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Slowly, one of her hair buns started to unravel. He watched, strangely fascinated as it snaked loose and then swung down, a thick pale yellow expanse of hair which extended past her waist. In her distraction she barely seemed to notice the mishap.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” she repeated joyfully. “I am honored beyond belief!”

“Of course you are,” Armenal said indulgently. “Now turn to Sir James and give him your formal acceptance of his suit.”

All pleasure drained from her expression as she turned to look at him. “I accept,” she said woodenly and gave a stiff curtsey. He bowed shallowly in return. Well , at least in this, their feelings were mutual.

They were given an hour’s reprieve to ready themselves before reconvening in the Queen’s private chapel. James used that time to return to his palace quarters and fetch his brother. He should have at least one family member to stand beside him on such an occasion.

Fortunately, he merely felt numb by this point, so Neville’s amazement washed over him instead of infuriating him further.

When his brother seemed to realize there was nothing to be done except to change into his best doublet, he fell mercifully silent, though ’twas plain he was itching with curiosity.

They made their way, side by side to the Queen’s chapel, sober and resigned, their moods matching for once.

At the chapel they found Lady Portstanley, who James vaguely recognized, and her plain-faced daughter, whose name he did not recall.

Both looked anxious and seemed determined to avoid direct eye contact.

“Did you say the Portstanleys were her guardians?” he muttered in an aside to his brother.

Neville merely shrugged. “I know precious little of the matter,” he whispered back with some asperity. “Should you not have ascertained as much before you offered for the girl?”

It was James’s turn to shrug. “There was no time.” His brother shot him an odd look, but James was not inclined to explain, and in any case the Queen had now arrived escorted by her favorite attendant.

She made way to the front pew, all wreathed in smiles and clearly overflowing with benevolence at having got her way.

Neville’s head swiveled to look at him interrogatively, but he pretended not to notice. Next the bad-tempered lady-in-waiting marched up the aisle, stony-faced and accompanied by a little page with an untidy haircut.

Last, but not least, the bride appeared, her hair once more done up in two ornate whorls.

She had changed her gown, James noticed, presumably for her best, which was of a deep rose hue.

The sleeves of this one were mercifully intact, and he thought for a moment she had dressed modestly for the occasion.

When he joined her at the front however, he found this gown was no less flaunting than the rest of her wardrobe for it had a series of holes about the bodice, giving flashes of a paler pink undergarment peeking through.

“Sir!” the cleric said in a voice stiff with outrage, and James made haste to face front.

To his surprise, he found it was none other than the Bishop of Badsbury eyeing him balefully.

He had not expected such an exalted personage to perform the ceremony, but he supposed if anyone could command his participation it would be the Queen.

“Might I ascertain if we can begin?” the right reverend asked crisply. James nodded and the bishop’s disapproving gaze moved to the bride. At the sight of her hair, he recoiled slightly before a look of grim determination overtook his jowly face.

Taking a deep breath, he gave a brief, if bleak overview of marital duty, before plunging without more ado into the vows.

Both repeated them dutifully and toward the conclusion James was surprised to feel a jab in his side.

The small page had appeared there and was thrusting a ring into his fingers.

Lifting it, he found what looked to be a devotional ring of gold decorated with raised quatrefoils and some lettering.

The need for a ring had not even occurred to him.

He flushed and the boy winked at him before beating a hasty retreat.

Gunnilde, seeing his hesitation, held out her left hand, fingers spread.

He jammed the ring onto her middle finger, realized his error, and had to grasp hold of her to draw it back off and try again. The contact was a shock. Her hand, which he had thought would be cold and limp, was warm and jumped in his own, as though she, too, felt the shock of their connection.

“Sorry,” he heard himself mutter, then slid the ring onto her fourth finger, where it passed both knuckles with ease.

Instead of releasing her, he paused, holding it in place while his eyes sought her own.

Afterward, he could not explain it, even to himself.

He only knew that it was vital in that moment that their eyes should meet.

Their gazes clashed and the moment passed.

James released her hand, feeling oddly shaken.

Cornflower blue, he thought as the bishop summed up.

Dimly he remembered his father’s steward teaching him something about cornflowers.

Something detrimental. Oh yes, that was it.

They were said to be a great nuisance in agricultural circles for they blunted scythes and reduced the corn crop. Her eyes would be cornflower blue.