“Sir Ambrose Norwend? The one with the hair?”
“They all have hair.”
“You know what I mean. The blond hair. Attractive.”
“He’s intelligent and considerate. He’s—”
“Trouble. Trouble you cannot afford. I understand why Boris is concerned.”
“Understand! A man is dead. Ambrose did nothing but defend himself.”
“You talk of this man as if you care about him. As if he’s important to you. Do you expect your future husband to accept that?”
“You said he was more liberal.”
“I expect he’ll be a lot less liberal when he hears about Sir Ambrose and how intelligent and considerate he is. You’ve a lot to learn about men, Catherine. Prince Tzsayn expects his bride to be a virgin and for there to be no doubt about it.”
Catherine blushed hard. She had never heard her mother even say that word before.
“Tzsayn may be different from your father, but no man likes to be made to look a fool.”
Whereas we women love it, Catherine thought, and at the same time glanced at herself in the mirror in the absurd red dress. She said, “I will ensure at all times that my devotion to Prince Tzsayn is made clear,” she said coldly. “But perhaps it doesn’t matter. Noyes has probably caught Ambrose, and the king has summoned me to require that I attend another execution.”
The queen took Catherine by surprise, moving quickly to her side and kissing her on the cheek.
“I’ve not heard that he’s been caught. Calm yourself. Go to the king like the princess you are. But be mindful of your own honor, Catherine. Make sure there can be no doubt of it, as without it you are lost.”
Catherine looked down at her slashed red dress.
“I can’t go like this.”
“Of course you can. There’s no time to change now; we’ve already kept the king waiting. And, besides, the dress is stunning. It’s the perfect royal red. Just hold your shoulders back and have confidence.”
Catherine was sure her mother wouldn’t say that unless she meant it, and it did help. She walked through her outer chambers and followed the Royal Guard toward the Throne Room. Could this just be about her wedding, or was her mother mistaken? Was Ambrose dead or lying in the castle dungeons below, his tongue cut out, his soft lips sewn up? Well, whatever it was, she was going to handle it. She pulled her shoulders back, telling herself: I won’t flinch. I won’t faint. I certainly won’t scream.
Catherine had only been inside the Throne Room on a handful of official occasions—royal proclamations or visits from an ambassador or some such infrequent occasion when the king wanted to impress or intimidate some lord. Each time she’d been part of a great crowd. Today she was alone.
Catherine arrived as the doors were swinging open. The king, her father, was sitting on his throne at the far end of the long, elaborately decorated room. Boris stood to his right, Noyes behind him to his left. A few other courtiers and soldiers lined the walls. Ambrose was not there.
Catherine wasn’t sure if she was supposed to wait to be announced or go in. Her mother’s voice seemed to whisper in her ear: A princess doesn’t wait. And neither does a queen.
Catherine straightened. “I am not afraid,” she murmured to herself, and discovered, to her surprise, that it was true. Still, as she advanced into that great chamber, she felt as conspicuous as a red ant on a gray paving slab.
She came forward—slowly, slowly—and kept coming, past the chancellor and the steward and the castellan, until she reached the bottom of the dais and stopped directly in front of her father. His hair was gray at the temples, but he looked as strong as ever. He sat upright in the wide, heavy throne, and Catherine thought how he never seemed right sitting down—striding around suited him better. His gray eyes were on her and met her gaze, which she instantly dropped, and she curtsied as low as her dress would allow.
“Your Majesty.”
“Straighten up. Let’s see you.”
“We can’t not see her,” Boris said loudly, and there was a short laugh from one of the courtiers. Noyes had his head on one side but no half-smile on his lips.
Catherine stood as tall as she could.
“You’re off soon. To be married.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king tapped the arm of the throne with a nail that was bruised black.
“It’s a fine match that I’ve arranged with King Arell for you.”
Could that really be all this summons was for? A conversation about her marriage?
“Yes, thank you, Father. But much as I look forward to my marriage, it grieves me more than I can express to leave my home and my family. I am thankful you have asked to see me before I go.”
“I summoned you to give you instructions, not for an emotional farewell.”
Catherine watched the king’s finger tap-tapping on the throne, and then it went still.
“You ordered one of my Royal Guards to leave Brigane.”
There was nothing to be gained by denying it.
“Yes, Father. Boris’s companion, Viscount Lang, challenged one of my bodyguards, Sir Ambrose Norwend, to a trial of honor. Sir Ambrose beat him, though he generously allowed him to live. Then Boris ordered Dirk Hodgson to challenge him too. He was killed. I thought it best that Sir Ambrose should leave before any more nobles came to harm.”
Catherine glanced meaningfully at Boris, and there was a short laugh from one of the onlookers that was quickly stifled.
Boris flushed angrily. “He fought like the villain he is.”
“You are the villain in this, brother.”
“Silence!” The king tapped his throne.
Catherine stayed still. She’d forgotten herself.
“Do you think Tzsayn will put up with this behavior?” grunted the king.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What behavior might he object to?”
“You failed to follow your brother’s instructions to return with him to the castle. And even now you disagree with him.”
“I followed your own instructions, Your Majesty. Those that I have always been told are vital to my safety: that I stay always with my maids and my bodyguards. Boris’s men followed his orders, and as a result one lost a hand, the other his life. I wasn’t certain that Boris’s instructions were sound.”
“It’s not your place to judge them but to obey them,” Boris hissed.
“I disagree. Where my safety and honor are concerned, I must choose who I obey. And I chose not to obey you in that instance.”
The king sat back an inch in his throne and regarded Catherine as if he’d never seen her before. Catherine wasn’t sure if she’d gone too far, but knew she should go no further.
“You are my daughter, and a royal princess. But you are a woman and must obey the men who are there to protect you. Let me be clear, from this moment until the moment Tzsayn puts his ring on your finger, you will follow Boris’s instructions in every detail. You will not bring dishonor to me or to Brigant. You will not bring my name into disrepute. You will do nothing to endanger your marriage. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Tzsayn may tolerate your behavior. He may even find it curious and charming; after all, he is a foreigner and has strange ideas—but if I were him I’d whip it out of you once and for all.”
Catherine swallowed. “I will try to be a good wife to Tzsayn, and I am and always will be your loyal daughter.”
“See that you are. Now, Noyes has some news for you.”
Catherine felt dread creep over her. She took a breath and looked at Noyes. He held her gaze for what seemed like forever before saying, “We caught the traitor yesterday.”
Catherine felt dizzy. “Caught?”
“My men found him, riding north. It seems they were more than a match for Sir Ambrose. But sadly we won’t have the pleasure of a second Norwend execution this week. The traitor died of his wounds in the cells last night.”
The half-smile was back on Noyes’s face, and Catherine wanted to run at him and rip it off.
“You look pale, sister,” Boris said.