"You`ve got to cut back on the dances, Bea. You`re wearing out your shoes," Riccardo complained. "We brought only so many pairs for you from home. At the rate you`re going, we`re going to spend half your dowry replacing your wardrobe before the wedding."

　　"I`ll dance now and go barefoot to my wedding," Beatrice said. It sounded witty and confident when she said it, but inwardly, Beatrice was all doubt and anxiety.

　　The last of winter dragged itself over Mahaut, rainy and silent. With the weather so bad, Beatrice was confined entirely to the ballrooms and sitting rooms of Mahaut. It was harder for Beatrice to go to these battlegrounds well-armed, now that much of Sanchia`s retinue had returned home.

　　The knights Cesar sent with them were meant to remain until after the wedding when Beatrice would move into her husband`s household. The wedding had been so delayed that many of their attendants had spent all the money they`d brought to Ammar. The Duke needed his knights with him to prepare for war. When they left, their ladies went with them. Riccardo dismissed their house priest, preferring to retain one from Ammar`s local clergy. Even the cook disappeared one day, making off with some of Lord Gruffydd`s silver candlesticks, which Riccardo was obliged to replace.

　　Queen Eva`s company was all that Beatrice had while she waited for the Prince of Ammar to return. Even Aunt Alys had retreated from the grand inner circle of houses, leaving Beatrice no means to escape it unless she went with one of the Queen`s ladies.

　　Gossip couldn`t reach Beatrice when she was with Queen Eva or her ladies. She was back to relying on Riccardo, who was increasingly annoyed at having to report back to their father in Sanchia as well as to report to Beatrice. Her brother started to keep more matters to himself. The new house priest spent many hours closeted with Riccardo in Lord Gruffydd`s study.

　　Alone and isolated, Beatrice was left to her own devices. She opened all the pocket doors on the top floor and rehearsed her dancing. She plotted and planned, and thought more about the wedding night. Beatrice decided that the best thing she could do was come up with some plan to break Queen Eva`s winning streak. She would have to find a way to make Prince Anryniel fall deeply in love with her.

　　Beatrice started with dancing. She looked for ways to twirl and to leap that would show off gracefulness, to assert herself as the finest dancer in Ammar. This was easy, as she`d already been dancing for weeks. Inspired by Queen Eva`s performance at the Feast of Saint Soren, Beatrice added more embroidery to her hems. Soon, they were murmuring for her, when Beatrice flourished a veil during a dance.

　　Next came makeup. Beatrice experimented with different shades and applications of liner and powder all around her eyes so that they would shine out from beneath her veil. She tested these looks while out visiting Queen Eva`s ladies, taking note of how many men would glance at her while she walked into their homes—and how long it took for them to look away.

　　"Wipe that dirt off your face before you come into my presence," the Queen said when she saw the eyeliner. "It is unhygienic. You could give yourself an infection."

　　Beatrice lowered her head in a show of obedience. Out of the corner of her eye, she took note of the looks that passed between the Queen`s ladies, their eyebrows raised in silent intrigue.

　　Then, Beatrice went after the veil. In her fantasies, Prince Anryniel let her put it aside when she convinced him with an eloquent argument. In reality, she knew that the appetite for a change in fashion had to start with society. Any king would want his queen to keep up with the latest fashion. Why else did Duke Cesar fill his holds with all the finest silks, jewels, and facepaints if not for Sofia?

　　Beatrice seized the chance when Lady Tommasi hosted her for tea one day when her husband was away. Alone, the women were free to wear what they wished. Beatrice folded her veil around her shoulders like a shawl, while Lady Tommasi tied hers into a bun with a silk ribbon. She was pleased to see that the older woman had applied two faint circles of blush to her cheeks.

　　"Your hair is so lovely," Lady Tommasi said, admiring Beatrice`s chin-length curls. Beatrice had been obliged to trim them herself with little sewing scissors to keep her hair neat. "Is this the fashion in Sanchia?"The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　"Yes, madam," Beatrice assured her. "Women keep it this way to display our earrings. Every woman in Sanchia wears at least two pairs to go out—the studs and the hoops are the most popular. How is it that the veil came to be so popular in Ammar? In Sanchia, hats are the fashion."

　　"Oh, here it is law. It was written after the rebellion. I was only a girl at court then, but I believe that the Church wanted something that the King said no to. Her Majesty adopted the veil to win the clergy over and the King wrote it into law." The lady patted her covered hair. "It does wonders for hiding the grays."

　　After Beatrice`s teatime with Lady Tommasi, the subject of hairstyles became more common among Queen Eva`s ladies. Many of them talked about ways to style their hair under the veil in looped braids to give the veil a different shape. Beatrice noted smugly that none discussed dyeing their hair. Only their Queen was so vain.

　　Lady Teqwyn was the first to attempt a new hairstyle. Lord Teqwyn hosted a dance where his wife appeared in the shade of blue that Queen Eva favored in her veils. Beneath it, Lady Teqwyn wore her hair coiled into buns on either side of her head. The shape of the hair made the veil sweep out from her scalp in wings that fluttered when the lady danced.

　　The next day, Lady Tommasi also wore a new hairstyle. She pinned a paper cone to her hair underneath the veil to make hers sweep behind her in a long drape that swayed as they walked together through the market. At Lord Mayelor`s dance that week, all the Queens ladies now wore some hair ornament beneath their veils to give it a different shape. It was not a repudiation, but it was a start.

　　Beatrice came into the hall and the ladies nodded to her. She nudged Riccardo in the side with her elbow and gestured with her chin.

　　"What?" he asked, completely oblivious to her triumph.

　　"We hardly talk anymore," Beatrice sighed. "You don`t even realize I`ve started a new fashion at court in just two weeks! That has to be some kind of record."

　　"You`ve been busy with the Queen`s ladies," Riccardo said. "I sit in the King`s council and stare at boring maps all day, while they complain about money. I would gladly trade places with you. I am too tired even to dance."

　　"I`ll dance enough tonight for the both of us," Beatrice promised.

　　She twirled onto the floor, confident and convinced that the beginnings of a revolution were at hand. If Beatrice could inspire the Queen`s ladies to adopt new fashions in just a week or so of effort, what else could she accomplish once she was wedded? On the arm of her prince, Beatrice would dance with as many or as few veils as she liked.

　　She did one of her long leaps across the floor. For a moment, Beatrice felt frozen in the air. A numbness spread from her fingertips down her arms. When she landed, Beatrice heard, more than felt, the crack of bone as her ankle twisted. She went down in a heap. The music stopped. That strange numbness faded and in its place, white hot pain snaked up her leg.

　　Beatrice screamed once and then bit it back, furious and embarrassed. The men all around her stepped back to make room for the women to surge toward her to help. In the flurry of fabric and arms lifting her, Beatrice caught Queen Eva staring at her. Now, she did not need to see under the veil to know that the woman was smiling.

　　After the humiliation, Beatrice took to her bed at Lord Gruffydd`s and would not come out. Not even for food. Limping pathetically across the top floor of the house, she dragged all of the pocket doors shut, reducing her dance floor to the size of a closet. She refused to see anyone, especially not the Queen`s personal physician when he came to call.

　　After five days, Riccardo pleaded with her through the door: "Bea—you`ve got to let someone see that foot. The bone needs to be set and wrapped. Do you want to be known as the Lame Queen of Ammar?"

　　"I will never be Queen of Ammar," Beatrice shouted. She was so weak from hunger that it came out as a whispered sob.

　　"I was only joking about that before, Bea, I swear," Riccardo said. "It can`t be much longer, now. I`ve had word—the Prince left Awarren. I`m sure he`ll be here within a fortnight, even if he walks all the way here. If we wrap your foot up now, you`ll be able to stand at the altar without crutches, even!"

　　The door opened. Beatrice sat up, incensed that Riccardo would intrude on her, half-mad from the pain in her leg.

　　Her brother wasn`t alone. With him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with a crooked nose and heavy dark eyebrows. Beatrice eyed the stranger, warily. He did not cast his eyes down at the sight of her unveiled. The man was not from Ammar, Beatrice thought.

　　"I`m Ciamon Caelt, a servant of Lord Gruffydd`s," the stranger said.

　　He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt down beside Beatrice. He was ugly to look at up close, she thought. His lips were too thick and his forehead too high. He had very fine eyes, though—velvety brown. His hand, when it grasped hers, was warm and steady.

　　"My lord sent me here to see what could be done for you, my lady," Ciamon said. He turned her hand over, palm facing up. She felt his warm strong fingers press something solid into her palm.

　　Beatrice looked down and saw nine heavy new silver coins in her hand. The missing pieces of her ruined belt.