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“It didn’t have to be this way. I could have been your protector, but you created an enemy of me,” he hissed.

The ugly yellow plume on his cap was longer than she was tall.

It drooped, nearly hitting her over the head.

He puffed his cheeks in a deep intake of breath and blew in her face.

The powerful gust forced her to windmill her arms before she grasped at a chair-back and held herself up.

The irony. She needed someone who would protect her from him.

She straightened, ready to guard herself, but he was gone from view.

Heather lowered herself into the chair she had been clinging to.

She could only hope that she’d be carted back to the royal library before the lewd Lord Quincy finished his meal.

She rubbed her chest, feeling raised welts where she was overheated before.

Hives, she realized. Her hands still held a slight tremor.

Her skin had become damp with her onslaught of anxious sweat.

She wished she could wash, but her castle didn’t have a bathing chamber, and the lack of privacy made her perspire anew.

Heather rested her head in her hand, massaging her forehead.

Her nerves were beyond frayed. If only she could go out to the garden and gather some lemon balm or valerian root to help with these tempestuous tides of emotion.

Before she was able to calm, her form was enveloped by shadow. Fearing Uster’s return, she hid below the banquet table.

“Imagine. This could have been him. We were so close. All those plans for what? A mere slip of a girl ruined everything,” complained a whispering, indistinguishable female voice.

“Never fear, it will be him soon enough,” answered a male Heather didn’t recognize.

The shadows retreated. Heather rushed out from under the table and hurried to one of the front facing windowsills.

But she was too late. The individuals disappeared into the chaotic dining hall, leaving her no clues to their identity.

They had to be the poisoners responsible for the state she was in.

Heather crumpled to her knees at the window. She peered into the chamber.

Jessa stood in the kitchen alcove, twisting her apron as she did countless other nights when Heather taste tested.

Her friend wasn’t permitted to come into the great hall without acting within the role of her duty.

Servants had to remain removed from interacting with the gentry unless bid.

Jessa toed the line by remaining in the doorway.

There was no way Jessa could make Heather’s tiny face out from this distance.

Heather followed Jessa’s gaze to the table lined with the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.

Curiously, there sat Mason… Jessa’s Mason, seated next to an auburn-haired beauty. The Lady enfolded her arm through Mason’s, looking up at him with ardor.

How was a common road laborer arm-in-arm with a member of Her Majesty’s retinue?

Heather removed herself from the pane, heading into the solar, where she settled into one of the comfy settees.

She scrutinized those gathered at the king’s banquet table. To His Majesty’s left, sat a stranger, donning an amusing little hat. His attire was completely unfamiliar to her. Who was this man occupying the king’s seat of honor?

There were several unknown faces present.

Lute notes rang crystal clear through the hall accompanied by a male voice- pure and exalted- broke through the clangs of utensils on plates and the diners’ conversations.

Heather straightened in her seat. She rose from her chair and strode to the nearest window, desperate to see whom the otherworldly voice belonged.

The sandy-haired man looked as though he had fallen through time. His forest green robed garment gathered at each shoulder with a golden clasp. His clothing imitated styles from bygone eras. She was captivated by his enchanting melody, the sounds of the great hall falling away beyond recognition.

His was the voice that would cause the heavens to weep. A voice that moved her to another epoch and place, her present worries lost to memory. The Lords and Ladies of the hall stilled their busy hands and mouths, enraptured as much as she.

He sang of gods long forgotten. Of ethereal beings of faerie. Weaving a tale of a foolish king rising to challenge the supernatural powers of the realms.

The unworthy mortal was headstrong and selfish, callous of how his actions would bleed unto the earthly and heavenly spheres. One by one, he faced the wrath of the entities of heaven, of earth and the sea.

And failed.

A thunderous crack resounded outside the castle walls, the sound grounding Heather as if newly awake.

As his last note echoed against the chamber’s stone, Heather’s stare shifted to the king. His face was mottled red, his eyes narrowed daggers on the bard. Their ruler’s fist clenched tight on his fork. The rest of the court took no heed as they stood and clapped uproarious praise.

Heather contemplated spirits formidable enough to drown the earth. Her troubled gaze met the dripping windowpanes. Rain pounded louder upon the roof. This time, Heather’s lively imagination wasn’t to blame.