“And even when we do that, you kill us,” the Queen said. “You might want to look, my lord. Your doom is nigh.”

For the last half hour, the fog had been reduced to a blinding glare of haze. Now, with nonnes not far away, there was a sudden flash of metal and scarlet in the middle distance.

De Rohan looked a moment and gestured to the archbishop. “The so-called Queen is safe enough,” he said.

“The canaille would save her, if only to spite me,” the archbishop said. His chairmen grunted under him.

“We’ve dispersed them,” de Rohan said. “And caught the go-between the Queen used with her lover. Let’s go and tell the King.” He motioned to his own black-and-yellow-clad retinue, and then he moved toward the King with something like unseemly haste.

“Hurry, de Rohan,” Desiderata called, her voice fey. “Hurry to your end.”

Twenty of the purple guardsmen remained. They used their spear points on anyone in the crowd who came closer than a spear’s length to the barrier. Men cursed them, but none had the spine to resist them.

Amicia left the column as they rounded the last bend in the road. The lists were clear to see, even in the odd hazy light. The heat was stifling, the damp oppressive, so that in two layers of linen she felt she might wilt.

But she had Gelfred with her. He rode with her to an enclosure full of horses. There were two Royal Guardsmen there who seemed to think very little of his dismounting with a beautiful woman.

“You won’t be leaving this way,” he said. He smiled. “God be with you, my lady.”

She handed him her reins, bobbed her head, and began to walk towards the back of the royal box above the stands. There were a dozen Royal Guards here at the back, and a small mob of other liveries—servants in almost every conceivable heraldry, with trays and bottles and linen towels over their arms, and a double dozen of various soldiers all eyeing each other with malice.

Amicia entered her palace and began to work. It was a simple enough beguiling—few men wanted to stop a beautiful woman from going where she would, anyway, and those who would stop such a woman were even easier to dissuade, their lust a weapon with which to deceive them. Her beguiling was subtle and strong. She watched her body move over the grass, and saw them notice her and saw men smile, one to the other…

She passed the guards. Behind them were two sets of wooden steps into the royal box, equidistant to right and left. But under the box was a small chamber—a retiring chamber that Amicia suspected had been placed there so that the King could be moved out of sight—if required.

She passed into the chamber as if it was hers by right.

“Bless you, Gelfred,” she whispered.