?”

Sir Symond clenched his fists. His lip was swollen and bleeding, and his eyes bloodshot with fury. For a handsome man, the expression on his face could only be described as ugly. “I misspoke,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I intended no insult to the lady.”

“Handsomely said,” Lord Vawdrey lied. “Lady Wycliffe, do you accept this apology?”

Gunnilde cleared her throat. “Right gladly,” she responded.

Vawdrey nodded. “And now, Payne, your response?”

Now it was James’s turn to whisper furiously in Hal’s ear.

“Well, but— But what I say is this— Oh, well, if you insist” were Hal’s huffed responses.

He lifted his voice. “I accept that I must have misheard Sir Symond,” Hal conceded with ill grace.

“But if I ever hear—” Cuthbert stamped on Hal’s foot. “Ow!”

“Most handsomely accepted,” Lord Vawdrey said before Hal could recover. “And now, I believe the prince’s guards must volunteer to escort Sir Symond to the tower to take up immediate duties there for the next five days. Alas, they are short of hands at present.”

“Do as he says,” the prince’s voice rang out. “I will remain here with Lord Vawdrey.”

After some muttering, the guards appeared on either side of Sir Symond, who shot a murderous look in Lord Vawdrey’s direction before being marched away.

“Dear me,” said Viscount Bardulf, appearing at Gunnilde’s side. “I was not expecting this gathering to be quite so lively. I know you promised to entertain us, my dear Lady Wycliffe, but this is almost too much.”

The double doors closed behind the guard’s ringing footsteps and the room broke out in a babble of confusion.