Chapter 7: The Queen's Morning Room

Torin laced her gown himself.

His fingers were quick and certain, and he said nothing until the last knot.

"Don't sign anything," he said against her hair. "Don't drink anything. Don't promise anything."

"That's three things."

"I'm in a hurry."

He turned her around and kissed her once, hard.

"Go," he said. "I'll be behind you."

The page led her down the main stair and along a long gallery of portraits.

A boy with a broom was sweeping the marble steps, and he flattened himself against the wall to let her pass.

Nobody else was on the stair.

She noticed it only because it was strange.

Then the page opened the Queen's morning room door, and she forgot it.

It was a small, pale room full of powdery perfume, with the first sun on the windows.

Queen Hester sat on a rose-colored sofa with a teacup in her hands.

Four ladies sat around her, embroidering.

One of them had an emerald comb in her hair.

Lady Perdita was absent.

"Lady Aveline," said the Queen. "Come, sit. You look tired."

"I am a little, Your Majesty."

"I'm sure you are." The Queen's eyes slid over her laces, her hair, the mark under her ear. "And you smell of the prince."

A titter ran through the ladies.

Aveline felt her face heat.

The old Aveline would have blushed and stammered, and the Queen was counting on it.

She sat down very straight instead.

"I do," she said. "I'm his betrothed. He insisted on it, in front of the whole court."

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