My mind raced over the details I’d memorized from his profile: brown hair, blue eyes, just over six feet tall, highly educated. As far as I could see, Bertilak met those criteria, but I realized suddenly I’d been picturing Peter with blue eyes, or maybe Lang with lighter hair.

The prince shared his father’s coloring. He also shared the silver in his father’s hair. He was forty years old if he was a day.

“Prince Bertilak, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I assembled the sentence with difficulty, forced the words out with effort.

The prince gave a low, graceful bow. “Seneschal-elect, the pleasure is all mine.”

Every minute of dinner ground past with aching, sandpapery slowness. With Bear at my elbow and Bertilak’s sister, Princess Igraine, before me, I floundered along, earning thorny, one-word replies for my attempts at conversation with the guard. Igraine was kind and warm, but I had to bite back a desperate, hysterical laugh when she mentioned she had children my age.

Perrault’s best efforts to teach me how to properly hold a fork hadn’t prepared me for the evening at hand. I wanted to go back to my room and shriek silently at the perfect little paintings of hounds and horses on the walls.

My muscles turned to butter when dinner finally ended and we retreated to our corridor. Sir Perrault yawned. “Don’t disturb me in the morning,” he said, glowering at Lang. “I’m exhausted.”

But Lang was talking with Yu, their brows serious, their voices low. I caught only one word from him: she.

I flushed. I’m right here, I wanted to say. You can talk to me instead of about me, if you want.

Or were they talking about someone else? Neither of them was even looking at me.

“Lang?” I asked. “A word?” He glanced at me and broke away from Yu, and Bear draped his long frame against my doorpost, hands buried in the pockets of his faded brown pants, looking almost aggressively pleasant.

“You don’t have to wait up,” I said quickly.

Bear grimaced, and Lang smiled pleasantly. “I’ll look after her.”

“Brilliant.” The guard pressed his lips together, brows arched, as if in disbelief. “Well, if I’m not needed here—” Bear gave a cynical little bow, and he was gone.

19

I shut the door behind us and leaned against it.

“And you thought twenty-seven was too old,” I managed to say.

Lang pushed a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“Did you know?” I blurted. “Did Perrault tell you? Or Alessandra?”

“Perrault tells me nothing,” Lang swore. “And I barely knew your stepmother.” He pulled at his tie.