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“Oh, but I was,” Aimee argued bitterly, quite forgetting one should not disagree with one’s monarch. “The biggest fool in all Karadok!”

The queen’s eyes gleamed, and she seized Aimee’s hands in her own. “You shall tell me now, all about it! Jane!” she said turning her head sharply. “Fetch for us now the wine and the honey cakes!”

Aimee did not know quite how it was, but when she sat back a half an hour later, she had poured out all her woes into the queen’s interested ears. It had all tumbled out, her ridiculous infatuation, her desire to win Lord Kentigern’s heart, her disappointed love. Her chest had heaved, her cheeks had turned a deep poppy red, and there had even been a few tears. The queen, bored with reserve and discretion from her courtiers, was highly gratified.

“And now, to crown his folly, he makes another woman the Queen of the Tournament!” Armenal declared wrathfully. “It is too much! It is an outrage!” She rolled her r’s in a magnificent manner. “It is not to be borne!”

Aimee strove to get control of her wobbling bottom lip. She was not used to be indulged in her passions. Usually, Ursula’s sensible attitude tipped a bucket of cold water all over them. Suddenly, it occurred to Aimee that her sister would not think it a good idea to air her grievances like this and certainly not in such exalted quarters. She regarded the queen doubtfully. “Y-you do not think I have made a mountain out of a molehill?” she gulped.

“A mountain out of a molehill?” the queen echoed, sounding mystified by the expression. Then its meaning seemed to occur to her. “What a droll saying! But no!” Queen Armenal assured her. “You were oh-so dignified when all eyes they were riveted on you. Quite the grand lady, I assure you. For one moment, I held my breath, I wondered if you might not snatch the crown from your rival’s head.” The queen flashed her an apologetic look. “I did not know then that you were so nice in your manners.”

It occurred to Aimee that the queen had expected her to act like some fishwife in a common market brawl. Then her words registered. “My rival?” she blurted in dismay. “I do not suppose,” Aimee hated herself for even asking, but she could not help herself, “that your majesty knows who – who that lady was that my husband crowned?”

“You may be sure I do!” Queen Armenal said with a benevolent air. “When I saw the drama unfolding in your box, you may be assured that I made the enquiries. I had, of course, heard all about Lord Kentigern having married a commoner,” she continued smoothly, and for some reason, Aimee found it hard to take offence. “But I had not heard so much as a peep about Sir Jeffree de Crecy’s tumble from grace!” She turned impetuously to Aimee. “Tell to me, are you acquainted at all with Sir Jeffree?”

“I have seen him joust before on two occasions,” Aimee admitted, wondering why the queen had strayed so far from the point. “He – He always seemed a most proud man.” Aimee was hesitant in her description, not liking to use the real words she would have liked to have used, such as arrogant and disagreeable.

“But yes!” the queen agreed delightedly. “Me, I would say that always he seems like he has a stick up his bottom.” Aimee choked on the tentative bite she had taken of her honey cake. The queen waved a hand. “I am not a native of these parts and I do not have the natural reserve. We will dispense with it between us, for I can see your nature is also very easy and open like my own.”

Aimee nodded though she cast an uneasy look at the lady-in-waiting. Her grave expression did not alter by so much as a twitch of her eyebrow, so Aimee turned her attention back to the queen. “I do not quite understand what bearing Sir Jeffree has upon the matter,” she admitted.

“Oh, do you not?” The queen regarded her a moment, a small smile playing about her lips. “Tell me, are you aware at all that Sir Jeffree has recently taken a wife?” She sat back and regarded Aimee with amusement.

“He has?” Slowly it dawned on Aimee that the queen saw some connection between this fact and her own predicament. “You mean – ? That lady is – ? But surely not,” Aimee faltered. Surely, that lady in the plain woolen gown could not be the wife of one such as Sir Jeffree?

“But yes,” the queen nodded. “That drab creature is the new Lady de Crecy.”

15

Konrad threw down his knife and pushed back his chair. Supper had been an oppressive affair. He moodily surveyed the three other occupants of the room. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was decidedly ‘off’ this evening. He had never been one to be affected by the atmosphere of a room, but even he could tell a frosty air hung over the supper table.

He cleared his throat, and no one looked up, not even Freda. Now he came to think of it, his cousin had not made any of her usual empty small talk at dinner. Strange to say, her silence had not been the relief he had once thought it would be. “Is no one going to congratulate me on my victory?” he asked sardonically, throwing caution to the wind. His sister gave an incredulous huff, but his eyes were not on her, but his wife.

Aimee dragged her eyes from her plate and lifted her goblet. “Congratulations on your victory,” she said flatly. He narrowed his eyes at her, but to his disappointment, she could not be goaded into any further speech. Neither Trude nor Freda echoed the toast, though his cousin did lift her cup and take a small sip of her wine.

“Will you go to the victory feast tonight at the palace?” Aimee asked in a cold, clipped voice he had not heard from her before.

He looked down speakingly at his empty plate. “I have already eaten my fill. Besides,” he added. “I am not much of one for feasts or celebrations.” Though why he was explaining himself to her now, he had not the smallest notion.

“A pity,” Aimee replied with a decided edge to her voice. “Perhaps you could have celebrated your win further with Lady de Crecy.”

Either Freda or Magnatrude uttered an exclamation that turned into a hasty cough, but Konrad did not have eyes for anyone apart from his wife just then. He cleared his throat. “And just why would I do that?”

“I am sure I could not say. Past form, perhaps?”

Konrad drummed his fingers on the table as he surveyed his wife. She had changed out of his colors before dinner and now wore a gown of palest yellow. It became her well, he thought, for the hue did not wash her out as it did pale women.

“The queen has invited me to attend the palace tonight as her guest,” Aimee continued, thumping her goblet back down on the table so hard that two drops of wine sloshed out and stained the tablecloth red.

“We are not attending,” Konrad replied, finally adding up all the signs: the overbright eyes, the red cheeks, the slight tremble in the hand that held her drink. His wife was in a high temper, he realized incredulously. A temper with him.

“It is a pity you find yourself unable to attend,” Aimee replied and, yes, there was a decided bite to her tone. “But I could not possibly disappoint her majesty.”

Konrad snorted. “You both can and will disappoint the southern queen. I am the only one you need to worry about pleasing, wife, and me alone.”

Aimee’s expression tightened. “I do not care about that anymore, my lord!” she flung at him, abandoning all pretense of coolness. “For I no longer love you!”

You could have heard a pin drop. Then all hell broke loose. Konrad had dragged his chair back, and Magnatrude jumped up from her own seat. “No, Konrad!” she wailed, as Freda burst into shocked tears. Konrad ignored them, hauling Aimee out of her chair and slinging her over his shoulder.