She officially hated this quest. She hated how sore she was from riding, and how Lance had behaved as though she’d insulted him terribly, and how Arthur had nearly lost his temper, and she still had no idea what she’d done wrong, or how to fix it. And on top of everything, she had to share a bed with an enormous, sweaty boy.

He better not snore. Or worse, cuddle.

When she returned to their room, only Dakin was awake, slouched wearily in a chair.

He smirked and mouthed, “Have fun!” at her. If Emry didn’t already dislike him, that would have done it.

She stepped over Brannor, who was loudly snoring on the floor, and tried very hard not to stare at the sleeping prince, but failed miserably. He looked younger in his sleep. His features were softened, and his hair ruffled across the pillow. His lashes were two dark fans against his pale cheeks. He seemed troubled. Or maybe just sad. But it was a beautiful kind of sadness, and it looked well on him.

Emry tore her gaze away and sat down gingerly on the edge of her bed, peeling off her boots in the dim light from the room’s sole candle.

Extergio, she thought, that familiar old spell from the theater. If she was going to sleep in her clothes, at least they’d be clean. She cast the spell on Lance’s as well, as a sort of apology, and he mumbled in his sleep.

He was curled on his side, on the very edge of the bed, holding tight to his sword. Like Arthur, Lance looked even more troubled in his sleep.

“No, Jereth, don’t,” Lance murmured. “I love you . . .”

Jereth? Where had she heard that name before? And then she remembered: Arthur’s youngest cousin. The one the boys had been so strange about when Lady Elaine had mentioned his return to the castle.

Ohhh, Emry thought as she eased herself onto the vacant sliver of bed. That certainly explains things. Like why Dakin was being such a smug arse about their sharing a bed. No wonder Lance had been so hurt and Arthur had been so furious when she’d insisted on taking the floor.

They thought her refusal was because Lance liked boys.

What a disaster.

She wished she could explain that she hadn’t known, and even if she did, it made no difference. Half the boys in the theater troupe preferred each other’s company, and at fourteen, Emry had found any excuse to walk past the smithy, in case the blacksmith’s daughter Kira was at the forge.

She was pretty sure, however, that not all of the courtiers and guards at Uther’s court were accepting of such things. Still, a preference for lads shouldn’t have gotten Lance banned from becoming a knight. Something terrible must have happened.