“They agree with you,” True stated and I lifted my gaze to him. “I just tired of hearing them complain about my parents so I asked them to stop.” True shifted his horse nearer to mine. “Father, I cannot say. But Mother…she has her faults, but she is loyal to me and I believe, in her way, loves me.”

“I will not love our children as she loves you,” I informed him.

His beautiful mouth quirked. “I’m counting on that.”

“And when I am queen, when I am mother to the future king, I will not allow her to love our children as she loved you,” I went on.

“Finally, the fiery Firenz is coming out of her,” Luther declared.

“About time,” Wallace muttered.

I looked between them.

They had not much engaged me at all. Not due to rudeness or dislike, my sense was that it was due to me being in mourning.

Now that they had, I felt a wonderful warmth at their vocal approval.

At this point, True asked bizarrely, “Is he closer?”

“He is, True,” Alfie answered.

“And in the trees?” True went on.

“Yup,” Alfie said.

“Well, hullo!” Florian called.

I gave my attention to him then turned it to where he was staring into the woods.

The instant I did, a male slid out of a tree, doing this down a stout vine, on which he stopped, holding onto it, at least seven feet from the ground.

He had a long white beard, a long mustache that curled at the tips, and was wearing trousers and boots that laced up the front, a cloak on his shoulders with the hood up over his head, shadowing his eyes.

And he was maybe, at most, two feet tall.

Another popped up from behind a fallen log, then climbed up on it.

Both of them stared at us.

Or…

It appeared…

Me.

“Is that your bride, my prince?” the one on the log called, his voice a little tinny, and I was shocked he spoke thus without first giving a greeting and a bow.

“It is,” True answered.

“Our apologies, mistress,” the one hanging from the vine said, his voice somewhat squeaky. “Your great beauty everlastingly tied to this ugly mug,” and he arched his body to push off, swaying his vine toward True. “Tragic,” he finished.

I felt my lips part.

True laughed out loud.

I felt my mouth drop open.

I had never heard him laugh like that.

“Does she speak?” the one on the log asked True.

“She does when she’s not frozen in astonishment at displays of shocking insolence toward the crown prince,” True answered. “I’ve a mind to send to Birchlire for the royal tormentor and have you both flogged.”

“Is there a royal tormenter?” the one on the log asked the one on the vine.

“No,” the one on the vine said.

“I’m recruiting,” True told them.