He was in the doorway in a moment, dressed as elegantly as any prince, resplendent in deep purple velvet. The bruise under his left eye made him look gallant, and a little dangerous. His expression startled as he saw her.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Emry made a face. “Is that all you’ve got? I was hoping for ‘putain de bordel de merde,’ ” she said brightly, repeating the foul thing she’d heard Chef mutter in the kitchens the day before.

Gawain swallowed thickly. “You look, um . . .” He cleared his throat. “Beautiful.”

“Just wait until I open my mouth and ruin it,” she warned.

“You mean you hadn’t done that yet?”

She wished he’d stop looking at her like that. Like this was who she truly was, instead of yet another disguise.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting such a dramatic transformation,” he said, considering her. “Perhaps I should have borrowed a different dress.”

“Borrowed?” Emry asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gawain offered his arm. Emry took it, feeling ridiculous. It was hard to cast off the small but constant adjustments that she’d used to make everyone believe she was her brother. Especially since now she was playing yet another part. It was so strange, going from strutting boy wizard to elegant court lady. She supposed the real Emry was somewhere in between.

“You’d make a good spy,” he said as they walked down the castle corridors.

“I hope that’s a compliment,” Emry said.

“It is,” he promised.

They passed a group of giggling courtiers, who curtseyed to Gawain. He offered them a brief bow in return, placing his hand on the small of Emry’s back. She stiffened, surprised.

“Curtsey,” he hissed.

She did, and he steered her away.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself once again why she was doing this: She could move through the crowd unnoticed, and who knew what she might overhear—or what someone might confess. She could cross-examine the duke, under the guise of dancing with him. And of course, she would be near Arthur, should disaster strike again.

They reached the doors, and Gawain turned to her, a half grin playing over his face.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m trying to figure out where you put your wand,” he mused.

“Oh, shut up,” Emry muttered as two liveried guards threw open the doors, revealing candlelight and music and dozens of fabulously dressed nobles, courtiers, and royals enjoying themselves.

Even the suits of armor had been draped with festive garlands. Emry spotted grand tables of sumptuous sweets, and cakes that were carved and iced to look like sculptures. It was lavish and lovely and overwhelming all at once. Next to her, Gawain looked both used to this kind of thing and exhausted by it.

“Steel yourself,” he warned.

And with her hand on his arm, she stepped into the Great Hall.

Arthur was dancing with the Queen of Lothia.