It was three times, Arthur realized, completing the final round. The dance floor burst into applause for the minstrels, and he clapped politely as well. He really hoped he didn’t have to dance with her again. There was something a little unsettling about the queen.

Arthur never thought he’d be relieved to see King Yurien, yet as the man approached, he truly was.

“Come, Morgana,” said King Yurien, extending an arm, “I must show you the gardens.”

The queen inclined her head at Arthur. “A pleasure,” she said.

Arthur bowed in return. When he straightened, he caught sight of Emry in the doorway and nearly lost his balance.

He wasn’t prepared for it. For her. For this beautiful girl in a dark, glittering dress, her neckline plunging dangerously low, revealing assets he hadn’t known she possessed. Long black hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her whole face lit up as she laughed at something Gawain had said. He wondered why the entire room hadn’t ground to a halt, why every courtier in the place wasn’t staring.

He couldn’t reconcile the fact that this impossibly lovely creature was the shabby apprentice he’d sat across from in the wizard’s workshop for weeks.

He waited for her to turn and notice him. He knew he looked well in his black jacket and best crown, and that the weeks of training had broadened his shoulders and improved the width of his biceps. Still, he wished there weren’t dark circles under his eyes from that day’s trials. That his hair had cooperated with combing, and that a stray lock hadn’t snuck itself loose, dangling over his right eye.

But Emry hadn’t noticed him at all.

“I’ve been looking for you all day, Your Highness,” a girl said at his elbow. He turned hopeful, and came face to face with Princess Guinevere.

She was exquisite as always, her lips perfectly rouged, her hair expertly curled, her emerald gown tightly fitted. She wore a tiara to match, and jewels glittered at her throat and earlobes.

“Princess.” Arthur bowed. “You’re the loveliest girl at the ball.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied dutifully. “How handsome you look as well.”

Neither of them sounded the least bit convincing.

The minstrels began to play once again, announcing the Black Almain.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, realizing there was no way out of it.

“I’d love to.” Guinevere beamed.

Arthur tried to match her enthusiasm, even though all he wanted to do was slip away and find Emry.

“You fought well this morning,” she said. “I was most disappointed that you didn’t wish to continue.”

“It seemed prudent to follow my cousin’s example and step aside.”

“Perhaps my brother should have done the same.” Guinevere nodded toward an alcove, where Arthur noted with surprise that Prince Gotte-grim’s right shoulder was tied with a sling.

“Is he badly hurt?” Arthur asked.