“To the victor, Sir Mark, Duke of Cornwall!” cried Constantine. I started at the name of the valuable contact Sir Perrault had mentioned, whom he’d pointed out the night before, along with his nephew, Tristan. He rose from his low bow, revealing longish teeth in a wide leer.

I swallowed hard. “Congratulations, Your Grace.”

“Until this evening, Seneschal-elect,” Cornwall replied smoothly, not needing to raise his voice much over the crowd. Though they had cheered wildly for the joust’s winner, their enthusiasm over the champion of the melee was barely polite.

Bear’s friend was lost in his army’s ranks by the time I returned to the dais. I leaned near the guard as I settled into my seat. “I have to see the duke tonight?”

“It’s tradition for you to dance with today’s victors.” I hardly heard his answer beneath the delighted screams of the royal children, finally free to play.

Great.

Alexander and Gemma fled the dais, tearing over the green with the other children, shrieking and giggling. I pressed fingers to my temples, trying to massage away the long hours of posturing. “Could we convince Bertilak to replace next weekend’s melee with a few rounds of blindman’s buff?” I tried to sound light, but my voice came out strained.

Bear leaned against the dais rail. “His Highness mightn’t agree, but for your pretty face, the armies would play whatever game you asked.”

I gave a breathy laugh, grinning a little sadly. “Is that really all you think of me? That I have a pretty face?”

I expected him to insist he’d complimented my looks, protest I shouldn’t be so sensitive. But above his smirking mouth, Bear’s blue eyes were bright and serious. “Oh, Selah.” He shook his head. “Your beautiful face is the very, very least of you.”

27

That evening, for once, I was the first to be ready.

I’d hoped to take a nap after the tournament. But though my body was tired, the day turned itself over so feverishly in my mind that I gave up on sleep.

When I finished getting dressed, I propped myself against the corridor wall, across from the door to Bear’s room. I told myself I would be patient, but the curious feeling that had refused to let me sleep shifted restlessly in my chest.

I had no business wondering what was happening behind Bear’s door. I was here to court the prince he was bound to serve.

I remembered what Perrault had said, about slights to rulers and their international implications. Remembered Bertilak, awaiting me at the ball. Remembered the folder full of suitors, the Imperiya fürst who I would have to court, should I fail here or in Norge.

I walked across the hall and knocked.