It was but a week until they had word. A week of learning her husband’s people and their ways, and learning the kind of lady she could be to them. A week of seeing him among them, and how they looked at him, and how they needed him. A week of praying that God would not take him from this place, or from her. And soon enough they would know.

King Edward was in Wales, on his way to visit his lands in Snowdonia, and summoned Prince Gruffydd to him. It set a terror in her even to think of standing before the king and his court, but she would not let her Welshman see how her heart quailed. And she would not let him go alone.

His guard came with them, but she kept her weapons close. At most, the king would only shout and rage, her Welshman warned her. His famous temper was likely to be stirred by such blatant disobedience – but he could not undo the marriage.

To her relief it was not the full court that was assembled, but only a handful of retainers. Her eyes skimmed over the lords present, looking for any she had seen before, sure they would recognize her as the skittish serving girl who had dodged their grasping hands. A few she knew, but they did not seem to recognize her – either because they had not kept her face in their memory or because she was so changed in the gown of wine-colored velvet. They looked at her, some openly and some stealthily, but they gave their greatest attention to the prince who had come to beg his king’s pardon.

It was a private audience, only the king and his closest advisors, and she was summoned too.

“I am grown tired of troublesome Welsh princes,” King Edward said, with such a threat in the words that it sent a shiver up Nan’s spine.

“My liege,” said her husband from where he knelt before him. He spoke simply, begging pardon for renouncing the betrothal arranged by the king, swearing it was done not for any hopes of greater power, but for love.

At this, the king’s regard fell on Nan where she waited with bowed head at the back of the chamber. He beckoned her forward, and for a terrible moment she could not move. For just an instant, she thought she should have a jug in hand to fill his cup – but no, even when she served in his hall she had never served the king himself.

Only the thought of her Welshman could make her move her feet. And only the thought of her lady could make her lift her chin and straighten her spine.