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B aldwin paced the length of his solar, the leather of his boots creaking against the rush-strewn floor.

His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly.

The royal party would arrive within the hour, and everything, from the newly polished silver to the garlands of summer flowers adorning the great hall, stood ready for inspection.

Everything except the one element he could not control.

“My lord?” His steward appeared at the doorway, face pinched with anxiety. “The scouts report the King and his party have crossed the eastern ridge. They’ll be upon us within the quarter-hour.”

Baldwin nodded curtly. “Sound the horns when they reach the village.”

He tugged at the sleeve of his finest doublet, midnight blue velvet with silver threading and embroidery that caught the afternoon light streaming through the narrow window. The garment felt like a prison after days of more comfortable attire.

The steward hesitated. “And the woman, my lord? The one with the strange manner of speaking?”

“Mistress Anderson will remain out of sight,” Baldwin said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Lady Eleanor will see to it.”

As the steward departed, he moved to the window.

From here, he could see the village in the distance, the banners fluttering from every cottage, the path strewn with wildflowers.

His people had worked themselves to exhaustion preparing for this visit.

The king would be relaxed but, Jacquetta of Luxembourg, mother to the Queen of England herself, was no ordinary guest. She was known for her keen eye and keener intellect.

Some whispered she practiced the dark arts.

And Elizabeth Woodville, her daughter, the commoner who had bewitched King Edward IV into marriage, would accompany her. The White Queen, they called her, for her fair beauty and the York rose she had married.

Baldwin’s fingers drummed against the stone windowsill. They would see through Beth in an instant.

The thought of her made something twist in his chest. Since her arrival, she had been a constant source of both vexation and... something else. Something that made his blood warm when she challenged him, when her strange words tumbled forth, when she looked at him with those eyes full of knowledge.

“Saints preserve us,” he muttered, turning from the window.

A horn sounded from the village, its clear note carrying across the summer air. Baldwin squared his shoulders. Time to welcome the wolves to his door.

The courtyard bustled with activity as Baldwin descended the steps, his household arranged in neat rows according to rank. Eleanor stood at the forefront in a gown of pale green silk, her dark hair braided with pearls. She offered him a quick smile that did not reach her eyes.

“Is she secure?” Baldwin murmured as he took his place.

Eleanor nodded. “In the east tower chamber with strict instructions not to emerge until summoned.” She paused. “Though I doubt she’ll heed them.”

Baldwin barely suppressed a groan. Of course, Beth would not stay put. The woman had all the obedience of an unbroken colt and the curiosity of a dozen cats.

The castle gates thundered open, and a hush fell over the crowd.

Moments later, the royal procession swept into Glenhaven in a blaze of heraldry and power.

First came the king’s standard, white roses stitched upon a field of azure, fluttering high above the line of riders.

Mounted guards in gleaming silver mail led the vanguard, their tabards embroidered with the royal crest, lances angled in perfect formation.

Then came King Edward IV himself, astride a towering black destrier, resplendent in a doublet of deep blue velvet edged in gold.

His golden hair shone beneath a coronet adorned with sapphires, his posture regal yet commanding.

The early light caught the strong lines of his face, and the faintest smile played about his mouth as if he savored the awe his presence conjured.

The king’s armor glinted beneath his cloak, the muscles in his arms shifting beneath the polished steel as he guided his mount with casual confidence.

Behind him rode his most trusted knights, half a dozen champions of England whose names were spoken with reverence, or fear, across the realm.

Close at the king’s side came Queen Elizabeth, her beauty undiminished by the jostle of travel.

Her golden hair gleamed beneath a net of pearls and rubies, and her fitted gown of forest green velvet flowed like liquid silk.

She held her head high, her posture as regal as her husband’s, though those close enough to see might have caught the quiet wariness behind her smile.

She had been born to no throne, and yet here she sat a queen, and none dared forget it.

Just behind them came Jacquetta of Luxembourg, riding in a carriage carved with heraldic beasts and inlaid with gold leaf.

She carried herself with an imperious grace.

Her gown of burgundy velvet shimmered in the sunlight, and a cloak of sable fur rested upon her shoulders.

Her pale silver hair, braided and wound beneath a circlet of pearls, gleamed as her discerning gaze swept the courtyard, noting everything and everyone.

Following were an array of nobles, ladies-in-waiting, banner-men, officials, and servants, a hundred strong, their procession painting the summer dust with flashes of color, silk, and steel.

Baldwin stepped forward from the line of his household assembled in the courtyard, dropping to one knee as the king’s mount reared slightly and settled. His head bowed low. “Your Grace,” he intoned with steady reverence, “Glenhaven welcomes you. All we possess is yours.”

King Edward regarded him with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to deference.

He laughed lightly, the sound rich and warm as a hearthfire.

“The tales of Glenhaven’s beauty oft reach my court, Lord Baldwin.

I now see they are not exaggerated. Rise,” the king commanded, his voice smooth but edged with steel.

“We thank you for your loyalty and hospitality.”

Baldwin stood. “It is mine honor, Your Grace... and yours, my lady queen, to host you here. Glenhaven is humbled.”

Queen Elizabeth offered a nod, her eyes sweeping the castle grounds. “This place is well-ordered, indeed. I see why my lord is fond of it.”

As the royal family and their retinue were led into the great hall, Baldwin’s gaze drifted skyward. The east tower.

A flicker of movement, one pale face and a sweep of dark hair vanished beyond the frame of the narrow window. His chest tightened.

Of course, Beth was watching.

The great hall had been transformed for the royal visit.

Fresh rushes mixed with lavender and rosemary covered the floor, filling the air with sweet fragrance.

Tapestries depicting hunting scenes and biblical tales hung from the walls, their rich colors catching the light from dozens of beeswax candles.

The high table had been draped with Baldwin’s finest linen and set with silver goblets and platters polished until they gleamed.

Baldwin sat at Jacquetta’s right hand, with Eleanor beside Elizabeth. Courtiers and nobles filled the remaining seats according to rank, their conversations a gentle hum beneath the music provided by a trio of minstrels in the gallery.

“Your sister has grown into a beauty,” Jacquetta observed, sipping her wine. “Have you considered a match for her?”

Baldwin’s fingers tightened around his goblet. “Eleanor has shown little interest in marriage thus far, Lady Rivers.”

Jacquetta’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Women often say one thing while their hearts whisper another.” Her gaze drifted to the hall entrance, where a commotion had erupted. “Ah, and who might this be?”

Baldwin turned, dread coiling in his stomach. There, being escorted by a flustered-looking guard, was Beth.

She wore one of the gowns that Eleanor had made for her. Deep blue with silver embroidery at the sleeves, her hair partially tamed into a simple braid. Yet she still moved with that peculiar confidence, her chin tilted at an angle that no properly raised medieval woman would dare.

“Forgive the interruption, my lord,” the guard stammered. “The lady insisted she had been summoned.”

Baldwin rose, his chair scraping against the dais. “I gave no such?—”

“I did,” Eleanor interjected smoothly. “I sent word that my companion should join us. For I have been weary, and I thought her presence might lift my spirits.”

Jacquetta’s eyes narrowed with interest. “Your companion? I was not aware you had taken another one.”

Baldwin’s mind raced for a plausible explanation. “A family friend and recent widow,” he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. “She arrived recently to... assist my sister with her studies.”

Beth approached the high table, and Baldwin watched in horror as she attempted a curtsy. Her movement was awkward, unpracticed as she wobbled, caught herself, then inexplicably directed the gesture toward a startled serving man rather than the royal guests.

A titter of laughter rippled through the hall. Baldwin pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the floor to open and swallow him whole.

“How charming,” Jacquetta said, though whether she meant it or was mocking remained unclear. “Come closer, child. Let me look upon you.”

Beth straightened, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and approached the high table. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Rivers?” The last word lilted upward as a question, and Baldwin felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.

Jacquetta studied Beth with the intensity of a hawk eyeing a field mouse. “Your accent is unusual. From where do you hail?”

“I’m from P—” Beth caught herself, glancing at Baldwin. “From far to the west. A small village you wouldn’t have heard of.”