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B eth woke to utter chaos as she threw off the covers and went to her chamber door. The usual morning sounds had been replaced by what sounded like the entire senior class moving all the desks out of the classroom, scraping the metal legs across the linoleum floors.

“What on earth?”

It sounded like servants shouting, dogs barking, and the clatter of what sounded like every pot in the kitchen being rearranged at once.

Blinking several times, she padded over to the narrow window.

The courtyard below swarmed with activity, people scurrying about like ants whose hill had been kicked.

“The king.” Eleanor had told her last night that he and his royal entourage would be stopping at Glenhaven on their way to.

.. wherever they were going, eating and drinking their way across the countryside this summer.

King Edward IV. She’d watched the TV show, read the books, and now she might actually get to see him and his infamous queen in person.

She dressed quickly in the simple kirtle Eleanor had loaned her.

A deep navy that made her eyes look almost emerald and ventured into the corridor, stumbling when the thought hit her.

What if she actually got to meet them? Dread crawled across her shoulders.

Nope, Beth had better not. What if she slipped and said something she shouldn’t?

Best to stay behind the scenes. The air smelled of beeswax and vinegar, a pungent but not unpleasant combination.

Two maids hurried past with armfuls of fresh rushes, barely acknowledging her as she gladly accepted a goblet from a passing kitchen girl, glad for the watered down wine.

In the Great Hall, chaos reigned. Tables that normally lined the walls had been dragged to the center, where servants polished them with rags until the wood gleamed. Others stood on ladders, dusting cobwebs from the high ceiling beams, while a team of boys swept the stone floor with bristle brooms.

Beth watched a harried maid furiously scrubbing a blackened silver goblet with what looked like a handful of straw.

“You know, a bit of vinegar with salt cleans silver faster,” she offered without thinking.

The maid froze, wide-eyed, as if Beth had suggested bathing in dragon blood.

“Boil it together, then dip the goblet. It’ll sparkle.”

The maid slowly backed away with the goblet as if Beth might set it alight with her stare alone.

Lady Eleanor paced near the massive hearth, a scroll clutched in one hand, her normally carefree expression replaced by a frown that creased her forehead.

“What’s happening?” Beth asked, weaving aside as a servant rushed past with a crate of pewter goblets.

Eleanor barely glanced up, brow furrowed and her arms full of fabric. “The preparations for the royal visit,” she said, voice tight with urgency.

“The king, the queen, her witch mother and who knows how many courtiers, all descending on us in a se’nnight. Every soul in Glenhaven must make ready, or else my brother’s head will surely spin from its shoulders.”

Beth nearly dropped the goblet she was holding. “They’re arriving sooner than you thought?”

“The messenger brought an update. They make better time than expected.”

A laugh escaped as Baldwin’s sister turned to her, looking around before lowering her voice.

“Lord Barnaby Skeffington. He is cousin to that imbecile, Cedric Whitmore, that feuds with my brother.” Her eyes sparkled.

“Seems he mistook Jacquetta of Luxembourg for a servant.” Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. “He was quite in his cups and told her to fetch him another cup of wine.”

“No.” Beth found herself leaning in, delighted at the juicy gossip. Back home, she was serious, keeping strict lines between work and personal, and no one ever spilled the tea to her.

“Then what happened?”

“He is no longer in favor with the king and is lucky to still have his head.” She looked around, a sigh escaping.

“We are next on the king’s route, so here we are.

” Eleanor tapped a slippered foot. “The Duchess of Bedford herself wrote, her script is nigh impossible to read, but her expectations shine clear enough.”

Beth managed a wan smile, glancing around at the controlled chaos. “No wonder everyone is in a panic.”

“Aye,” Eleanor said, blowing a stray curl from her brow. “Heaven help us all. The larder must be stocked, chambers prepared, entertainment arranged—” She broke off as the great doors swung open.

Baldwin strode in, his presence immediately commanding the room.

Even the servants paused briefly in their tasks, bowing as he passed.

His dark hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and shadows beneath his eyes suggested he’d been up since before dawn.

The simple tunic he wore, deep blue and unadorned save for a silver pin at the shoulder, somehow made him look more regal than any king Beth could imagine.

“Mistress Beth.” His gaze found her immediately, and something in his expression shifted, softened, perhaps, before hardening again as he turned to his sister. “Eleanor, have you?—”

“Yes, I’ve ordered the chambers prepared, and sent for more wine from the cellar, and told Cook to begin preparations, and?—”

“Good.” He cut her off with a nod, then addressed the steward, who hovered nearby. “Bring the accounts to the solar. I must know what we can spend without emptying our coffers.”

As Baldwin turned to leave, Beth stepped forward. “Can I help with anything?”

He paused, his grey eyes studying her face. For a moment, she thought he might refuse, but then he gave a curt nod. “Come with me.”

She followed him through the winding corridors of the castle, up a narrow staircase to a room she hadn’t yet seen.

The solar was smaller than she’d expected, but bright with morning light streaming through leaded windows.

A massive oak desk dominated the space, piled with parchments and leather-bound ledgers.

Baldwin closed the door behind them, then leaned against it, eyes closed, exhaling slowly.

“Bad timing?” Beth ventured.

He opened his eyes. “The king does not make social visits. He comes with purpose, and I must discover what that purpose is before he arrives.”

“Political maneuvering?”

“Always.” He moved to the desk, shuffling through papers. “The Cousin’s War may seem quiet now, but the embers still burn. One wrong word, one misplaced loyalty...” He shook his head.

Beth perched on the edge of a wooden chair, watching him. The sunlight caught in his hair, revealing strands of deep bronze and caramel among the chocolate brown. His hands, strong and capable, shuffled through the documents.

“What can I do?” she asked again.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Stay hidden.”

“Excuse me?” She fisted handfuls of fabric in her hands so she wouldn’t do anything she might regret.

“When the royal party arrives. Stay out of sight.” His voice was low, intense. “Jacquetta of Luxembourg has an eye for... oddities. Things that do not belong.”

Beth stiffened. Sure, she was a bit geeky, awkward at times, but that... hurt. “Things like me, you mean.”

“People talk of her second sight. Some say she practices the old arts.” He straightened, his height emphasized by the low ceiling beams. “I cannot protect you from her.”

The words stung more than they should have. “I don’t need your protection,” she said, though even to her own ears, the claim sounded hollow.

His mouth tightened. “Do not be daft. You know nothing of court, of the dangers?—”

“I have a PhD in chemistry. I’ve dealt with unruly teenagers for several years. I think I can handle a bit of medieval politics.” She wanted to stomp her foot, but the slippers didn’t make any noise on the floors. Talk about annoying.

“A what in—” He shook his head. “It matters not. Your strange knowledge will only draw attention, perhaps suspicion.”

“So I am to confine myself to my chamber, like some forgotten prisoner, while royalty parades through the halls?” Beth demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

Baldwin’s gaze flicked past her, unfocused.

He looked every inch the lord. Brow furrowed, jaw set, voice turning cool and imperious.

“It is necessary. There can be no risk. The queen is not fond of novelty.” A muscle twitched in his cheek as his attention darted toward the corridor as if half-listening for approaching footsteps.

But this was an incredible chance to see history up close. She didn’t want to miss it.

“I will not vanish like a shadow just because Her Majesty might find me peculiar.”

She jabbed the air with two fingers in a mockery of courtly decorum. “Honestly, wouldn’t it be more suspicious to hide me away? People notice secrets.”

He sighed, exasperation warring with preoccupation. “You misunderstand. Your chamber is required for our guests. I am sorry, Eliza — Beth. But it is no longer yours. My sister has offered you her company in her own chamber until the king’s progress takes him onward.”

Something in his posture softened, an apology in the set of his shoulders, though his tone remained resigned. “’Tis only for a se’nnight, mayhap less. All of Glenhaven will be crowded.”

She’d been paying careful attention to how everyone acted, moved, spoke, as she said, “So, I am displaced. How very convenient.”

Baldwin’s gaze faltered, looking everywhere but her face. “Eleanor will see you are welcome. This is the safest course for you and for all of Glenhaven.”

His jaw tightened. Finally, he sighed, a sound of reluctant concession. “Perhaps you are right. And if you are at all like Eleanor, you would be found lurking behind the tapestries, and then there would be trouble. If asked, we tell the same story, that you are a recent widow?—”

“I remember.” She rolled her eyes, waving a hand in front of her face.

He gave her what she thought of as his lord of the castle stern look. Then his mouth twitched. It might have been a smile, if a little begrudging, then vanished, replaced by a look of deep disapproval, eyebrows arching and shoulders squaring as if the weight of the entire castle had settled there.

A clatter sounded from the courtyard below, and both their heads turned to catch the faint thunder of boots. Guards running drills, or more likely, the staff scurrying under threat of royal disaster. Defiance simmered behind her smile.

“I’ll endeavor to behave,” she promised, careful to keep the sarcasm cloaked. “Though if you see me in the kitchens, it’s only to fetch a piece of pie, I swear.” She couldn’t help the impish glint in her eye.

His jaw flexed. “Do not think pie will save you from the queen’s scrutiny, mistress.”

The window beyond the desk overlooked the lake, placid and jeweled with sunlight. For a moment, tension flickered between them as he really looked at her.

Beth fumbled for something, anything, safe to say.

“I could help with the accounts,” she offered at last, glancing down at the piles of ledgers scrawled in tight, crabbed script.

“I’m good with numbers.” In truth, their chaos beckoned.

Nothing soothed her like neat little rows of figures and solvent calculations.

He regarded her, long and searching, weighing risks as a knight might size an opponent. “Then prove your mettle.”

“Bring it,” Beth answered, surprised by her own steadiness.

He motioned to the nearest ledger. “Do you truly know your sums?”

She shot him a look of feigned reproach, recalling more than one boy in her AP class who had doubted just that. Without waiting, she seated herself and paged through clumps of parchment. Debts for flour, entries for spice, the careful tracking of every goose and pomegranate.

Numbers became anchors. Columns stacked themselves beneath her nib, and soon, drowned in calculation, Beth nearly forgot the awkwardness, the threat of royalty, the uncertainty of where, when, she belonged.

And how it hurt just a little that Baldwin pretended her widow story was true, that he didn’t want to know anything about ‘the damned future,’ as he put it.

If their positions had been reversed, she’d want to know everything. She detested surprises.

She sat in the quiet, rubbing her hands along her thighs, heart thudding harder than she’d like to admit.

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium…” she whispered, barely audible.

The familiar rhythm of the periodic table wrapped around her like an old blanket.

“Boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon…”

From his post at the window, Baldwin watched, arms crossed tight. His silence tangled with the chirr of birds. At one point, he murmured, “You have skill,” as if it half pained him to say it.

“I told you,” she replied, not looking up. “I may be crap with sewing, but I know numbers.”

He grunted, a sound stern, but not unfriendly. “Saints, preserve me.”

The moment built, delicate as eggshell between them. When at last he spoke, it was nearly soft. “Why are you unafraid?” He hesitated. “What if you slip?”

Beth paused, pen hovering above the parchment. The answer tumbled through her. She was afraid, terrified, if she let herself admit it. But she was alive, and his respect, grudging as it was, mattered more than she wished.

When she looked up, he was right in front of the desk, the scent of leather, and something green mixing with the parchment as she inhaled, wondering if she could bottle the scent. She let the smallest smile crack her mask.

“Because I’d rather count coins than cower in corners.” She shrugged. “I will be careful... I shouldn’t have told you I’m from the future, but in my defense, I was dealing with a great deal at the time. The truth just came out.”

Before he could say a word or scold her, she held up a hand. “I will not slip.” Then a smile escaped. “I rather prefer my head attached to my shoulders.”

“Your head is rather fetching.” Baldwin inclined his head as the sterness melted into a faint curve of his lips. “Let us see if you might keep Glenhaven solvent till the King departs. You must promise to guard your tongue. No talk of your... time. No strange words or customs.”

“I can be normal,” Beth protested. “I mean, I can blend in.”

His expression suggested profound doubt.

“I can!” she insisted.

He came around the desk, closing the distance between them in one long stride. Her breath caught as he reached out—but he only adjusted the collar of her kirtle where it had folded inward.

“See that you do,” he said softly. His fingers lingered a moment too long, warm against her collarbone. “For both our sakes.”