Count Alain went back to the chairs and threw himself down into one. “Between Maleficent and Prince Phillip, it seems difficult. I fear I have given her a dislike of me, and it will be no easy work winning her over.”

“I have a plan,” said Lord Ortolan. “In fact, I have several.”

Chapter 11

That evening, Aurora presided over the banquet table in the great hall while dish after dish was presented. Sweet tarts, crèmes, fishes, and game dressed in savory sauces. She couldn’t eat. She thought of Hammond, the poacher, whose family might have starved while the entire palace feasted. And she thought of Simon, who had still not been found. She cut her gaze down the table to where Prince Phillip was talking to several courtiers, telling them a story that made them laugh.

“Is something the matter?” asked Lady Fiora, leaning across the table.

“No,” Aurora lied, pushing a bit of rhubarb around her plate.

“You must allow me to apologize,” Lady Fiora said. “My brother has always been overprotective. But it was my fault. I shouldn’t have insulted those—those—”

“Wallerbogs,” Aurora said.

“Yes.” Lady Fiora looked relieved. “Please forgive Alain. As fiercely as he defended me, he would defend you, were it your honor he felt was insulted.”

Horrified though she’d been by Alain’s behavior, Aurora couldn’t fault his love for his sister. He obviously cared for her a lot, to throw himself into danger the way he had. That was something she could sympathize with.

“I bear your brother no grudge,” Aurora said, “so long as he sees how wrong he was and never does anything like it again.” Looking down the table, she caught Count Alain’s eye. He raised his glass, and she raised hers in return.

If he’s actually sorry, then now is my chance, she thought. I am going to propose he sit down with the other nobles and explain that he jumped to conclusions and that the Moors are only dangerous to people intending to harm the creatures who live there. Maybe this will turn out to be what we need to finally finish the treaty.

When she rose from the table, Count Alain came to her side. She waited for him to apologize so that she could inform him of her request.

“I have a gift for you,” he said instead, drawing a carved wooden box from his side. “A small token, for the queen who saved my very life.”

A few courtiers had gathered close, clearly admiring him for his gallantry. Several ladies smiled at one another with vicarious enjoyment.

A gift was not an apology. But surely he would say something more once she’d accepted whatever it was he’d brought her. And he must feel very guilty to make a show of bringing her a present.

“This is very kind,” she began, “but—”