I opened my mouth to protest again, but her lips and tongue silenced my words. Her hands and warm body erased rational thought my mind. They wiped away the certainty that in the morning I would rue my lack of self-restraint. I surrendered, and let the morning take care of itself.

‘Your sweetheart is charming,’ my mother said, watching Flidais glide away down the hall.

Two nights had passed since Flidais had first crept into my bed, and it was the eve of the betrothal ceremony. The house was full. Today had seen the last of the distinguished guests settled in. There had been a magnificent supper of several courses, and entertainment by the musicians my parents had brought with them from court. The wedding cake had been on display, though it would not be cut and eaten until tomorrow night, after the ritual. It was a confection of towering proportions decorated with delicate flowers and foliage, all edible. Aunt Sochla had declared that she had never seen anything so impressive; the baker, she had said, must have magic in his hands. Branoc was not present to accept the compliments of the assembly; the man was reluctant to venture beyond his home village of Silverlake, or indeed to go much further than the doors of his bakery, so folk said. He had never attended my open councils; carters conveyed his creations to Winterfalls for us to enjoy.

‘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.