“Mind your tone, Lady Margaret,” Elizabeth scolded. All eyes turned toward Rose. Rose felt she was in dangerous territory. Snail Head would blame her for the fact the royal princess had corrected her for speaking rudely about Rose.

“Well, let me think. Maybe we should do eeny meeny,” Rose offered.

“Eeny meeny?” Edward said with delight. “What’s that?”

“It’s a rhyme that makes it easy to decide who should go first.”

“Do it!” Edward clapped his hands gleefully.

So Rose began. “Eeny meeny miney moe . . . out goes one . . . out goes two . . . out goes another one and that leaves you!”

“You” was Princess Elizabeth. To Rose’s great relief, Edward did not seem to mind.

Between turns, Rose observed how attentive Snail Head was to Prince Edward. Fussing over a buckle that had come undone on his boot. Fetching him a goblet of cider when he said he preferred it to the honey mead. Then insisting that he get an extra turn because a strong wind had come up during his last toss. Rose sidled over to Bettina.

“So, Bettina, what’s with Lady Margaret and her obsession with Prince Edward?”

“What’s with her? I don’t understand this phrase.”

“I mean why is she fussing so about him?”

“Fussing—oh yes. Now I understand. She wants to marry him.”

“Marry him! He’s only seven years old, for crying out loud.”

Bettina blinked. “Nobody’s crying, Rose.”

Rose shook her head. These people were very literal. They needed a little metaphor in their lives. “I just mean that he’s seven and she’s at least fifteen.”

“It won’t happen. He’s already promised to a Hapsburg princess in Austria anyway.”

Chapter 23

A Question for Edward

Rose had arrived on the quoits court with one thing in mind. She wanted to pull the prince aside and asked him about the pin that Snail Head wore. It seemed impossible to get him off by himself. Finally, when more refreshments were brought out and the prince was clearly fatigued, Rose offered to fetch him a goblet of cider.

“How kind of you,” he said as Rose handed him the goblet. “Do sit by me a moment.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Rose sat next to him.

“We really beat them, didn’t we? Twenty-five to . . . ? Who scored the second highest?”

“Sn . . . I mean, Lady Margaret.”

“And who scored the lowest?”

“I believe your sisters, the royal princesses.”

“Oh yes, they are disastrous as a team. Always were . . . always shall be.”

“How sad,” Rose said.

“Not really. I mean honestly, Rose. Mary is so impossible—a jerk, as you said.” He giggled. “And Elizabeth is a thousand times more clever. I wish she would succeed me and not Mary.”