This could work to her advantage. If the other courtiers avoided her as they avoided Master Ambrosius, she’d make it through the next week in a snap.

“Who’s that?” Emry asked as a lovely young woman with fair skin and a cascade of blonde curls entered the dining hall, her lateness clearly calculated to garner attention. The girl’s gown was exquisite, pale pink silk trimmed with gold lace that shimmered in the candlelight. Her hair was twisted with pearls and jewels. Emry slouched down in her seat to better hide her own drab doublet. The soldiers at the gate had been right: even in Emmett’s best clothing, compared to everyone else at court, she was dressed like a stable boy.

“Ah, Lady Elaine. I think you’ll find her a most pungent flower,” said Master Ambrosius. “You’ll have heard of her father, Lord Howell.

Emry nodded. Lord Howell held one of the highest positions on the king’s council. She watched as Lady Elaine sailed toward the royal banquet table, chin lifted high.

“Which one is he?” Emry asked.

“At the right hand of the king.” Master Ambrosius nodded toward a short, plump, sour-looking man with white-blond hair and a pointed goatee, who was deep in conversation with King Uther. It was clear Elaine didn’t get her looks from her father’s side of the family. “And beside him is his wife, Lady Howell,” Master Ambrosius went on.

Lady Howell was still very beautiful, despite the gray that streaked her chestnut hair, and she looked as though she knew it—and so did the king.

Emry snuck another glance at Lady Elaine, feeling sorry for the girl.

“There’s the Countess of Agravaine, the king’s cousin,” Master Ambrosius said of a pale, elegantly dressed older woman with auburn hair and an aquiline nose. She wore an expression of polite interest as she watched the trio of musicians.

“And her husband, Lord Agravaine.” Master Ambrosius nodded toward a tall, imposing man with dark brown skin and close-shorn black hair. “One of the king’s most trusted advisors.”

There was a shrewdness to the man’s expression, as though he missed nothing, and Emry decided she’d prefer not to catch his attention if she could help it.

“They have two sons around your age, though both are away at school,” said the old wizard. “And of course, to the king’s other side is Prince Arthur.”

Emry glanced over.

And nearly choked.

He wore the same rumpled tunic and hose, hastily topped with a fine red jacket that he hadn’t bothered to button. A slim golden circlet glinted against his dark hair, and Emry realized that she’d made a terrible mistake.

He wasn’t a librarian at all.

How had she been so stupid?

The clever insults the boys had traded, daring her to join in—they hadn’t been making fun of the prince, they’d been making fun of her.