The two young men fencing in the center of this space had not heard the party arrive, but Arian recognized Duke Mahieran’s son Rothlin seated on a bench across the room. He came to his feet. “The king,” he said. The others grounded their blades at once and turned to the door.

“I was hoping some of you would be here,” the king said. To Arian he said, “My closest friends. You know Rothlin, of course, but here is Juris Kirgan Marrakai—” The black-haired young man reminded Arian at once of Gwenno Marrakai. “And Rolyan Serrostin.” Rolyan had lighter hair, a ruddier complexion. To them he said, “This is Queen Arian of Lyonya. She wished to see the salle, with a view to practicing here.”

“Honored, milady queen,” Juris Marrakai said. He and Rolyan both stared—the same wide-eyed look of wonder the king had first given her. “Rothlin told us about your royal salle. It has different levels, he said.”

“Yes, it does,” Arian said. She looked around. “And a very fierce armsmaster whom even the king obeys—do you practice alone, then?”

“Rothlin’s being our instructor this evening, milady queen,” Rolyan said. “He said he was too tired to fence himself, so we didn’t bother Armsmaster Fralorn.”

“And has Rothlin been approved to supervise your practices?” the Marshal-Judicar asked. From the guilty looks on all three faces, the answer was clear, and Oktar had known it.

The king turned to one of his escort. “Go tell Armsmaster Fralorn that I’m in the salle with Queen Arian and ask him to attend.”

When the man had left, the king turned to his friends. “Do not get me in trouble with Fralorn. The rules are rules for all. Quickly now; fetch bandas for us.”

By the time Fralorn arrived, the entire party, including Arian’s Squires, had donned bandas.

Fralorn was a tall, lean man with thinning dark hair and a gray mustache. He wore clothes Arian had not seen before: short full breeches over stockings, thin slippers of gray kid, and a close-fitting gray tunic embroidered with the royal arms in rose and crimson. “Sir king,” he said, bowing. His gaze swept the room and snagged momentarily on the swords lying on the bench where Rothlin had been sitting. “How may I serve?”

“Milady,” the king said, “may I present Armsmaster Fralorn.” Fralorn bowed. “And this is Queen Arian of Lyonya,” the king said. “Queen Arian asked if it would be possible for her to practice in the salle daily.”

Fralorn smiled and bowed again. “My honor, milady queen, would be to have you share this space. May one ask what time of day the queen prefers to drill?”

“King Kieri and I drill before breakfast,” Arian said. “It improves the appetite.”

“Indeed, milady, so it would, and the swordplay as well. And would that be with your own escort, or would you wish to drill with others?”