He took a breath, then stopped. “Civil spoke to me in confidence. I don’t know if I should break that trust.”

“Did you promise not to tell?” I demanded, dreading the answer. I needed to know what Civil had told him, but I would not ask him to break his promise.

An incredulous look came over Dutiful’s face. “Tom Badgerlock. A noble does not ask his prince to ‘promise not to tell.’ It would not be appropriate to our stations.”

“And this conversation is,” the Fool observed wryly. His comment made the Prince laugh, easily dispersing a building tension between us that I had not been aware of until the Fool disarmed it. Strange, suddenly to recognize his gift for doing that, after all the years I had known him.

“I see your point,” the Prince conceded easily, and now the conversation included all of us as we rode three abreast. For a short time, the steady clopping of the horses’ hooves and the whispering of the cool wind were the only sounds. Dutiful took a breath. “He did not ask me to promise. But . . . Civil humbled himself to me. He knelt at my feet to offer his apology. And I think any man who does that has a right to expect it will be kept from the public gossip.”

“It would not become public gossip through me, my prince. Nor through the Fool. I promise. Please tell me what passed between you.”

“The fool?” Dutiful turned a delighted grin on Lord Golden.

Lord Golden snorted contemptuously. “An old joke between old friends. One that is becoming far too worn to be humorous anymore, Tom Badgerlock,” he added warningly to me. I ducked my head to his rebuke, but smirked also, hoping the Prince would accept the hasty explanation. Inside my chest, my heart sank down to the pit of my belly as I castigated myself for my carelessness. Did some part of me long to reveal myself to the Prince? I felt an old familiar twist in my gut. Guilt. Secrets withheld from ones who trusted me. Had not I once promised myself never to do that again? But what choice did I have? I guarded my own secret even as Lord Golden worked at prying the Prince’s secret loose from him.

“But if you would tell us, I promise that my tongue will wag it no further. Like Tom, I am dubious of Civil Bresinga’s loyalty to you, as friend or subject. I fear you may be in danger, my prince.”

“Civil is my friend,” the Prince announced in a voice that brooked no argument. His boyish confidence in his own judgment cut me. “I know that in my heart. However,” and here a strange look flickered over Dutiful’s face, “he warned me to be wary of you, Lord Golden. He seems to regard you with . . . extreme distaste.”

“A small misunderstanding between us when I guested at his home,” Lord Golden demurred casually. “I am sure we will soon resolve it.”