‘Indeed,’ I said to Mother. My sweetheart looked every bit a princess tonight. She was wearing a violet gown and a deep pink over-tunic, with her dark hair caught up in a cunning jewelled net, and as she moved about the hall, stopping to exchange a few words with one group of visitors after another, she was the picture of a happy young woman about to be wed. My father was speaking to her now; I saw her dip a graceful curtsy, then respond with a slight flush in her cheeks, as if she found the prospect of a real king becoming her father-in-law both thrilling and a little daunting. She was doing well. Who would have thought that demure young woman had spent the last two nights in my bed? Who would imagine that I, the only son of a king, had allowed such a thing to happen, not once, but twice? It seemed to me the truth must be written all over my guilty face.

When Flidais had left me, some time before today’s dawn, I had told her it must not occur again. With Aunt Sochla here, not to speak of the large number of waiting women now accommodated in that part of the house, our behaviour could not fail to be noticed. We could not afford to have it become common knowledge. After that first night, Donagan had packed up his things and moved to the men’s quarters, telling me I could call for him if I needed him. He had offered no explanation, and I had not asked for one. That I deserved his disapproval did not make it hurt any less.

‘I’m delighted that you are marrying at last, Oran,’ said Aunt Sochla. I was seated between her and my mother. This was a little unsettling, since both had a habit of asking penetrating questions without warning. They reminded me of a pair of bright-eyed, sharp-beaked birds. ‘She’s a pretty girl, if rather slight in build,’ my aunt went on. ‘Nice manners. Happy?’

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Fortunately, my aunt was not looking at me, but across the crowd of chattering folk to Flidais, who was now speaking to my father’s chief councillor. If my intended could charm Feabhal, she could charm anyone. ‘Of course,’ I said, hoping the general level of noise would conceal any doubt in my tone.

‘No of course about it,’ said Aunt Sochla. ‘Arranged marriage, pair of strangers, a man would consider himself lucky if he found his bride tolerable in short doses, at least at such an early stage. What are her interests? Does she ride? Hunt? Hawk? Or is she the music and needlework kind of girl?’

I was again lost for words. Evidently, Mother had not shared the fact that Flidais and I had corresponded for some time before I’d agreed to marry her.