“I do,” Aefric said.

  “And your grace truly wishes to devote a good deal of time to the slow exploration of my beauty? And to seek the bliss moment with me not just once, but several times?”

  Aefric nodded, letting his gaze say more than his words could.

  She shivered. “Well. I think that will be worth the wait then.”

  The wait?

  Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

  She leaned in, still holding his chest in place with her hands, and began planting small kisses along his jawline.

  “Tomorrow night, your grace,” she whispered, between kisses. “I shall return. And your grace can show me how so famous an adventurer would go about exploring me.”

  She pulled back and smiled.

  Aefric trembled. His hands yearned to clutch her, but it sounded as though she were saying no. That for tonight, at least, nothing more would happen.

  He was so … ready for her. The thought of having to stop now, that was almost physically painful.

  But if that was her will, then he would restrain himself.

  “All right then,” Aefric said, his voice shaky as he brought his hands together in front of the bulge in his hose, one hand clutching the other wrist for something to focus on other than the tempting beauty before him. “I shall … say goodnight … and look forward to tomorrow.”

  “Oh, your grace,” she said with a low, throaty laugh. “I would not be so base as to bring your grace’s blood to a boil, and then abandon him in such a state.”

  Aefric frowned, now, puzzled.

  “Please, your grace, be seated on the couch,” Zoleen said, gently turning Aefric so he could do so. “And let me give your grace a goodnight kiss he will not soon forget.”

  Zoleen knelt on the soft carpet before him and began to pull down his hose. Once that was done, the “kiss” she went on to give him was wondrous bliss itself.

  After she finished, she left with a smile and a promise to return the next night.

  And when Aefric retired at last, he slept very well indeed.

  6

  Aefric arose before dawn the next morning, better rested than he’d expected to be. He bathed, was shaved, and dressed that morning in formal Deepwater colors.

  His tunic was long, and of navy blue silk, and his hose, Deepwater gray, like his cloak. He wore a leather belt that day, with the wand Garram on his hip, though he eschewed the sword, in deference to the wishes of his guards.

  According to Ser Beornric they took Aefric’s wearing a sword as a slight on their ability to protect him. It was one thing when he was out and traveling, but another thing entirely when he was home, at one of his castles.

  One of his castles. How many did he have now?

  Four. Water’s End and Behal, here in Deepwater. And two more he hadn’t even seen yet. The first in his new barony in Netar, and now another, in Kivash.

  How his life had changed from the days when he was a simple adventurer who owned little more than he carried with him.

  He’d been a landowner as Keifer. In America. In Oregon. But the house he’d owned there would have fit easily inside his ducal apartments here at Water’s End, with room to spare.

  At least his guards didn’t object to the Brightstaff. He’d carried it for years, and had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

  Aefric had planned to wear his long blonde hair down and unadorned, but as he left his closets, he found Ocheda, his chief daytime valet, waiting for him, with a hat in hand.

  Ocheda was only perhaps a decade older than Aefric, but she had a manner that suggested that she’d lived in Water’s End for thousands of years, and knew better than anyone how to tend to a duke.

  Everything about her was severe. Her height — she was almost as tall as Aefric. Her thin physique, her sharp eyes, and the even sharper temper she showed to any servants who had not done their work to her satisfaction.

  Aefric sometimes wondered how well she and Dajen got along. But then, perhaps there was a reason he never saw the two of them together.

  The hat she held was a bycocket, with its body of Deepwater gray, but its turned-back brim — which formed a point in front — of navy blue. The hat also featured a tailfeather from a pyltenius bird.

  The pyltenius was sometimes called the false phoenix. For though it had the fiery red and orange coloring of its famous cousin, it had no magic to speak of.

  The tailfeather was striking, though. Beginning from a hint of yellow near the quill, through an orange that darkened into a blazing red and finally a deep blue.

  “No,” Aefric said, shaking his head.

  “I told Dajen you would say that,” Ocheda, arching an eyebrow as though ready to pronounce doom on either Dajen or Aefric. “He insisted that I offer the hat anyway. He said that hats have been out of fashion too long among nobles. That they are due for a resurgence, and that your grace would do well to be the trendsetter here, and not the follower.”

  Aefric frowned at the hat. Dajen was right about so very many things…

  He shook his head and put it on. “What do you think?”

  Even her considering frown looked severe.

  “Striking, your grace,” she said. “The addition of the feather brings out the reds in your skin tone and the golds in your hair. Most becoming.”

  Aefric shook his head and took it off. “I used to wear hats, sometimes, when I adventured. I was forever losing them.”

  “I daresay your grace could afford more hats now, if needed.”

  He took off the hat and called the Brightstaff to his hand. “Tell Dajen I will think about it. But I’m not wearing it today.”

  “Would a different cut of hat help, your grace?” Ocheda asked. “This was Dajen’s first choice, but I believe he had a couple of others under consideration.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

  “Of course, your grace,” she said with a bow.

  “And, Ocheda,” Aefric said, turning away, “if this is some sort of game or joke between the two of you, to see if you could get me to wear that hat, I will have my revenge.”

  “Your grace is quite droll,” Ocheda said, which Aefric noted was neither an admission nor a denial. Something to consider as he left to start his day.

  When Aefric had first come to Water’s End, he’d wondered why the castle stables were at the rear, near the docks. He’d since learned that this was a clever decision by the castle’s designer.

  There were two ways to depart Water’s End. By land along the Kingsroad and by water via the docks.

  Because the stables were placed near the docks, Aefric did not have to meet one princess on one side of the castle that morning, and the other princess on the other side.

  He wondered just how many incidents had been avoided, because past dukes and duchesses had been able to wish their departing guests farewell at the same time, no matter how they were leaving, rather than having to give one guest priority over another.

  And so, it was just as the eastern sky began to gray with the coming sun that, by the light of oil lamps, Aefric met both his departing princesses that morning.

  Princess Xenia, who stood with her guards and her cloud of ladies in waiting, while her several carriages and dozens of horses were noisily being readied for their trip.

  Princess Astrid, whose guards stood nearby, but whose other retainers, and baggage, had already been loaded aboard her schooner.

  The overnight chill was still strong enough that both wore cloaks. Apart from that — and their surprising lack of obvious jewelry — the princesses were dressed quite differently.

  Princess Xenia wore riding leathers, and a whip-thin rapier, while Princess Astrid wore a fine dress of sky blue, and no obvious weapon beyond the token dagger at her belt.

  Aefric hesitated, uncertain which to address first.

  Princess Astrid gestured to Princess Xenia.

  “Xenia has the far longer, harder road ahead of her,” Princess Astrid said with a straight face. “I would take no offense if your grace said his goodbyes to her first.”

  “Thank you, Astrid,” Princess Xenia said with a smile that seemed to indicate she’d won some kind of point, in the endless game the two of them played.

  She stepped up to Aefric and offered him her hands.

  He stood the Brightstaff beside him and clasped her hands.

  “Thank you, Princess Xenia,” Aefric said, “for coming to visit me. And thank you for the aid your highness will give me in hunting down that ring of slavers.”

  He released her hands, though hers parted only reluctantly. He hoped he hadn’t just given insult, but he needed at least one hand free and wasn’t sure that letting go with only one hand would have been any better.

  He called a servant forward with a gesture.

  “Here,” Aefric said, “is a bottle of the fine honsach we shared last night. I hope you will enjoy it, and remember the friendship and pleasures of the evening we first shared such a drink.”

  He took the bottle from the servant and handed it to her.

  “Thank you, your grace,” Princess Xenia said with a bow. “Your grace has been a most excellent host, and I shall share your grace’s generosity with my royal parents, who will enjoy both the gift, and the thought behind it, as much as I will.”

  She handed the bottle to one of her ladies, because her servants were too busy rushing to prepare to leave.

  Aefric took that opportunity to turn to Princess Astrid, which got him a smile from her.

  She, too, offered both hands, so Aefric took hers as well.

  Meanwhile, Princess Xenia frowned, as though she hadn’t considered her portion of the goodbyes finished.

  “Thank you, Princess Astrid,” Aefric said, “for coming to visit me. I confess that when I first heard tell of your coming, I suspected that your highness’ purpose had been to challenge me to a duel, or something similar.”

  Princess Astrid laughed.

  “How amusing, that your grace believes I would challenge him so.”

  “I believe that your highness would challenge anyone, if she believed she had cause.”

  Princess Astrid took the compliment with a smile and a slight nod.

  “It pleases me to learn that your highness had no knowledge of the … espionage worked against my duchy and my vassals, and I am gladdened to know that she will help root out the source of this problem, wherever her investigation takes her.”

  That was, technically, more than she’d promised to do, which Aefric could tell she recognized by the slight narrowing of her eyes. But she didn’t correct him.

  Aefric released her hands then, and she, too, let go only reluctantly. He called forward another servant with a gesture, and presented her with a bottle of honsach.

  “I suspect this gift will not surprise your highness. But I hope that your highness will enjoy it, and remember the friendship and pleasures of the evening we first shared such a drink.”

  Princess Astrid accepted the bottle with a smile.

  “Thank you, your grace,” she said. “I have enjoyed my brief stay in your grace’s magnificent palace, and hope to return for a longer visit sometime soon. Once I have the answers that we both require.”

  “To help with that,” Aefric said, and gestured to a third servant, “I have here—”

  “Wait!”

  Around Aefric, three sets of guards turned as though to face down a threat.

  But Aefric knew that voice.

  Kentigern?

  Aefric turned, and sure enough, there was his seneschal. Perhaps a hundred strides distant.

  Running Aefric’s way.

  Running?

  In the season or so that Aefric had lived at Water’s End, he had never seen Kentigern move at faster than a brisk walk, and even then only because he needed to keep up with Aefric’s faster pace.

  But there he was, in his black velvet doublet and hose, chain of office bouncing on his chest and as he pounded the tile of the walkway with the soles of his favorite black boots.

  Princess Astrid stepped forward, as though to take the justiciar’s report from the servant, but Aefric, frowning, took it from the servant himself and held it with both hands.

  Princess Xenia said something low to her counterpart that Aefric didn’t hear.

  “Your … grace…” Kentigern said, arriving in a flash of sweat and exhaustion. “… must … wait…”

  He put his hands on his knees and fought to regain his breath.

  “Fetch him some water,” Aefric said to the servant who had held the justiciar’s report. To the princesses, he said, “Forgive him, your highnesses, but he never interrupts me without good cause.” To Kentigern, he said, “Find your breath, good seneschal, and tell me what troubles you.”

  “Pri…” Kentigern panted. Shook his head. Swallowed. “Privately … please … your … grace.”

  “A moment, if I may, your highnesses,” Aefric said, gesturing with the report for the Brightstaff to follow as he took his seneschal’s shoulder in hand and steered Kentigern several paces away.

  The Brightstaff floated after Aefric, staying close at hand. His guards took up positions between themselves and the rest of the assemblage.

  All work of preparing for Princess Xenia’s departure stopped, as all of her people turned to watch the spectacle.

  “Whatever is the matter, man?” Aefric said, low in Kentigern’s ear.

  “The … report,” Kentigern harshly whispered to Aefric.

  “Yes, what about it?”

  “King’s … justiciar.” Kentigern forced a deeper breath then. Cleared his throat. Forced a deeper, slower breath, and finished, “Even your grace needs royal permission to give that report to anyone. Especially a member of the Malimfari royal family.”

  “She claims ignorance in the matter,” Aefric said, “and has given her word to investigate—”

  “If you give her that report,” Kentigern said, voice low but firm, “without the king’s permission, you risk royal censure and punishment.”

  Aefric sighed and shook his head. He handed the report to Kentigern.

  “Thank you, your grace,” Kentigern said, relieved. “I shall leave your grace to his goodbyes, and see you at the meeting.”

  Aefric detached two of his guards to escort Kentigern back to his offices, just in case.

  Princess Astrid looked offended when Aefric returned, Brightstaff in hand, though Princess Xenia looked positively thrilled.

  “I note,” Princess Astrid said archly, “that your grace no longer holds the report from his king’s justiciar.”

  “No,” Aefric said with a sigh. “I don’t. My seneschal informs me that I need royal permission to share that report outside my own court.”

  “I trust that your grace would understand if that leads me to question the information I was given about the contents of that report.”

  “Does your highness accuse me of lying?” Aefric asked, hoping he kept his voice neutral.

  “Clearly,” Princess Xenia said. “Even unmistakably, I should think.”

  “I agree that you should think, Xenia. It would make a refreshing change,” Princess Astrid said, while not taking her gaze from Aefric. “I do not mean to give your grace the lie. Your grace has noted that he is new to politics. I suspect only that others might manipulate the timing and presentation of information to him, to take advantage of his reputation for honesty, while hiding from him certain … uncomfortable truths.”

  “Then you accuse my advisers of manipulating me?”

  “If your grace must hear it plainspoken, I accuse your king, and his agents, who might hold places in your court. Your grace is new to his duchy, and likely has not had time — to say nothing of the practice needed — to learn the true ebb and flow of the loyalties of his courtiers.”

  “And of what, exactly, do you accuse my king and his ‘agents?’” Aefric asked, and he knew now that he sounded dangerous, because Princess Astrid’s guards put their hands on their sword hilts.

  “The matter is quite simple,” Princess Astrid said. “I take your grace at his word that agents worked within his lands to sow dissension and foment rebellion among his vassals and smallfolk. But as to how this was done, when, and by whom, there might be subtleties to the details that someone new to politics — such as your grace — would not know to look for, but someone who was raised in a royal court — such as myself, or even Xenia here — would recognize in a moment.”

  Princess Xenia drew breath to retort, but Aefric beat her to it.

  “If your highness is willing to take me at my word, then trust my word that the justiciar’s report only confirmed what I had already discovered myself.”

  “I take your grace at his word that he understood the evidence he found as pointing to Malimfar,” Princess Astrid said. “And, in the spirit of the friendship your grace has shown me, I shall conduct my promised investigation, and bring to your grace my report. I only remind your grace that he has promised to keep an open mind in regard to Malimfar and its royal family, and hope he will retain that open mind when he reads my report.”

  “I remember, and will do my best.”

  “I can ask nothing more,” Princess Astrid said, and bowed.

  “Then, your highnesses,” Aefric said, “I wish you both swift and pleasant journeys.”

  He bowed deeply to them, and took his leave as the sun began to rise.

  Aefric had expected that saying goodbye to the two princesses would give him a lift. A certain amount of relief. After all, now they were gone, and with them the constant pressure to represent not only himself and his duchy, but all of Armyr.

  But the issue of the justiciar’s report had stolen that relief from him. He kept thinking about the almost greedy way Princess Astrid had reached for that report. What it might mean that she wanted it so.

  What might have happened, had he let her take it.

  And he wondered what it meant that Princess Xenia — her clear rival in all things — never expressed an opinion either way. Save, perhaps, for words she spoke to Princess Astrid after Aefric took the report himself.