"Uh-no-not right now, thank you," Garion answered, climbing out of the royal bed and down the three carpeted steps leading up to it. The servant helped him into the robe, then bowed and quietly left the room. Garion went to the table, seated himself, lifted the cover from the tray, and assaulted breakfast vigorously.

When he had finished eating, he sat for a time in a large, blue-upholstered armchair looking out the window at the snowy crags looming above the city. The storm that had raked the coast for days had blown off - at least for the moment; the winter sun was bright, and the morning sky very blue. The young Rivan King stared for a time out his window, lost in thought.

Something nagged at the back of his memory - something he had heard once but had since forgotten. It seemed that there was something he ought to remember that involved Princess Ce'Nedra. The tiny girl had fled from the Hall of the Rivan King almost immediately after the sword had so flamboyantly announced his identity the previous day. He was fairly sure that it was all mixed together. Whatever it was that he was trying to recall had been directly involved in her flight. With some people it might be better to let things quiet down before clearing the air, but Garion knew that this was not the proper way to deal with Ce'Nedra. Things should never be allowed to fester in her mind. That only made matters worse. He sighed and began to dress.

As he walked purposefully through the corridors, he met with startled looks and hasty bows. He soon realized that the events of the preceding day had forever robbed him of his anonymity. Someone Garion could never catch a glimpse of his face - even went so far as to follow him, probably in the hope of performing some service. Whoever it was kept a discrete distance behind, but Garion caught occasional glimpses of him far back along the corridor - a gray-cloaked man who moved on strangely noiseless feet. Garion did not like being followed, whatever the reason, but he resisted the urge to turn around and tell the man to go away.

The Princess Ce'Nedra had been given several rooms just down the hall from Aunt Pol's apartments, and Garion steeled himself as he raised his hand to rap on the door.

"Your Majesty," Ce'Nedra's maid greeted him with a startled curtsy.

"Would you please ask her Highness if I might have a word with her?" Garion asked.

"Certainly, your Majesty," the girl replied and darted into the next chamber.

There was a brief murmur of voices and then Ce'Nedra swept into the room. She wore a plain gown, and her face was as pale as it had been the previous day. "Your Majesty," she greeted him in an icy voice, and then she curtsied, a stiff little curtsy that spoke whole volumes.