The gown style, the hairstyle, the name … it seemed the count intended to marry into a Malimfari noble family. Interesting. Especially considering that Malimfar had manipulated him into rebelling against Aefric this past spring.

  Although, at the time, Count Ferrin had been led to believe that Merrek was the source of his “support,” not Malimfar.

  Had Aefric ever gotten around to correcting that misbelief? He couldn’t remember…

  He must’ve. He must’ve told Ser Beornric to reveal the truth to the count, when he sent Beornric with a company to make clear Aefric’s reclaiming of the mines in the Threepeaks.

  Ser Beatritz was shorter than anyone at the table except the queen, and dressed in a tunic and leggings of the royal colors, under a tabard bearing the Armyrian royal sigil of a golden oak tree on a background of forest green.

  Her graying chestnut hair was bound in a braid that passed her shoulders. Her body was thick with muscle, and her hands were scarred and calloused from her years in the field, much as those of Sers Beornric and Yrsa were.

  Ser Beatritz had a scar along the right side of her jaw that looked as though an arrow had skimmed her face and taken off an earlobe. Apart from the Brightstaff, she carried the only weapon at the table, a greatsword strapped to her back.

  Their majesties sat, allowing the rest of their table to be seated, which allowed the rest of the diners to sit as well.

  So many people were crammed into this great hall that the rustling of their clothes as they sat sounded like a brief gale force wind across acres of overripe corn.

  The count didn’t serve a palate wine. Instead, his servants poured a sweet white wine to compliment a salad of spiced greens and tiny river shrimp, under a mustard sauce.

  Too much sauce and too much spice, which made Aefric question the quality of both the greens and the river shrimp.

  He’d barely gotten his first taste when both the king and Ser Beatritz leaned in closer.

  “Your grace did not rush all this way simply to meet me in the road,” the king said quietly. “Had you suggested it, Ser Calder would have raised a fuss, and that seneschal of yours — Kentigern, is it? — would have given you five or six sound reasons why it was a bad idea.”

  “Neither of them uttered a word of complaint,” Aefric said, but before he could say more, Ser Beatritz cut in.

  “Yes,” she said impatiently, “because they knew most would attribute the move to the restless feet of a retired adventurer. But I only needed one look at your grace to see the lie in that, and I believe the same can be said of his majesty.”

  “It can,” King Colm said. “So, my dear duke, where is the danger you’ve come to save me from?”

  “In truth?” Aefric asked quietly, with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

  He explained about the Malimfari knights, and his suspicion that they were the obvious threat, suggesting that an inobvious threat would strike somewhere along the road.

  “Interesting that his grace suggests this,” Ser Beatritz said. “Considering the high standing of our host’s intended.”

  “I’m not familiar with her,” Aefric said.

  “She’s a third cousin to Crown Princess Astrid,” King Colm said, “and part of the royal family. A real prize, for a mere count.”

  The three of them shared a significant look. The king, of course, knew all about the work of Malimfar’s agents in Deepwater this past spring, as well as that kingdom’s attempted assault on Armyr’s southern border.

  “One of the knights in Water’s End right now is a Duisson,” Aefric said. “Could be her brother.”

  “Could be,” King Colm said, then turned to Ser Beatritz. “Find out.”

  “I shall have the truth by sunrise, your majesty,” she said with a slight bow of her head.

  “Excellent,” King Colm said. “And because I do not believe our duke prone to panic, we shall have to adjust our route and timetable for the remainder of the trip, to throw off any plans made by our enemies.”

  “Then stopping here was to our advantage,” Ser Beatritz said, and she sounded a bit disappointed. “It wasn’t what we planned.”

  “True,” King Colm said, “but that may depend a great deal on the innocence or guilt of a certain guest.”

  “Not necessarily,” Aefric said.

  “Whatever could be so troubling you three?” Queen Eppida asked with laughter in her voice. “I haven’t seen such serious faces since we told Killian that he couldn’t go hunting with his friends because we needed him to sit regent for a time.”

  Before any of them could respond, she said something softer that Aefric couldn’t hear. In fact, if he hadn’t seen her throat move, he might not have known she’d spoken at all.

  King Colm laughed loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables.

  “Forgive me, my love,” King Colm said, still laughing, before turning to Aefric. “Please, your grace, I ask your forgiveness as well. It was a small joke, and one Beatritz and I planned to spring when we reached Water’s End. But as you came to us, I could not resist playing it early.”

  Even Ser Beatritz was smiling now, though Aefric wasn’t sure that smile reached her eyes.

  “No forgiveness is needed, your majesty,” Aefric said, but before he could continue, King Colm spoke over him.

  “Now, your grace,” he said, shaking one finger at him. “Don’t hold a grudge. I’m not actually insulted that you haven’t visited Netar yet. I just couldn’t resist making you think I was.”

  “Your majesty,” Aefric said, affecting a troubled smile, “was most convincing.”

  King Colm laughed again, and shook Aefric’s shoulder.

  “Come, come,” King Colm said. “Even if I had been offended, your grace’s reasons were all quite valid. Please. Say you forgive me.”

  “Of course I forgive your majesty,” Aefric said, slowly, as though he still felt unsure. “And I am grateful that your majesty thinks highly enough of me to play such a joke on me.”

  “Much better,” King Colm said, and clapped Aefric on the back. “Now, let me tell you all about Netar, and perhaps whet your appetite to visit it before the rains come.”

  And with that, they stuck to smaller topics for the rest of the meal. Which made Aefric more and more curious just what Queen Eppida had said under her breath.

  Dinner was over. Aefric had seen to his knights, and made sure that they were squared away in the pavilion for the night.

  It was an impressive pavilion, some forty feet across, and made of the royal gold and green. Though it wasn’t the pavilion of the king and queen themselves.

  This was the pavilion set aside for the Knights of the Crown.

  If any of them were offended that they had to share space with Aefric’s knights, they had the good grace not to say so.

  Once that was taken care of, Aefric donned his pack and followed a page through the surprisingly cold stone hallways of Forest’s Edge, up two flights of stairs, and finally to a room guarded by two women in plate armor, whose breastplates had been etched with the golden oak tree of Armyr.

  It seemed that at least two of the Crown Knights would not need their space in the pavilion that night.

  Both women wore their hair cut so short Aefric couldn’t tell the color. They both carried longswords naked in their hands, though with points down as Aefric approached.

  They regarded Aefric with hard expressions.

  One of them extended her hand. “The wand.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Aefric asked.

  “Her majesty says that stick of yours” — she nodded at the Brightstaff, held in Aefric’s right hand — “goes everywhere with you, so by her order you get to hold onto it. She said nothing about your coming into her royal presence with a wand.”

  “I wore the wand to dinner as well,” Aefric said. “Didn’t even think about it. Forgot I was wearing it. It’s the wand Garram, a gift from his majesty.”

  “Then we will take good care of it for your grace, and return it promptly when your grace departs. But your grace will not pass us, armed with that wand.”

  Silliness. Aefric knew a great many spells that needed no wand, nor any other object.

  But this was not a fight worth having.

  He undid his leather belt, removed the wand and its sheath, and handed them both to the demanding knight before refastening his belt.

  She bowed. “My thanks, your grace.”

  Her partner knocked on the door, then opened it a crack and announced, “His grace, Ser Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, has come in response to your majesty’s summons.”

  “Then by all means admit him.” Queen Eppida’s voice, and she sounded amused.

  Shock slackened Aefric’s jaw as he entered the room and the knights closed the door behind him.

  Count Ferrin had provided Queen Eppida only a single chamber, for her use.

  A bed. An armoire. A copper basin and ewer. A small couch, beside an unimpressive bookshelf. Fresh rugs of woven rushes, at least, filling the room with a sweet smell.

  And, of course, the requisite tapestries depicting the heroism of past counts and countesses of Motte.

  There was a small window, past the bed, though the shutters were shut fast. And there was a fire in the hearth, which must’ve been necessary, because the room was pleasantly warm, but not hot.

  “I’d like to think I put that look on your grace’s face,” Queen Eppida said, still sounding amused, “but I believe I made the same expression myself when I saw the ‘accommodations’ provided for me.”

  She looked about and shook her head.

  “At least his excellency showed no preference, providing a similar chamber for his majesty. Still. I cannot believe he has none better. Which is enough to make one wonder just how good an impression your Count Ferrin truly wishes to make.”

  Aefric was still looking around at the furnishings. They weren’t even of greenwood or blackwood, let alone calinwood. Nothing more than red oak, or maybe cherry. Passable, but hardly appropriate for royal chambers. Which would suggest that the count — or perhaps a predecessor — had been foolish enough to assume he’d never host the king and queen.

  No. It was impossible that he had nothing better than this. After all, this room would be an inadequate offering for Aefric, and it simply wasn’t possible that the designer ignored the possibility of hosting the count’s liege.

  Which suggested—

  Her majesty gently cleared her throat.

  Aefric turned his attention to the queen, and found himself much more pleasantly stunned.

  She had unpinned those of her long golden curls that Aefric hadn’t realized had been bound up earlier. Because now her locks fell past her smooth, pale shoulders both in front and back.

  She’d changed out of her gown, and exchanged it for … well … it would have looked like a simple peasant’s dress. But white linen of the clinging gown looked soft, and was so thin that Aefric found himself getting a very good idea of just what the queen would look like once she disrobed.

  And oh, she would be a sight to see. Slender, yet shapely, there was no denying the woman’s beauty of form, as well as face.

  And then there was the complete show of trust she gave Aefric, by forgoing her golden torc and its protective magics.

  “Much better,” she said, clearly enjoying his reaction.

  “Your majesty is beautiful beyond words.”

  “You are sweet to say so,” she said. “But I am all too aware that you have seen Byrhta Ol’Caran in all her glory. Beside her I must seem positively mannish.”

  Aefric shook his head.

  “Every morning at Water’s End,” he said, “I get the delight of seeing the sun rise above shimmering, glorious Lake Deepwater. And every sunrise is so beautiful it makes my heart ache. How, then, could I ever say one day’s sunrise is more beautiful than that of the day before it?”

  Queen Eppida gave Aefric a small smile that made her look more beautiful still.

  “I thought you were a wizard,” she said. “Not a skald.”

  “Beauty inspires us all, your majesty.”

  “No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. She sighed. “Hazard a guess. How many times do you think I’ve sought the noble privilege since I married Colm?”

  “Three?” he said, picking a number at random, aiming for the low side.

  “Tonight included, one,” she said, raising a single index finger to emphasize her point. She lowered it as she began to cross the room toward him.

  The shift of her hips was mesmerizing.

  “I am a woman of exacting tastes,” she continued. “A handsome face is not enough to thrill me. Nor is a scar or two, nor long list of deeds.”

  She stopped just out of arm’s reach. Looked Aefric up and down.

  “I require a man to be both handsome enough to please my eyes, and exciting enough to make me burn for him. Colm has so much of both that most other men leave me cold.”

  She closed that last gap. Aefric dropped his pack. Set the Brightstaff to stand beside him.

  She put her hands on his chest. Ran them slowly over the silk of his navy blue tunic.

  She spoke looking up into his eyes.

  “You tempted me even at Armityr on the day you were made duke,” Queen Eppida said. “Still, I wasn’t sure. I thought I would play with the notion of seeking the bliss moment with you as we rode across your lands, and decide at Water’s End.”

  She quirked a smile. Reached up and stroked his cheek.

  “But here, you rode to our rescue from some threat we didn’t even see.”

  “I—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw it in your eyes the moment you stepped out of that carriage. The concern. The readiness to bring your many powers to our aid.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You started telling my husband all about it at dinner, even though doing so would have made clear to even the most foolish that something dangerous was afoot.”

  Aefric nodded. “There are—”

  She put her fingers to his lips to stop him.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Tell me of the threat tomorrow. Tonight, I know you will keep me safe.”

  Aefric nodded. She lowered her fingers.

  “So tonight, let us dispense with titles and formalities. Until the morning demands that we resume our roles, let us be only Aefric and Eppida. A man and a woman, come together for a night of passion.”

  Aefric opened his mouth to speak, but she put her fingers to his lips again.

  “Don’t tell me yes, Aefric. Show me yes.”

  He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her hard and deep. He could taste the dregs of bitter nysta tea on her tongue, but by now that taste was coming to excite him further.

  Eppida made small sounds of approval as she kissed him back with equal fervor. When that kiss broke, Aefric began nibbling along her neck, taking in her sweet, vaguely citrus scent as she whispered, “Harder. Bite harder.”

  When he did, she shuddered, and began yanking at his belt. He moved back to give her room.

  Seams tore as she ripped off his clothes and left him standing naked and ready before her.

  “Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly, looking him up and down, circling him to take in the whole view. “Yes. Those scars. Those muscles. Perfect.”

  Aefric moved to grab the thin material of her gown, but she deflected his hands and shook her head.

  “No,” she said, voice low with desire. “Use magic, Aefric. Rip this gown from my flesh with your spells.”

  He almost cast the same spell he’d used to disrobe Zoleen, but Eppida had said rip. So instead, he made fists, using magic to grip the collar of her thin gown.

  He yanked his hands apart, the gown tore in half with a loud ripping sound. He cast the rent halves of the garment aside, leaving Eppida gasping and wonderfully naked before him.

  “Come, Aefric,” she said, turning her back. “Catch me and take me.”

  She led him on a short chase, but made no effort to get away. Really, Aefric was sure she just wanted to get them both to the bed quickly.

  Well, and perhaps she wanted to feel him grab her. Because when he did, she made a sound that could only have been pleasure.

  Then, on that soft bed, they came together in earnest.

  When Aefric awoke the next morning, he felt as though he’d been through a strangely enjoyable skirmish.

  Eppida was a wild woman in bed. Both giving and demanding at the same time.

  His muscles ached, but in a good way. As though he’d spent hours on the training grounds. And she’d left scratches all over Aefric’s back, his shoulders, and his posterior. She’d marked his shoulders and his scars with hickeys, as well.

  Aefric had left similar marks — hickeys, not scratches — in several places on her body, too. Receiving them seemed to heighten her pleasure, at critical moments.

  Of course, he’d left no marks where they would show, once she was dressed. She was the queen, after all.

  Her golden curls were as messy as the sheets around them, but her eyes were bright.

  “Good morning,” Eppida said with a warm smile, and leaned in for the first slow, soft kiss she’d given him. “I must say, that was exactly what I needed. We may have to do this again sometime.”

  Aefric reached out and stroked her cheek.

  “Anytime, Eppida.”

  She flicked her tongue across his lips. Grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed while swinging one leg over him.

  “No time like the present,” she said. “Might as well have a little more fun before we must resume our roles.”

  She leaned down to bite … his neck, most likely. That seemed to be her preferred way to start. But her descent was interrupted.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. Three times, a pause, then once, a pause, and twice.

  She frowned. Sighed.

  “Alas,” she said. “Morning beat us to it.” She dismounted. “Do you know any spells that could replace a bath?”

  “Yes,” Aefric said. “I think they’re critical when adventuring. But they don’t feel as good as soaking in a tub.”

  “No,” she said, getting out of bed to pose naked with her arms out wide. “But I can bathe myself anytime I want.” She wiggled her fingers. “Let me feel this spell of cleansing.”