“So, I found some stuff about Anwen in one of my father’s books,” Emry said while Arthur rooted through his desk drawers.

“Sorry, what?” Arthur replied. Now he was digging around in an elaborately painted trunk that seemed to be entirely filled with books, and the occasional piece of armor.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked, not very nicely.

“Sort of, yeah,” Arthur said, frowning down at his trunk. “I can’t remember what I did with the sarding thing.”

“Your brain?”

“My best circlet,” said Arthur absently. He crossed to a door Emry had previously taken for a garderobe, but was apparently a solar, and bellowed, “Lucan? Luc!”

When no one answered, he yanked on a thick silken cord. Moments later, a well-dressed manservant appeared with a crisp bow.

“Sorry, er—any chance you’ve seen my emerald circlet?” Arthur asked. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“I believe you had it sent to the vault, Your Highness,” said the valet.

“Why did I do that?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brow.

“You ran out of room for your books.”

Emry stifled a laugh.

“Oh. Right.” Arthur looked defeated.

“I can send someone to retrieve it?” asked the manservant.

“There’s no time,” said Arthur. “My usual one will have to do.”

After the valet left, Arthur cursed under his breath.

“Big occasion?” Emry asked, remembering that Gawain had been dressed up as well, even more than usual. Maybe it was someone’s birthday. Oh, hell, she hoped it wasn’t Arthur’s birthday.

He slanted her an incredulous look. “Princess Guinevere arrives within the hour,” he said.

Emry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. That was today? No wonder he was in such a state.

She remembered vaguely that King Uther had invited the Princess of Cameliard to stay at the castle for the remainder of the summer. Arthur had grumbled about it on their journey to Avalon, but she’d been so stressed by her own predicament that she’d hardly paid attention.

And now the princess was about to arrive, and Arthur was clearly losing it. Which was somewhat entertaining to watch.

“What’s she like?” Emry asked, trying to sound casual.

“No idea. We haven’t seen each other since we were children.”

That didn’t sound like he was in love with her. Which was—none of her business, she reminded herself.

He shrugged on a tomato-red waistcoat with balloon sleeves and fur trim, and Emry coughed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said. She hadn’t even known he owned such a ridiculous thing.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Arthur said, his shoulders sagging.

“Just a bit.”

“Sard,” he swore, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “I’m sweating through my tunic. I can’t do this.”

“You can absolutely do this,” Emry promised. “She’s just a girl. They’re not that scary.”

“Clearly you’ve never bedded one, then heard humiliating gossip the next morning.”