Dajen not only had a better understand of color, texture and fabric than Aefric ever would. He could recount every major fashion trend of his lifetime, and more minor trends than Aefric cared to think about.

  The man knew his business.

  “Your grace,” he said with a bow. “I have taken the liberty of having a bath prepared, and clothes for the evening laid out.” He raised one snow white eyebrow. “I presume your grace has foregone eating again?”

  Aefric — a man who had faced death in countless ways over the years — nodded, embarrassed. Something about the way Dajen carried himself made Aefric feel like a guilty schoolboy, caught out by a favorite teacher.

  “Will your grace be dining alone?” Dajen asked, taking Aefric’s cloak and backpack. “Or will the visiting princesses accompany?”

  “Don’t you know the answer already?” Aefric asked, stripping down as he made his way into the bath room.

  “It is polite to ask, your grace,” Dajen said.

  “Then yes, the princesses have both been invited. Though I don’t know if both will accept.”

  “They will, your grace. If only out of curiosity.”

  Aefric’s bath room here was done in patterns of white marble that showed veins of silver and gold. And the matching marble bathtub itself was immense. Easily big enough for eight to bathe together, and enchanted to keep the water at just the right temperature.

  Which made Aefric wonder if he just happened to enjoy the same heat in his baths that Arinda had, or if the spells detected the perfect temperature for the bather, and accommodated.

  If so, would that change the temperature if Aefric had company in the bath?

  But he had no time for such questions now. Nor to soak in the tub for as long as he liked, enjoying the smells of the excellent herbal concoction Dajen had arranged for him.

  Today that combination was one Aefric couldn’t quite place. Something woodsy, though. Maev would’ve been able to pick out the details.

  Ah, Maev. Two princesses visiting him tonight, and neither of them the right one.

  Worse the right one was likely off getting married. And Aefric himself might be pressured into taking as a bride one of the two princesses he’d meet tonight.

  Then again, perhaps not. Arinda had always made clear that she would plan her own marriage, when the time came. Though she’d died unmarried, and without acknowledged issue.

  Both details the sort that might make King Colm pressure Aefric not only to marry, but to marry a woman who would bring advantage to all of Armyr.

  If so, which way would the king lean?

  Towards Princess Astrid, the crown princess of a country Armyr had so recently been in conflict with? A match with her might ease tensions and forge a more lasting peace between Armyr and Malimfar.

  Or would he lean towards Princess Xenia? A princess — though likely not a crown princess or Kentigern would have said so — from a country Armyr traditionally had good relations with.

  Or at least, a country they hadn’t been in active conflict with. Either way, a country not important enough to marry the king’s own children to, but possibly important enough to pressure a duke into marriage…

  Ah, well. Aefric could worry about that if and when King Colm made his wishes known.

  And all of that was assuming that Princess Astrid wanted to marry Aefric. Kentigern and Beornric seemed to think she would. Aefric, though, still considered the possibility that she was here to challenge him to a duel or something.

  And Princess Xenia. Both Kentigern and Beornric seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion that she’d want to marry Aefric. But what if she was counting on that assumption? What if she was actually here to negotiate some kind of trade deal, and counting on the possibility of marriage to bring her more favorable terms…

  Aefric sighed, as he scrubbed. Too many variables.

  Especially since Aefric had to consider the possibility that he was manufacturing these other outcomes to avoid considering the most likely reason that they’d come here.

  Marriage. To a rich and powerful duke, who had the favor of his king.

  There was no denying that Aefric was the second most eligible bachelor in Armyr, after only Prince Killian.

  Until he committed himself to one marriage or another, visits from hopeful noblewomen, even royalty, might be a fact of life.

  Still. Such visits from noblewomen made sense. But princesses? That seemed odd. After all, he might be a fairly powerful and influential duke, but he was still a duke. Not a prince.

  Which meant that, if they were here for marriage, they saw more advantage in that match than just his lands and title. Could they covet his coastline? His magic? Something else besides?

  Thoughts like those kept his mind busy enough that Dajen had to noisily clear his throat to make Aefric realize he was clean and had been delaying.

  He accepted the towel then, and dried off.

  To wear, Dajen had laid out clothing that emphasized Aefric’s background as a magic-user.

  Hose of silver, with a velvet tunic of deep, midnight blue. Occult symbols had been embroidered all over the tunic, in silver thread. Nothing significant, of course, but they looked good.

  The belt was a sash of cloth-of-silver, that would never hold a sword or even a wand sheath.

  Aefric cocked an eyebrow at Dajen.

  “Your grace’s … affectation of carrying the Brightstaff notwithstanding, certainly he does not expect to meet royalty while armed.”

  Aefric sighed. “I suppose not.”

  It did, at least, have a loop for the dagger that all nobles were expected to carry on their person.

  Once Aefric’s blonde locks were brushed out, Dajen offered him the ducal coronet.

  Aefric frowned at it. It seemed too much. Hammered gold, with a large sapphire in a central triangle, and smaller rubies and emeralds alternating around the rim.

  “In meeting royalty,” Dajen said softly, “one is expected to wear one’s coronet.”

  “Fine,” Aefric said, and put it on. And he put on the emerald ring Queen Eppida had given him. And the gold brooch, studded with sapphires, that Duchess Ashling had given him. “But that’s enough.”

  “I still think,” Dajen started, holding up a gold necklace, but Aefric shook his head.

  “I’m wearing more than enough jewelry.”

  “Your grace knows best,” Dajen said, sounding as though he meant those words without a trace of irony, which Aefric found hard to believe.

  Aefric studied himself in the full-length mirror. He felt gaudy, but Dajen nodded as though the look was right. And Dajen knew fashion better than Aefric could ever hope to.

  “Would your grace care to wait in his study until the princesses arrive? I’ve set out a book of kindaren poetry. I think your grace will appreciate the author’s views on power and beauty.”

  “That does sound tempting,” Aefric admitted. “But I’ll wait for them in the dining room.”

  “But your grace,” Dajen said. “These are your lands and your castle, and they the visitors. They should be seen to wait for you.”

  “Normally, perhaps,” Aefric said. “But I’ve given out all the royal insults I intend to today. I don’t mind waiting for them, if it might be taken as eagerness to meet them, or some other kind of compliment.”

  “Then I shall hope they take it thus,” Dajen said, dusting Aefric’s shoulders and straightening his belt, before nodding. “In any case, I shall have the servants send word that your grace awaits their pleasure.”

  “Thank you, Dajen,” Aefric said, taking the Brightstaff in hand.

  At least, if all this came out wrong, he’d have one weapon at the ready.

  Aefric still had to smile sometimes, as he walked among his apartments.

  He’d thought his rooms at Behal Castle had been spacious to the point of excessive. And yet, they were tiny and cramped beside what he had at Water’s End.

  And the duke’s personal dining room was a perfect example.

  At Behal, when dining in private, Aefric sat at a table in his sitting room. At one end of that sitting room, true, but still in the same room. And the table had seating for eight.

  But here at Water’s End, when dining in private, he had a room for just that purpose.

  A room whose white maple floorboards were covered in rugs that emulated the look of Lake Deepwater, and whose walls had been plastered and painted a soft, sky blue.

  The walls were also covered in rich tapestries depicting pleasant floral scenes. Though a soft, yellow, painted sun peeked out from its hiding place on one wall, behind a tapestry.

  The closest any of the tapestries came to depicting violence was the handsome young hunter who’d been surprised in the woods by a leaf-clad forest nymph riding a unicorn. And his bow dangled forgotten in his hand.

  Large windows along one wall looked out past the wide balcony, over the castle walls, and gave a view of the lake beyond.

  Soft yellowish light came from spells on the unlit candles of the chandelier that hung above the dining table.

  Tonight, the dining table was small, though it, and its three chairs were ornately carved from deeply polished calinwood.

  The table had come from a separate room, tucked away behind a tapestry, which held a variety of tables and chairs, depending on the duke’s need on any given night.

  Much the same way, a secondary kitchen hid behind another tapestry, where even now cooks were busily making sure that every part of that night’s meal would be served at just the right cook and temperature.

  In one corner of the room, two musicians — a pair of married kindaren, noted for the sweetness of their harmonies — finished tuning their lute and bodhrán.

  Two knights of Aefric’s personal guard stood in the hallway outside the room. No doubt the princesses would bring their own guards, but by keeping his own guards in the hall, theirs would have to remain there as well.

  The illusion of privacy, given the coming and going of servants. Also, the fewer swords in the room that evening, the better, far as Aefric was concerned.

  He sat at the head of the small table, with the Brightstaff standing beside his chair. He kept his thoughts busy by trying to guess which princess would arrive first, and which would be the one wishing to arrive last. Either to make an entrance, or to keep him waiting.

  Even though doing so would mean giving her rival — political rival, at least — the first chance to speak with duke.

  In the end, neither arrived first. They arrived together. Which meant that the poor page at the door likely had to make the choice of which one to announce first.

  Aefric stood as soon as the door was opened.

  The page, a fragile-looking youth, bowed and announced. “Your grace, may I present their highnesses, Astrid Eadredsdottir, Crown Princess of Malimfar, and Xenia Zaredes, Princess of Caiperas.”

  Ah. Of course. One was a crown princess, and one was not. At least that made the page’s job easier.

  They came into the room together, and though both had the pale beauty that all nobles seemed to have in this part of Qorunn, otherwise they couldn’t have been more different.

  Princess Astrid was a tall, slender woman, with high cheekbones, creamy skin, and long blonde ringlets. She wore a dress of vibrantly purple taffeta, high at the throat, but with slashes at the sleeves and skirts that showed off red silk. She wore bracelets of gold on each wrist, rings on three fingers of each hand, and a brooch with gold worked as rays of the sun, and a large carnelian in the center.

  Atop her ringlets, she wore a gold diadem that featured a ruby, surrounded by small diamonds.

  Princess Xenia was shorter, and curvaceous, with a heart-shaped face, skin like a late-season peach, and dark brown hair woven into braids down her back. She wore a low-cut gown of ice blue velvet crisscrossed with cloth-of-gold weave. For ornamentation, she wore only a single gold ring on each hand, and a gold necklace that ended in a unicorn whose horn had been expertly carved from diamond.

  A blue diamond was the star of Princess Xenia’s gold diadem, surrounded by smaller diamonds, rubies, and sapphires.

  Both princesses came in wearing only a little magic. One ring each, worn on the index finger of the right hand.

  “Your highnesses,” the page said, bowing low to them, “may I present his grace, Ser Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater and Baron of Netar.”

  Now came the bows. Kentigern had gone over them. Dajen had gone over them again. Just to make sure.

  Because Aefric was the host, the foreign princesses had to bow first, in the order they were announced.

  Then, because they were princesses and he only a duke, Aefric had to bow lower to them, than they did to him.

  Unfortunately, both princesses bowed deeply. In fact, unless Aefric was mistaken, they seemed to be competing for which of them could bow lower.

  If it was a competition, Aefric’s money would be on Princess Astrid. She could bow all the way to the rug without the risk of falling out of her dress. Princess Xenia … would be relying on the skills of her dressmakers.

  Fortunately, they stopped short of any wardrobe malfunctions.

  Unfortunately, they’d still bowed so low that Aefric practically had to touch the rug with his forehead to bow lower. But he managed it. Though he did have to catch his coronet to keep it from falling off.

  And when he came up, they both seemed…

  …Well. To be honest. Aefric couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Princess Astrid held close to a completely blank expression, while Princess Xenia looked amused. But then, she’d looked amused since they came in.

  “Your highnesses,” Aefric said, “would you care to join me at the table?”

  “That would be lovely, your grace,” Princess Xenia said with a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Would it?” Princess Astrid asked, but not as though she expected an answer. “I can’t help but wonder why we were both invited to your table tonight, your grace.”

  “Come now, Astrid,” Princess Xenia said, while they took their seats. “You arrived scarcely a day before I did, and we both know our dear duke here has been quite busy in the interim.”

  She turned to Aefric. “Lachedran, Water’s End, Ajenmoor and back to Water’s End in one day, your grace? Do I have that right?”

  “You do, your highness,” Aefric said with a smile and a deep breath. “I confess. I’m exhausted. But I couldn’t keep such important guests waiting for a little matter like sleep. And with you both here, I feared that inviting one and not the other might be taken as a statement.”

  He shook his head. “I’m quite new to politics, I’m afraid.”

  “I understand your grace left with six ships this afternoon but came back with seven,” Princess Astrid said. “A feat of magic quite useful for a duke with such a long coastline.”

  “Hardly a feat of magic,” Aefric said. “The seventh ship was taken from smugglers.”

  Aefric then told them an expurgated version of what happened in the Dragonscar, omitting any mention of mines, borogs, magic pendants, specific names of prisoners, and the like.

  As he did this, the first salad course was served. A mixture of greens, along with a variety of savory mushrooms that grew under the docks, and three kinds of peppers. All with a light oil sauce.

  To accompany the salad, a light white wine.

  Without appearing to give the movements much thought, each princess passed her right hand over her plate of food and goblet of wine. As each did so, the ring on her index finger flared green.

  Of course. Poison detection. Green would mean that the food and drinks were safe.

  “I must confess,” Princess Astrid said, after Aefric’s tale was told. “We’ve had our troubles with smugglers and slavers as well.” She shook her head just enough to make her ringlets dance a little on her shoulders. “The aftermath of the wars, I fear. And we’re in a worse position to fight them off than we were in the spring.”

  “Yes,” Princess Xenia said, “well, when one attempts to invade another country, one must be prepared to pay the price.”

  “The price was disproportionate to the invasion,” Princess Astrid said, dropping her silver fork and narrowing her eyes.

  “Malimfar brought quite an army to our doorstep,” Aefric said softly. “I did what I had to do to drive it back. Nothing more.”

  “It may be that your grace sees things that way,” Princess Astrid said. “But the fact remains that our army has been decimated. Our lands ravaged by an unseasonable blizzard and plundered by mercenaries—”

  “Mercenaries your father hired,” Princess Xenia observed.

  “—and to top it off, our largest remaining port city after the Godswalk Wars, Kivash, was stolen by the armies of Armyr. Now I ask your grace, does that seem like a just ‘price,’ considering that our armies never even crossed the border into Armyr? Let alone made war?”

  “Your highness should not pretend to be the wronged party in this matter,” Aefric said. “Malimfar’s armies might not have begun their work, but the invasion was already underway. I would remind your highness that in my duchy alone, Malimfar had agents working to sow dissension and foment rebellion among my vassals. I will be dealing with the aftermath of Malimfar’s efforts for years to come.”

  Which reminded Aefric he needed to check the latest reports about his county of Motte.

  “If your grace believes that then he has been misled,” Princess Astrid said, haughtily enough that she might have believed it. “Malimfar does not employ such base methods. Perhaps—”

  “The information was gained from Ser Grud Ol’Garan, Knight of the Garnet, and confirmed by the king’s justiciar, who operates under the auspices of Taesark.”

  It was said that those who served Taesark, the god of justice, could ferret out truth even from those who had been fed only lies.

  And Princess Astrid’s eyes had widened slightly at Aefric’s mention of Ser Grud. Only a flicker of a reaction, true, but enough to show that she knew the name.

  The musicians began to play then, a slow, soft love song that felt entirely inappropriate. Though it did sound beautiful.