The tapestry was old—ancient enough that I wanted to smack Bear’s hand away—and beautifully done, rich with color and detail. He stared at it long enough that I wondered if he’d forgotten me.

“What’s this?” I finally asked.

“It’s an old, old story,” he answered flatly. “Or, rather, a piece of one. This is the Lady Duessa attempting to seduce the Redcrosse Knight. She calls herself Fidessa—faith—but represents falsehood. The story’s about religion.” He eyed me guardedly. “And other things.”

I ignored his glance, crossing my arms, pursing my lips as I studied the two figures. “They always do show the evil woman in red, don’t they?”

Redcrosse and Duessa were a pair at odds—he gallant and naive and unwitting, she the embodiment of deception. A risk walking. A mistake, ready to be made. The sight of them weighed something down inside me.

I thought of my father, marrying Alessandra sight unseen, left now at her mercy.

I thought of myself, sent away to parts and princes unknown.

“It’s very dangerous to trust a stranger.” I spoke the words quietly, but my voice broke over them nonetheless.

The following afternoon was crystal clear, the wind just light enough to flirt with the tablecloths covering the tables around the garden. I’d slept poorly the night before, trying to count how many more tick marks stood between me and home.

Bear and Sir Perrault flanked me, Yu, Lang, and Skop having begged off. Cobie had just laughed when Perrault had suggested she join us for the afternoon tea.

“Your Grace.” Prince Bertilak crossed the lawn, smiling and offering me his arm. “You look lovely.”

I could feel Perrault smirking behind me. He’d been the one to insist on the pale green sheath and fascinator I wore. “Everyone will be wearing this,” he’d argued.

“I look like a rooster,” I’d said flatly.

He’d pinned the ivory silk flowers into my hair anyway. “So will everyone else.”

And so they all did. Dozens of court ladies tottered around amid the fountains and rosebushes in demure day dresses, their high-heeled shoes stabbing delicately at the soft green grass, their hats as ornate as any of the flowers in their beds. All I could think of was how many fields could be planted or cattle fed for the cost of the clothes I was wearing.

Princess Igraine drew near, clasping my hand and pressing her delicate cheek to mine. She smelled like powder and violets. “Please,” she said. “Come and meet our friends.”

The party was a sea of elegant hands and polite smiles; I drifted through on Bertilak’s elbow, Igraine introducing me to ladies, viscountesses, horse breeders, baronesses, socialites, and one extremely old duchess, who sat me down beside her. They left me to her tender mercies as tea was served.