Raisa led Magret to the entrance of the maze. Amon would be waiting in one of the side passages, in a pavilion next to the fountain.

Guess we’ll have to find a new place to meet, Raisa thought, now that Magret knows about this one.

Although she might not be able to find her way back.

Raisa confidently threaded her way through the leafy tunnels, Magret tight on her heels, as if afraid Raisa might sprint away and leave her stranded. The boxwood walls had nearly grown together in some places, and more than once they had to push through tangles of branches.

“You’re going to ruin that dress on the first wearing,” Magret complained, licking her finger and rubbing it over a prick in Raisa’s satin skirt.

Raisa heard Amon before she saw him. He was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. At first she thought he was grumbling because she was late, but it seemed he was practicing some sort of speech.

“Your Highness, may I say how honored I am that you…ah…how pleased I am to be remembered…gaaaah.” He shook his head in disgust and cleared his throat. “Your Highness, I was astounded—no—surprised when you spoke to me, and hope that you might consider our friendship…Hanalea’s bloody bones!” he exclaimed, smacking himself in the forehead. “What an idiot.”

Raising her hand to indicate that Magret should stay where she was, Raisa moved forward. “Amon?”

He jumped and swiveled around, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. He tried to change it into a kind of elegant gesture, extending his hand toward her and bowing low. “Your Highness,” he croaked, straightening and staring at her. “You’re…um…you look well.”

“Your Highness?” She strode toward him, satin swishing, chin lifted imperiously. “Your Highness?”

“Well,” he said, flushing furiously, “I…ah…”

She gripped both his hands and looked up—way up—past the square Byrne chin and straight nose and into his gray eyes. “Bones, Amon, it’s me. Raisa. Have you ever in your life called me ‘Your Highness’?”

He studied on it. “As I remember, there were several times you made me call you that,” he said dryly.

Her face grew hot. “I never did!”

He raised an eyebrow, an expression she remembered well. Very annoying.

“Well,” she conceded, “all right. Maybe a few times.”

He shrugged. “It’s probably best if I get used to calling you that,” he said. “If I’m going to be at court.”

“I suppose,” she said. They stood like that, hands linked awkwardly for a moment. She was suddenly very aware of the contact. Her heart stuttered.

“So,” he said. “You look…well,” he repeated. He couldn’t seem to decide where he should be looking, which gave him a rather shifty-eyed appearance.

“And you look…tall,” she replied, briskly withdrawing her hands. “Are you hungry? Magret brought supper for you.”