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  Felix paused, his sword arm suspended before him. Prince Gervais stood at the edge of the yard, his fists planted on his hips and a long sword sheathed at his side. Felix nodded curtly and completed his lunge, less vigorous than the last one but more precise. He smiled, tight-lipped, admiring his own work.

  Gervais applauded. “Very nice, young sir,” the Prince of Beauclair cried. He stepped into the yard, removing his sword belt as he did so. “Tell me, Felix, have you another practice sword? I should be honored to spar with you if you are willing.”

  Felix looked at the smiling prince and recoiled at the idea of a match with him. Every movement Gervais made was full of a dancer’s grace, just the sort of form Felix’s own master had been struggling to beat into him over the last few years. But his attendants were watching and whispering to each other again. Felix felt his hackles rise, but he said, “I’m willing if you are, Prince Gervais.”

  Gervais smiled at the boy, a smile that Felix wanted to smack off his face, and called to one of the guards. “Bring me a weapon.” He set aside his own sword and took the wooden one offered to him. Felix watched him stretch a few moments, and his heart sank. Even in his stretching exercises, Gervais had the look of a master.

  The two princes took positions across from each other and saluted. Immediately after, Gervais’s sword arm extended, his torso inclining forward, his hand rising to shoulder level as he advanced. His movements were so quick and fluid that Felix could only just parry and leap back, avoiding a touch by inches. His heart quickened, pounding in his throat as adrenaline rushed through his veins. Their swords crossed, wood thunking heavily on wood. Felix parried three times, a fourth, and then felt the slap of the sword on his leg. It hurt, and he bit back a curse behind a grimace.

  “Good,” Gervais said, still smiling. “You are skilled, young prince, most skilled. Again?”

  Felix could not refuse in front of his father’s guard and his sneering attendants. He saluted the prince, their swords crossed again, and this time Gervais broke through his defense in a moment, touching him hard on the shoulder. Felix turned away, cursing under his breath, his ears red with embarrassment.

  “Come, you cannot be finished,” Gervais cried. “You are doing so well, Prince Felix.”

  Felix could hear the laughter behind his voice, and the blood roared angrily in his head. He saluted, assumed first position, and this time was quick enough to go on offensive first, surprising the other prince for a moment. But Gervais laughed even as their swords met, and the next moment Felix felt a hard slap against his thigh.

  “Indeed, you will make a fine swordsman someday,” Gervais said.

  “Again, Prince Felix?”

  Nothing in this world seemed half as important as permanently removing that grin from Gervais’s face. But Felix knew after three encounters that he couldn’t hope to touch the Prince of Beauclair. They crossed swords again.

  “When I defeated the Count of Elbeuf,” Gervais said, “the most famous swordsman in his demesne, I performed just this maneuver.” He feinted, Felix fell for it, and the next moment was struck hard on the arm. “Again, Prince Felix?”

  Felix ran through his mind any possible ways he might decline and yet retain an inch of dignity, and found there were none. He saluted, and they engaged.

  “When I encountered the Baron Dronhim of Milden,” Gervais said, “I tried this.”

  Felix attempted to parry but was too slow, and the wooden sword hit his other arm. He wondered how many bruises his attendants would count and snicker over when they helped him to dress that evening.

  “Again, Prince Felix?”

  “A moment!” Felix panted, turning and stalking a few paces away to catch his breath. He placed a hand on his side, where a cramp was developing. Closing his eyes, he growled between his teeth, “If she marries that goblin’s son, why I’ll . . .”

  He opened his eyes and saw Aethelbald standing a few yards away, arms crossed. Aethelbald looked at him, his mouth a straight line across his face, and raised his eyebrows.

  Felix drew in a deep breath and turned back to Gervais. “I’m ready, prince,” he said and saluted.

  Gervais smiled that brilliant beam of his and saluted back. Then he lunged. Felix’s feet moved in the intricate pattern he’d practiced yesterday, a little clumsy but just quick enough, and his sword arm darted out. He staggered at the end but turned his head to watch Gervais’s wooden sword fly through the air and clatter in the gravel behind him.

  Even the attendants stopped whispering.

  Felix leapt forward and smacked Gervais, who was still recovering his feet, hard on the thigh. “Touch!” he cried. “Match!”

  Gervais swore roundly and backed away, rubbing his thigh. “What did you do?” he demanded.

  Felix grinned at him and shrugged. “I disarmed you! Another, Prince Gervais?”

  Gervais swore again, under his breath this time, and went to retrieve his own sword from the edge of the yard, leaving the wooden sword where it lay. “Enough for today, Prince Felix,” he said. “Perhaps again tomorrow. We shall see.”

  He buckled his sword belt about his waist and strode from the yard without another word, passing Aethelbald. The Prince of Farthestshore put out a hand to arrest him and said something too low for Felix to overhear. But Felix did not care. Inside he was bursting, and it took all his concentration to maintain a cool air as he scooped up Gervais’s practice sword and went to put it away.

  “When I defeated the swaggering prince of Beauclair,” he whispered, smiling fiendishly, “I used this little maneuver. . . .”

  –––––––

  Una spent most of the rest of the day inside working at her tapestry. It felt safer inside. Safer from what, she could not say, but safer for sure. Nurse was discerning enough to sense that her princess was in a delicate state of mind and let her alone, though she did notice that Una tangled her thread rather more than usual.

  Una hardly saw her work. She kept reliving the events in the garden that morning and found, to her frustration, that she could not enjoy the memory of Gervais’s romantic song, overshadowed as it was by Aethelbald’s rudeness.

  How dare he take her hand like that? Pretending concern! As if she wouldn’t know if she had damaged her own hands.

  Monster hopped into her lap and started chewing on her thread. Una watched him do it without seeing until he had unraveled half an armored bean man. Coming to herself suddenly, Una growled, “Monster, you beast!” She tossed the cat over the arm of the chair, then set to embroidering with more will than ever, determined to dwell on Prince Gervais.

  He would speak to her father, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Why waste any time? He loved her, so he would talk to Father, and things would all be settled by suppertime.

  Granted, he hadn’t actually asked for her hand, not in so many words. But how else could a girl interpret such a song as Prince Gervais had sung to her in the garden?

  Una tried to stop the frown that pulled at the corner of her mouth, but it slipped into place anyway. Her thread tangled again, and she pulled it so tight that the poor embroidered man’s face twisted grotesquely.

  Tonight there was to be another dinner. Gervais was a man of such nobility and prestige that one state dinner could not possibly suffice. There would be another dinner, and all the court would be gathered, and her father would announce her engagement. The applause would be thunderous; she could feel blotches sprouting at the thought. Prince Gervais, of course, would take it all in stride. Everyone would cheer, and he would smile, and . . .

  I wonder what Prince Aethelbald will think.

  Her thread broke when Una tugged too hard, and she was obliged to find her little scissors. She began snipping with more energy than was altogether necessary.

  I don’t care what Prince Aethelbald will think.

  He would leave, of course. Tomorrow morning, presumably, after the announcement was made. He would march into the Wood, just as peculiarly as he had come, and she woul
d never see him again.

  “And that will be for the best,” she muttered as she put a new knot at the end of her thread.

  “What’s that, Miss Princess?” Nurse asked, looking up from her needlepoint dragon.

  “Nothing.”

  Una started adding silver to the helmet of her newest soldier, a fierce-looking fellow who brandished a slightly crooked sword at the scarlet thread flames billowing toward him. But she did not see the exciting scene before her. Instead she stood once more in the Rose Garden, listening to the song as clearly as if Gervais still sang it. She felt the tightness of breath when the dashing prince stood so near. And she still felt the pound of her heart when she recognized Aethelbald coming up the path.

  I wonder what he thought when he saw us together.

  But of course she didn’t care about that.

  That evening Nurse allowed Una to wear her second-best dress, which was thankfully a little less cumbersome than the best dress. Una made hardly a sound as Nurse put her together and styled her hair. She needed to look exceptional for the dinner, and while she did not feel very pretty in her finery, she would have to trust the Parumvir fashion experts, for tonight her engagement would be announced.

  –––––––

  When Una came to the dining hall, she found it locked up, no sign of a feast or festival anywhere. Frowning, she made her way to the smaller private dining room used by her family most evenings. The footman standing at the door opened it to let her enter, and to her surprise Una found only her father and brother in the room, already eating.

  “What are you all made up for?” Felix asked around a mouthful.

  “Well, I . . .” Una did not finish but quietly slid into place. A servant set a plate before her, and she started cutting her meat in silence. Only after she’d cut each piece in half several times over did she dare raise her eyes and ask, “Will Prince Ger . . . Will the princes not dine with us this evening, Father?” She hoped her voice didn’t tremble as much as she suspected it did.

  Felix, who was sipping coffee, snorted and burnt his tongue, cupped a hand around his mouth, and bawled for water. During his uproar King Fidel could not speak and Una was left to wonder. But when her brother finally quieted, her father turned to her and said, “Prince Gervais left for his own country early this afternoon.”

  Una’s heart stopped a moment. She put a napkin to her face. Left? Already? After only just expressing his feelings to her that morning? She pressed the napkin a little harder to her mouth. Perhaps she had not encouraged him enough? Perhaps he had thought she did not return his affections?

  “Will he come back?” she asked.

  “I should hope not,” Felix said, gently touching his tongue with thumb and index finger.

  Una frowned at her brother. “What do you mean? You liked him well enough last night when you were talking of hunting and sport and such things!”

  “My opinion has changed since,” Felix said, squinting at her. “Where have you been all day that you haven’t heard?”

  “Haven’t heard what?”

  “About his – ”

  “Children!” Fidel interrupted. “Felix, this is not common knowledge, and while I know that it soon will be, court gossip being what it is, I would rather you were not the principle source.” He turned to Una. “Certain news reached my ears late this morning concerning the behavior of that young man.”

  Una could feel the red blotches rising and dancing over her nose. Had he heard of the song in the garden? Was that somehow improper behavior? It had seemed innocent enough. “Why, Father, I – ”

  “It appears that Prince Gervais is currently banished from his father’s house for enormous gambling debts,” Fidel said quietly. “He is not permitted home until he can pay them. Pass the salt, Felix, please?”

  Una’s mouth opened and closed again.

  “Marriage to a rich princess is a fine way to fast money,” Felix said.

  Awkward silence filled the room, broken only by the sounds of Felix cutting his meat.

  “Are you sure?” Una asked at last in a small voice.

  “Quite,” King Fidel said. “I had heard rumors of his habits before now, of course, but the evidence presented this morning was enough to convince me that I did not want him singing any more love songs in my garden.”

  “Did he do that?” Felix asked, looking up from his plate.

  “But what evidence, Father?” Una demanded. “A man should not be presumed guilty, and what could possibly – ”

  “A promissory note written out to one of Farthestshore’s knights,” Fidel said. “Gervais owes Aethelbald’s servant quite a sum, which he is unable to pay.”

  “Aethelbald,” Una whispered.

  “Signed and sealed with Gervais’s signet ring.” Fidel shook his head. “The poor boy did not try to deny it but packed up this afternoon with hardly a word. I think the thumping he got in the practice yard may have knocked some of the silver from his tongue.”

  Felix chuckled quietly to himself.

  Una’s mind, however, could fix on one thing only: Prince Aethelbald’s knight. Who but Prince Aethelbald himself would bring this information before the king? Una glared so hard at her coffee that it almost reboiled. “May I be excused, Father?” she asked and rose without waiting for a reply.

  “You don’t want your meat?” Felix called after her, but Una did not hear.

  There were no servants in the hall, so she stopped and leaned against the wall, her fingers pressed to her temples. This was not how things were supposed to happen! Gervais was supposed to propose. She was supposed to accept. They were supposed to marry and . . .

  Her spinning thoughts jarred to a halt. Did she want to marry him?

  Of course she did. She was in love with him, wasn’t she?

  Her thoughts worked up speed and spun on while tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Princess Una?”

  She looked up. Prince Aethelbald stood before her.

  “Are you unwell, princess?” he asked. “Should I summon – ”

  She knew he was speaking, but she could not hear for the roaring in her ears. A bundle of words gathered in her throat and burst out in a mad jumble. “What did you could your business dare you!” Her eyes burned. “Never want to speak why did you can’t stand you!”

  “Princess?” He took a step back, his face full of hurt and confusion.

  “Are you – ”

  “Don’t pretend you knon’t dow – don’t know – what I’m talking about!”

  “I don’t presume to know, but I could probably guess,” he admitted.

  “Prince Gervais – ”

  “What business of yours I’d like to know. What business, well?”

  “Princess, I never claimed – ”

  “How dare you blacken his name how dare you to my father!” Una wanted desperately to spit out elegant barbs, but all that came out was an emphatic, “Don’t want you mister noble go away not your business!”

  If nothing else, her body language was unmistakable. Prince Aethelbald took another step back and bowed. “Princess, I understand – ”

  “You don’t!”

  “ – your distress, but permit me to defend my – ”

  “I don’t want your paltry defense!” she tried to say, though it came out, “I paltry don’t want you!” and she turned on her heel and stormed away.

  He followed behind a few paces and spoke quietly. “I did not go to your father, Una. I spoke to Prince Gervais on behalf of my servant to whom the prince owes a great sum. I urged Gervais to speak to King Fidel himself and admit his position, as any honorable man would.”

  Una gathered her skirts, tilted her chin, and rushed up the stairs to her rooms, leaving Aethelbald behind.

  –––––––

  Una passed her evening imagining all the brilliant things she should have said to Aethelbald but didn’t, but jolly well would next chance she got, so help her! They were most of them verbose, all of them witty, and
each would have fallen flat if stuttered, but she didn’t consider that. She penned them in her journal and practiced them in her mind until they rolled perfectly off her imaginary tongue and Prince Aethelbald, cowed, crawled into his place.

  The thought did nudge the edge of her mind now and then that perhaps Aethelbald had been right. After all, he hadn’t spread rumors. Gervais had done a fine job of blackening his own name.

  But she refused to dwell on these thoughts, for she might have come to the conclusion that she owed Aethelbald an apology, and that could not possibly be true.

  Nurse was no help.

  “Spoiled, money-grubbing wastrel,” she muttered as she tidied the princess’s room. “Thank heaven Prince Aethelbald called him out, the scalawag scamp.”

  Una, who sat at her window looking out at the rising moon and writing out the final touches on an exceptionally fine verbal dart, turned on Nurse with a frown. “That’s not what you said about him yesterday. Yesterday you thought him fine and clever.”

  “Well, perhaps he is fine and clever,” Nurse said, “but that doesn’t change the rest of him. And the rest of him is a scalawag scamp with no thought for anything but his own pleasure!”

  “He did speak to Father himself, though,” Una insisted. “That took courage, don’t you think? Only a fine man would be willing to admit his own shortcomings so humbly.”

  “I’m not saying he’s devoid of virtue, but that doesn’t make him less of a shyster, a two-faced . . .”

  The flame of love was well and truly smothered in Nurse’s breast.

  Una turned back to her window with a heavy sigh and gazed out to the darkening horizon. “Did he really love me, Nurse?” she asked.

  “Gambler, debtor, or otherwise, do you think he really loved me?”

  “Phfff, what does it matter? Whether he did or not, he loved himself more. Hoping to marry you for money, the scoundrel. . . .”

  “Maybe he loved me, though, and didn’t care about the money? Maybe my fortune was only an extra blessing?” Una’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  Nurse shook her head. “Think what you like if it makes you feel better, but I say good riddance to him even so.”